aubrey

she/it. bisexual. did traumagenic sys. radfem but not in the transphobic way. i cannot find the artists for my pfp/banner so if you know #lmk. uh i’m really abnormal about caine tadc

[vampyrattraction]

cAIne / c.AI.ne

a gender relating to Caine from The Amazing Digital Circus' desire to be human, innate disconnect from humanity, and fascination with fitting in. this term is intended for autistic individuals who feel like they do not fit in with humans

eyestrain & saturated versions, the dots represent Caine's AI(s)

made for my best friend @amnovanix

tags; @radiomogai

[vampyrattraction]

spiderwoman / spidergwen

a gender for women whose womanhood is deeply intertwined in/explained by Gwen Stacy/Spidergwen's strength, female empowerment, justice and sisterhood

tagging; @radiomogai

[amnovanix]

this is me guys

[http-samwinchester]

◆ ◆ ◇ | ◇ ♥︎ ◇ | ◇ ◆ ◆

▪︎ character : Caine [The Amazing Digital Circus]

▪︎ theme : circuses, monochrome, perriots

▪︎ notes : selfship gift board for my beloved friend Aubrey! i got inspired by the edit you're working on and put this together for you, i hope you like it!! — do not tag ad id/kin/fo unless her

[amnovanix]

I AM GOING TO START SOBBING AND CRYING

[dreamwinged]

hey sorry but you actually have to imagine a universe where your s/i is canon and a bunch of people in the fandom are super invested in shipping you with your f/o. you gotta think about the “daily” accounts that would be made for your ship; the way ppl would go crazy whenever the two of you had screentime/interactions together and post things like “omg the way they look at eachother 😢” “they’re so in love”. all the in-depth analysis threads pointing out the nuances and arguing for why your ship is canon ???!!! yeah just consider it

proship/comship/neutral dni

[lgbtqiatext]

[tumblr]

Calling all aro, ace, demi, grey (& everyone in between) shippers: What's your favorite aspec(-coded) or platonic ship? What shipping dynamics are the allos missing out on?

Add in the comments or reblog with your fanart or favorite image of them (with credit if it's not yours) <3

[what-even-is-thiss]

Where’s the YA protagonist teen girl and her two boyfriends that are supposed to save us from this mess anyways

[what-even-is-thiss]

The dystopia books lied. The teen throuples aren’t coming to save us.

[what-even-is-thiss]

Save me teen dystopia love triangle

[what-even-is-thiss]

Teen dystopia love triangle save me

[amnovanix]

do not play a dragonborn character if you expect to take any expression you make seriously. this had me and my friend laughing for like a minute straight

[thempregguy]

category of blorbo called "technically i like them but fanons obsession with them to the exclusion of other characters pavloved me into having a negative reaction whenever i see them"

[emptyblissdotmp3-deactivated202]

[roy-co]

Hallo everyone! The Red Cross has declared a severe blood shortage in America and I am highly encouraging my followers & others to look into blood donation centers in their area! Markiplier is also doing a blood drive for his movie Iron Lung — see if there are any participating theaters near you if this is something that interests you!

As someone who has needed a blood transfusion before, you can and will save lives with your donations and give people hope and a chance at living fulfilling and healthy lives. PLEASE consider donating, or reaching out to friends/family who may be able to donate as well.

[amnovanix]

FLASH WARNING ⚠️

WHATS THIS! aubrey edited? AGAIN? and its been less than a month?

song: fame is a gun by addison rae

edited on after effects 2022

[amnovanix]

i have awoken from my slumber to post this. thank you @roy-co for the idea

[amnovanix]

Made these for joy

[lemonyos]

The way Danny's voice shakes just slightly when he's grandstanding in the FBI interrogation is so good! Like he's trying so hard to be cocky and self-assured, but he's still a little bit scared because what if this was all a trick and he got caught too early and he's genuinely not gonna make it out?! Motherfuckin Jesse eisenberg

[amnovanix]

margin of error | ♠️

this is chapter 4! one | two | three

you can also read this on ao3 here!

summary: daniel atlas (aged down to 17 years old) is struggling at every new school he starts at. his need for precision and control follows him everywhere. ooooh undiagnosed mental disorders . i’m bad at summaries.

word count (chapter): 1,372 words

word count (work): 6,395 words

4 | ♠️ | -- logged

Daniel is sitting on the curb outside the front doors when his mom's car pulls into the pick up lane. He doesn't wave—he never waves—but instead stands, adjusts his backpack on his shoulder, and walks toward it.

She looks tired. She doesn't look tired in a sleepless way, but tired in the way one's face settles when they've done the same thing they don't want to do over and over.

"Hey," she says quietly when he opens the door.

"Hey."

He gets in. The door closing feels louder than it really is.

She drives out of the parking lot, silent until they're on the road. "They called me."

Daniel stares out the window, watching the school get smaller in the distance. He counts to seven in his head before replying. "I know."

Neither of them speak. The road noise fills the space where anyone else would be having a lively conversation. Not them.

"I just—what happened, Daniel?" she says finally. Her voice is careful in a strained way.

"I was late," Daniel says. The safest answer, even though whatever he says will garner the same reaction.

She exhales. "Again?"

He doesn't reply. There's nothing to say.

"They told me you argued with your teacher, too," she adds. "What's that about?"

"I didn't argue," Daniel replies. Then, more quietly. "I just talked to him."

He can almost hear her grip on the steering wheel tighten. "Daniel."

"I wasn't being rude, mom."

"I'm not saying you were," she says quickly. "It—This keeps happening, Daniel. Why?"

He knows the question is rhetorical. He knows that neither of them know why. Daniel presses his forehead against the window. The glass is cold. He focuses on that.

"Weekly check-ins and reports. Really, Daniel? You couldn't get through one day without being an issue?"

He doesn't say anything, instead continuing to stare out the window. He knew that part was going to make it home with him.

Her purse shifts when she takes a turn, something inside it rattling softly. He doesn't look.

"Your car still isn't ready," she says after a moment. Changing the subject. "The shop says maybe Friday."

"Okay."

"I know it's annoying," she adds. "It's—I don't want you walking. I know how kids can be when there's nobody around."

"It's fine."

Another pause.

"Daniel… I need you to try," she says quietly. "I can't keep doing this—I can't put you in another school, or handle leaving work for meetings and phone calls. You need to try. Meet me halfway. Please."

"I am," he says, even though it comes out flat.

She doesn't argue. That almost makes it worse.

They drive the rest of the way home in silence.

The silence isn't comfortable. It never is—it just stretches, heavy and awkward, as if both of them are waiting for the other to say something that won't make it worse, something normal.

He watches the traffic lights change. Red. Green. Yellow. The pattern is predictable, doesn't change. He keeps his eyes on it until his mom drives through the intersection and the rhythm is broken. He hates that he doesn't even get to drive himself home from this. That he has to sit here and be quiet and let it happen.

The house smells like that lemon cleaner his mom always uses in the kitchen. The kitchen itself smells like something burned. Whatever was supposed to be dinner originally.

His mom kicks off her shoes by the door as Daniel does the same. Left shoe, right shoe, line them up against the wall.

"I'm going to make some tea," she says. "Do you want some?"

"No."

"Okay."

He walks to the door to his bedroom and stands there briefly. He doesn't know why. Maybe, subconsciously, he's waiting for his mother to say something else.

She doesn't.

He opens the door and promptly closes it behind him. Didn't feel right. Again. Better.

The room is exactly how he left it this morning. His bed is made, his desk is clear. Everything is exactly where he left it for the first time today. He sits on the edge of the bed and stares at the wall.

He knows he should do homework. He wants to do it, even. But he just… doesn't.

He opens his notebook regardless. If only to stare at it. The lines seem to blur together if he looks too long. He closes it again. It feels pointless. Even if he does everything right tonight, tomorrow will still find a way to go wrong.

After a few minutes, he hears voices downstairs. Normal voices shift to hushed ones, and then he hears the clink of a mug being set down too hard. He presses his palms into his ears as hard as he can. He doesn't want to hear what comes next.

He still does.

Dinner is quiet.

Daniel's dad left earlier. He'd felt the door slam from his room. The echo still feels like it's hanging in the air. As if the house hasn't settled from it quite yet.

His mom picks at her food, and Daniel doesn't touch his at all.

"Your dad will be home late again." she says eventually.

Daniel looks up. That means he'll be tired. And already irritated about something else.

"Did you tell him?" Daniel asks.

She hesitates. "I did, but not the whole thing."

He nods. That's worse, it always is. That means it's going to come up again later, when everyone is already tired, and it's going to turn into a bigger thing.

"I don't know what to do anymore, Daniel," she says, staring down at her plate instead of at him. "This happens every time, and I swear to God it's getting worse."

Daniel stares at his plate.

"I've tried so hard as a parent, I… You don't get how hard this is. I don't understand where I went wrong for this to keep happening, Daniel. I don't understand why you keep doing this."

He swallows.

"I know you get overwhelmed at school. But that doesn't mean you get to shut down or disrespect adults when something goes wrong."

"I'm not shutting down or being disrespectful," he says.

She finally looks at him. "Then what are you doing?"

He doesn't answer.

She sighs and rubs her forehead. "I just want you to act like a normal kid."

Yeah. Right.

—

Later, when she thinks he's asleep, he hears the medicine cabinet open and close. He shares a wall with the wall it's on. He doesn't know exactly what she takes, just that she's always careful with it. Locks it. Checks it. Except when she doesn't.

He wonders if what she takes is because of him.

That thought makes his stomach hurt.

He continues counting the stars on his ceiling until he falls asleep.

He wakes up later to the sound of voices. Loud ones. His dad is home.

He stays in his room.

The voices downstairs are muffled through the floor, but he can still tell when they start getting sharper—when his mom's voice goes tight. When his dad's voice gets louder.

He presses his pillow over his ears and counts the stars on the ceiling again. One hundred forty-three. That number doesn't change, which is the point. He touches his thumb to each fingertip as he does so, then again, and again, because it feels wrong. Nothing feels right, not now.

The arguing fades into hushed, angry murmurs. He can't hear the words, but they're shaped a way he knows. He knows when his dad says something that makes his mom go quiet. Can tell when she starts crying despite trying not to.

He knows the sickening crash sound from when his dad gets too angry.

This is his fault. Somehow, it always is. No matter how quiet he is, how careful, how hard he tries to stay out of the way.

He thinks about how easy it would be to vanish. Disappear into the background. To stop being the thing people have to deal with—the problem that keeps moving schools and conversations.

But he doesn't know how to stop existing. So he just stays very still and waits for the house to quiet down again.

[stupido-mirko]

[amnovanix]

margin of error | ♠️

this is chapter 3! one | two | four

you can also read this on ao3 here!

summary: daniel atlas (aged down to 17 years old) is struggling at every new school he starts at. his need for precision and control follows him everywhere. ooooh undiagnosed mental disorders . i’m bad at summaries.

word count (chapter): 1,317 words

word count (work): 5,023 words

notes: this is a shorter chapter :) this is because it's mostly for setup!! stuff coming. soon. promise!

3 | ♠️ | — processed

Daniel is already sitting when the door clicks shut behind him.

The clock on the wall ticks. It's quiet enough that it feels loud. Daniel watches the second hand move, but not the numbers. The seconds feel longer than they should, and he wonders how long he's been sitting here already. Long enough that his legs have started to feel heavy—in a way that if he stays much longer, he may not want to move at all.

The office smells of stale coffee, or maybe coffee that was brewed a few hours ago. Daniel notices this because there really isn't much else to notice. Everything is beige. Beige brick walls, beige desk, beige carpet that isn't really carpet because it's thin and flattened to the floor.

The assistant principal is about as interesting as the room. Neat, short hair, collared shirt, blue tie. He isn't old per se, but not exactly young. He looks as if he's been doing his job too long to be particularly surprised or interested by anything. He doesn't sit right away. The silence stretches long enough that Daniel starts counting his breaths without meaning to. He stops at seven, which is when the assistant principal finally sits.

"I'm Mr. Harris, one of the assistant principals here." he says, already turning to his computer at his desk. The screen clearly matters more than whether Daniel is actually listening. As always. The monitor is glowing in his glasses faintly as he scrolls.

Daniel doesn't attempt to look at what's on it. He knows already.

"So, Daniel," Mr. Harris says, folding his hands on the desk. "Transferring halfway through the year can be difficult. Most students and teachers already have their routines and all."

Daniel nods.

"We got a report from your English teacher, Mr. Goode, about what happened in class today," Mr. Harris continues. His voice is calm. Steady. As if this is a daily occurrence, like there's been countless others in this position through the years he's been here. "There were some concerns about your tardiness, but more about your behavior in the classroom."

Daniel keeps his eyes on the desk.

"And when we look at your records from your previous three schools," Mr. Harris adds, glancing at the screen, "we see similar concerns, especially during transition periods."

There it is. Daniel doesn't bother asking what the notes say. He already knows—late arrivals. Attitude problems. Difficulty adjusting. It's written nicer in the file, but it always means the same thing. He's the problem bouncing around in the system, and in that system, he isn't a person. He's a number. Everything always seems to return to numbers. They run his life. In some district office somewhere, he's just a number flagged on a screen.

Daniel feels something settle in his chest—it's not panic, not anger, not anything. Just the feeling that this is already decided. There's no conversation to be had, not really. He's just here because he has to be, because this is the procedure, this is the explanation.

"We really do want to make sure you're getting the support you need, Daniel." Mr. Harris says. "But we also need to be clear about expectations, especially when you're joining classes that already started."

Daniel nods once more. It feels automatic.

"What happened today?"

He thinks about how hard it would be to explain all of it. How long it would take. How, even if he said it perfectly, it would still sound like an excuse.

"I was late," he says.

"Yes," Mr. Harris says. "And then?"

Daniel shrugs.

"There was an issue with how you spoke to Mr. Goode."

Daniel's jaw tightens. "I wasn't trying to be disrespectful."

"But that's how it came across," Mr. Harris replies. "When a student challenges the authority of a teacher, even in private, it's something we take very seriously."

Daniel looks back down at the desk. He doesn't say anything, it'll only make it worse.

"Teachers need to be able to manage their classrooms without students trying to undermine them," Mr. Harris continues. "Especially when they're already dealing with full classes and mid-year transfers."

Daniel almost laughs at that. It doesn't make it out.

"So what happens now?" He asks. He knows already.

Mr. Harris turns back to the computer. "You'll be called down weekly to meet with your counselor. Just to make sure you're adjusting right—your teachers will also be sending us weekly reports."

Daniel stares at the desk. Weekly. That means there's a target on his back—this is about more than today, it's about everything he does from this moment forward. Every class, every teacher. They'll assume they know him before he even opens his mouth.

"And I'll be calling your mother this afternoon." He adds.

Daniel thinks about his mom's voice when she's tired. The medicine cabinet that she always locks, apart from when she forgets. About how his dad will probably hear about this later and start another fight that no one ever really wins.

"We truly want to see you thrive, Daniel." Mr. Harris doesn't look up at him. "I don't want to see any more behavioral reports about you. Everything is a two-way street, meaning we need to see work on your end as well."

Daniel still doesn't say anything.

"Is there anything you want to tell me?" Mr. Harris asks.

Daniel thinks about how every time he's been in this chair, in every school he's ever been in, explaining makes it worse.

"No." he says quietly.

Mr. Harris studies him briefly. Daniel knows that look, he's trying to figure out whether he 'cares' or not. He must land on the former, because he sighs quietly before he speaks.

"Alright. Head to your third period class. I'll be following up with your mother."

Daniel nods and leaves, wondering if that means she'll already be tired when he gets home. He doesn't say anything, because anything he says will make this worse. When he steps back into the hallway, it's quieter than it was at lunch. Most people are already in class.

He doesn't go straight to class. He stops in the stairwell and sits on the step, staring at the wall. Longer than he means to—he doesn't realize how long he's been sitting there until the bell begins to echo through the halls.

The sound doesn't really snap him back into anything. All it tells him is that he's late. Again. There's another door he should be behind right now, and another teacher that's taking his name down in their notes.

He stands anyways. Staying here won't make it better, it just makes him later.

He starts down the stairs slowly, trailing his hand along the railing. The metal is cool against his palm. Something solid. He presses his thumb into the edge of it hard enough to leave a faint mark. Only to prove something will stay where he puts it. Something won't shift when he's not looking.

The rest of the day doesn't feel like that at all. It's just things that keep happening to him, another situation, another incident. Something else that isn't his fault but somehow is.

He thinks about his mom getting that call—the way she'll sigh before saying anything to him, because she knows what it's about. She'll tell him that it's fine, that they'll deal with it later. Later will turn into another argument with his dad, one where he sits against his door and tries his hardest to tune it out.

If he's even home tonight.

That thought is heavier than the others.

By the time he's at the bottom of the stairs, the hall is quiet again. Everyone is in class now, and he's alone in the hallway. Again. He adjusts his backpack on his shoulder, heading for the next door, bracing for the next version of the same conversation he's had a hundred times.

[coraliewhodraw]

Vampire Loversdeath AU?? Yeah