I'm Tuesday. I'm 25+. I'm tired. I don't particularly like Tumblr. I'm not going to be here much.
This blog is mostly to pop in on here and there and reconnect with a couple old friends. I RP mostly off-site these days. I have a vast preference for discord or direct DMs.
Don't follow me if you're under 21. This blog will frequently have tagged gore and body horror. Keep me the fuck out of OOC drama. I'm just here to sometimes play an alien on the internet.
If I don't follow you back don't take it as a sign I don't want to interact. I'm too exhausted on any given day to keep up with an active dashboard.
Don't mix IC and OOC. For the love of god. Kyrril is a cannibal with a God Complex. I am too tired and too old to be dealing with this sort of thing.
For every ∯ I get I will say/confess something without specifying for whom it is meant
eg:
∯ || You told me once that I was the only person on that team you might consider a friend… I can say now that I should have taken you at your word long ago.
∯ || I wish we had more occasion to speak. I can’t say I’ve ever disliked your company.
∯ || Leave the van Gogh works be; you’re going to give him an ulcer.
sometimes i think about kyrril and his homesickness. and the way that no matter how much he loathes the clurch and all he was raised in, he'll always miss it like a limb. and sometimes i think about the sheer amount of times he's killed his former self (metaphorically, not literally) because he wants so desperately to be something fresh and new.
and sometimes i think about how especially after molting, after being abandoned by the empire, which was not even surprising or distressing for him, that wound only deepened. how he looks at castemates on his dashboard and aches in ways that make him want to throw up. how he has everything he's ever wanted in life, safety and peace and love, and doesn't know the first thing about how to exist happy
anyway theres something about wanting to forget your past so badly that you make it impossible to accept it and actually move on that is just. 👌
-> One moment, life as you know it is as calm as ever.
The next, reality seemed to explode.
Quite literally, too. The very fabric of the world around you ripples, a pit in your stomach settled in an instant. You have never truly bothered to wrap your head around the dream bubbles, even if the realm is your birthright by caste, but you know well enough to know at your core that whatever shakes the earth is bad. Around your neck, Scarf evaporated. At your collarbones, that delicate carved horn almost seems to make your skin ache. As the home you’d grown so used to unravels, you grab it - Yet before you can teleport, they appear before you.
Not a day has gone by that you’ve not looked to your lover as though they are divine. The cosmos etched into their skin, so vast and unrelenting. It sings to you in subtleties that have long since grown familiar and comforting, now absent in the being as they gather you in their arms. They have always been grand, dignified, a deity you could happily spend the rest of your existence tethered to. One you will, if only you could pick a date.
Now, though.
Now, they are different.
Vast in a different sense, you can feel it in the air around you. No longer empty, but overflowing. Light, where there was darkness. The simple presence of them stings your eyes, the yellow-orange you fought so hard to maintain snapping warning-red in an instant. They are feathers, grand and unyielding, and though that familiarity still rings true, the mere sight of them lances through your heart like a knife.
The first thing you feel is anger, hot and vibrant. Not aimed towards Loom, perfection that they are - But yourself. Something in yourself preens at the visage of a veritable angel, pusher pounding behind your ribs. It's unbecoming, the reverence that fills you, equal parts awe and fear.
You've read about beings like this, before your excommunication. Alien creatures of divine judgement, harbingers of an all-consuming end, prophets whispering deafening truths into the still-bleeding ears of wicked prophets. Once, you prayed that could be you. Once, you recited scripture warning of their deeds, of the fates that could befall any brother or sister of yours that dare stray too far off the path.
They're distressed. You can feel it radiating off them. The anger comes in the form of disgust, loathing yourself for the relief you find in the simple sight of them. Homesickness gnaws at your ribs like a trapped rat, and had they not been gathering you towards the transportalizer, you're certain you'd have dropped to your knees, prayers spilling off your tongue.
Fortunately, you're not given the chance. Before you know it, you're somewhere new and foreign, a blind spouse in your arms, and no home to return to. It's enough to force your fucking pan back into alignment, even if just for the time being, ripping you away from that nauseating nostalgia. There are bigger things, more important things to worry about. You have a your beloved to look after, entering that familiar state of black-and-white problem solving you're so reliant on.
But it doesn't stop the way your gaze lingers. It doesn't stop the quiet prayers that whisper in your mind.
M!A: For the next week, you are no longer a being of the void. Another aspect from the Game will be your domain, at the mun's discretion.
[ The darkness, now light. All that had made you, gone.
Once upon a time you were an Heir of Void. You died, then died again in the maw of something much bigger than you'll ever understand.
Once upon a time, you could have been an Heir of Light. Dead, and dead again in the arms of pure, blinding light. Halos, feathers, knowledge, and still so many eyes.
The persistent, baying hunger that always reminds you of yourself is almost, gone. But you are still a Zahhak. You are still Equius. But now, you are dead. For real this time. And, you are blind. But you know now, too. You know everything, and it's right there. So much information that you could almost vomit. ]
[ At the moment of impact, the dreambubble pops. The one which Equius has called home for sweeps. It is also where @mediculled , your beloved, has made his home. Scarf, Bag, they both vanish.
And it ripples out.
@mysticalseamstress may notice her eye, the blue one, glows white. It cannot see. Her name twists and contorts as it bends with its new box. @infiniteproxy may notice his pain come flooding back in. @lostlittlerobot's chassis may change, as will her (lack) of memories. And many more such tricks and trinkets.
But worst of all, your void is gone. Your void is gone. Your void is gone. Your void is gone. Your void is gone. Your void is gone. Your void is gone. Your void is gone. Y̸̝͛o̷͉͋u̶̪͝ṟ̴̽ ̶͙͛v̶͇̉ọ̸̆i̶̳̐d̶̝͐ ̴͓̇i̷͕͛s̸̙̓ ̸̨̈́ğ̵̟o̵͇͂n̶̡̏ẽ̵̘.̸̦͑ ̷͎̈́Y̸̝͛o̷͉͋u̶̪͝ṟ̴̽ ̶͙͛v̶͇̉ọ̸̆i̶̳̐d̶̝͐ ̴͓̇i̷͕͛s̸̙̓ ̸̨̈́ğ̵̟o̵͇͂n̶̡̏ẽ̵̘.̸̦͑ ̷͎̈́Y̸̝͛o̷͉͋u̶̪͝ṟ̴̽ ̶͙͛v̶͇̉ọ̸̆i̶̳̐d̶̝͐ ̴͓̇i̷͕͛s̸̙̓ ̸̨̈́ğ̵̟o̵͇͂n̶̡̏ẽ̵̘.̸̦͑ ̷͎̈́Y̸̝͛o̷͉͋u̶̪͝ṟ̴̽ ̶͙͛v̶͇̉ọ̸̆i̶̳̐d̶̝͐ ̴͓̇i̷͕͛s̸̙̓ ̸̨̈́ğ̵̟o̵͇͂n̶̡̏ẽ̵̘.̸̦͑ ̷͎̈́Ÿ̸̤o̷̼͐u̷̩̥̚͝r̶̦̄ ̶̢̛͇͂v̴̡̈́̌ö̸̰́͊i̵̗̒̕d̴̳̓ ̷̻̿̕i̷̝̗͂s̶̨̛̙ ̶͈͖͋̊g̵̯̥͆o̸͍͓͂n̷͕̲̓e̷̞̦͂.̶͕͋͌ ̷̖͌̆Ÿ̸̤o̷̼͐u̷̩̥̚͝r̶̦̄ ̶̢̛͇͂v̴̡̈́̌ö̸̰́͊i̵̗̒̕d̴̳̓ ̷̻̿̕i̷̝̗͂s̶̨̛̙ ̶͈͖͋̊g̵̯̥͆o̸͍͓͂n̷͕̲̓e̷̞̦͂.̶͕͋͌ ̷̖͌̆Ÿ̸̤o̷̼͐u̷̩̥̚͝r̶̦̄ ̶̢̛͇͂v̴̡̈́̌ö̸̰́͊i̵̗̒̕d̴̳̓ ̷̻̿̕i̷̝̗͂s̶̨̛̙ ̶͈͖͋̊g̵̯̥͆o̸͍͓͂n̷͕̲̓e̷̞̦͂.̶͕͋͌ ̷̖͌̆Y̸̡͉͎̯̯͗o̷̫͙̽̐̐ů̵̘̩̱͈͒̈́͗͛r̴̬̹̱̯̐͊͊̃̍ ̵͖̼̟̇v̷̨̑̅͗̒̂ơ̶̡̘̖̎i̶̜͚̲̥̊̈́̋̇d̷̰̜̐̒̚ ̷͕͗̀i̸̱̟̓͐s̴͈̲̳̥͆́̃ ̴̳̮̺̚͝g̵̝̜͆̎͘o̶̩̊͑͜ͅñ̴̤͙̦̤̑̊ẹ̶̵̙̝͕̪͛̀̽̃͑͊́̒͜E̶̱̯̤̯̙̅̓̀͂̇.̵̨̹̫́ ̷̗̪̱͙̳̍Y̸̡͉͎̯̯͗o̷̫͙̽̐̐ů̵̘̩̱͈͒̈́͗͛r̴̬̹̱̯̐͊͊̃̍ ̵͖̼̟̇v̷̨̑̅͗̒̂ơ̶̡̘̖̎i̶̜͚̲̥̊̈́̋̇d̷̰̜̐̒̚ ̷͕͗̀i̸̱̟̓͐s̴͈̲̳̥͆́̃ ̴̳̮̺̚͝g̵̝̜͆̎͘o̶̩̊͑͜ͅñ̴̤͙̦̤̑̊ẹ̶̙̝͕͛̀̽̃͑. Y̵̢͈̱̪̜͉̭̊ô̶̱u̵͉͇͚̦͙̇̉̑r̶̫̳̩̳̀͑͐̉̆̕ͅ ̸̢̧̭͙̈̿̈́͊̀̇̒͜v̸̛̮̝͌̐̽͆̕̚o̴̱̯̞͙̜̥͐͝ĩ̸̬̘͖͚̥̳̋̽͋̐̐͊̎͜ḑ̷̺̩͙̟̥͔̄̑͒͜͝ ̶͕̬͎̖̦͂ͅȉ̷̢̖̰̂s̷̢̺̺̗͋̀͐͝ ̷̢̦̺̘̣̱͐̑͐̽̊̓̂g̶͓͙̐̓͐̇̈͑̔͝ỏ̵̡̢̗̼͓͇̥̇́̏͑̂̽n̴͇̞̱͉̭͍̲͊͛̌̊̈́̆͠e̷̤͖̱͔̤̐͊̽́́̉̒͗.̸̨̲͚͉̯̘͑̓͋̉͗͠ ̵̨̖̓̾̔̔̀͒͋Y̷̢̛̛̱̲̿̉͆̍̉̇̑̈̚o̶̧̢̪͚͈̠̟̝͙̥͌͂̾̋͠ͅů̶̬̺͎͕̥̹̻̤͕̽̄r̷̡̜̅̒͒̈́͝ ̵̧̱̩̝̜͐̿̿͋͘͜v̸̤͈̝̩̀̏͆̓͗͝͠o̷̢̳̝̘̙̒̇͗͜ͅͅͅí̷̙͔̞͒͜ͅd̸̢̧̦̥̜͖͉̟̅̄̎̇͋ ̴̻̖͚͊̽͋į̶͕͚̏̊̒̑̋̇̑s̴͔̲͖̀͒̋̄͗ ̵̧͉̯̠͈̍ͅg̴̪͆́̀̑̀̇̑̉͒͠ǫ̷̻̯̠̻̖̩̩̈́n̶̮̤̠͂͆͆͗͆̃̒ͅę̵͙̼͓̻̬̓̊.̶̨̬̖͍͍͓̘̭̳͍̞̿͂̑̒̐͋̈͝ ̷̨̡͇̬͍̥͋̀Y̵̛͎̻̹̤̼̍̊͆̐̈́̃́̽̀͗o̷̡̨̧̢͍̺͙̳̹̪͎̫̖͍͚͎̭͉̭̹̼͓͔͕̜͚̫̗̳̥͕͖̎̽͊̉̆́͂̔̒͒̐͒̓̆͑̓̆̓́̓̿̍̎͛̋͆͆̔̓̆̓̅̚͠͝͝ͅų̵̧̛̜̬̖̬̝͎͚̬͙̲̟͚͔̻̃͂̍̊̚r̵̨̧̰̝͓̦̤̘͈̱̙͍̺̠̺̟̝͕̱͕̟̯͍̗̤̫̈́̿̐̋̆̎̐̇̀̈͑̈́̊͋͗̐̈́͌̑̎͋̀̏͝ͅͅ ̴̡̧̨̢̢̢̛̺͉͉̯̲̠͔̩̮̞̝̱͓̪̥̯͍̭̳̩͕̻̖̊͒͑̽̃̋̀̐͛͋̑̎̊͝v̵̨̤͚̭̬̬̝̙̰̹̤̤̫̯͚̬̣͇̩̙̦̼͉̤͈͔͇͈̼̘̆̃͜͜͠ǫ̴̧̡̡̨̛̯̻̖̳̲̞̩͎̬̭̙͉̮͙̬̩̣͓̬̙̞͙͖̖̠͊̈́̏̒̈̃̒̄̑́́̄́͂͋͘͘͘̚̕̚͜͠͠ͅḭ̵̡̡̛̛̞̣͙̭̓̎̊̽͌͛͐̇͐͐͌̏̐͋͌̂͛͒̐̆̀̏͒̋͐̓̉̇̇̔͘͘̕͜͜ḏ̸̛̼͎͔̮͓͚͙̯̰͇͉̣̱̐́͋̈́̎̊̊̒̓͐͛̆͋͛͗̐̌͂͗͆̊̚͠͝ͅ ̸̨̧̡̣̠̯͇͍̝̩̰̪̖̳̩͕̹͇͖̭̺̼̰̹̫̦̲̳̟̱͚͓̜̘̺͙̼̾̉̽̋̔̋̓̍̈̓̈́͂̎̐̋́͌͒͗̽́̔̚̕͜͠͝͠į̶̨̗̟̤̣̳̲͓̼͈͉̼̜͎͉̯͔̭̙̼̳̜̺̼̟̝̖͚̩͇̭͙͎̺̭̤͊̇̈̐́͌̑̑̒͒̈́̄̏́̓͑̊̋̊̕̚̕̚͜ͅs̵̡͚̳̻̞͔̱̬͕̺̻̳͙͎͙̯̫͊͑̀̓͐̾̎̓̓͘ ̶̧̛̝̣͙̪͆̽́̀͊̌̓͗͒͆̈́́̔̎̒̍̈̏̌̆͗͆́̚̚͝ĝ̴̨̡̨̨̛̮̖̭̰͚͕̙̦̥̱͇͈̣̩͔̻̳̘͕͓̝͎̞̟̃̽̐͆̓̂̍̀̑͆̄̈́̾̀̀͂̈́͆̀͋̋̆͆͛̈̐̈́͆̀͘͘͘͝ͅŏ̶̡͎̼͈̰̘̟̖͕͉̝̱̯͖̭͔͎̭͍̹͕̳̅̈́̔͂̓̓͊̂͌̇͋͑̒͗͑̅̋̒̓́͒́̀͐̀̇̾͘̚̕͠͠͠͠n̴̛͇̭͍̱̝̫̹̖͕̮͐͛̅͌͛́̍̍͊̓̃͆̄̾̓̾͂͑ë̴̡̧̢͙͈̲͈̯͇̺̝͖͕̺̯͎͔̝͙̦̹̬̯͚̹̘̠͎͍̣͕̳̘͉́̄̂̄͒͐̀͒̃̂́̆͌͌̑̔̾̚.̴̧̧̡̬̣̝̜͉͍͇͓͔̯̖̼̻̣̙̱̤̳̝̥̹̪͕̳̪͉̲̙̦͒͋́̈́͂͂̎͂̄̈́̿̎̃͜ͅ ̶̛̛̤̫̬̻͑͗̄̇̌̽̉̐́̓̏͐̿̿͐̓̒̾̄͆̉̈́͗́̾̾͗̃͋̚͘͘̚͝͝Y̵̛͎̻̹̤̼̍̊͆̐̈́̃́̽̀͗o̷̡̨̧̢͍̺͙̳̹̪͎̫̖͍͚͎̭͉̭̹̼͓͔͕̜͚̫̗̳̥͕͖̎̽͊̉̆́͂̔̒͒̐͒̓̆͑̓̆̓́̓̿̍̎͛̋͆͆̔̓̆̓̅̚͠͝͝ͅų̵̧̛̜̬̖̬̝͎͚̬͙̲̟͚͔̻̃͂̍̊̚r̵̨̧̰̝͓̦̤̘͈̱̙͍̺̠̺̟̝͕̱͕̟̯͍̗̤̫̈́̿̐̋̆̎̐̇̀̈͑̈́̊͋͗̐̈́͌̑̎͋̀̏͝ͅͅ ̴̡̧̨̢̢̢̛̺͉͉̯̲̠͔̩̮̞̝̱͓̪̥̯͍̭̳̩͕̻̖̊͒͑̽̃̋̀̐͛͋̑̎̊͝v̵̨̤͚̭̬̬̝̙̰̹̤̤̫̯͚̬̣͇̩̙̦̼͉̤͈͔͇͈̼̘̆̃͜͜͠ǫ̴̧̡̡̨̛̯̻̖̳̲̞̩͎̬̭̙͉̮͙̬̩̣͓̬̙̞͙͖̖̠͊̈́̏̒̈̃̒̄̑́́̄́͂͋͘͘͘̚̕̚͜͠͠ͅḭ̵̡̡̛̛̞̣͙̭̓̎̊̽͌͛͐̇͐͐͌̏̐͋͌̂͛͒̐̆̀̏͒̋͐̓̉̇̇̔͘͘̕͜͜ḏ̸̛̼͎͔̮͓͚͙̯̰͇͉̣̱̐́͋̈́̎̊̊̒̓͐͛̆͋͛͗̐̌͂͗͆̊̚͠͝ͅ ̸̨̧̡̣̠̯͇͍̝̩̰̪̖̳̩͕̹͇͖̭̺̼̰̹̫̦̲̳̟̱͚͓̜̘̺͙̼̾̉̽̋̔̋̓̍̈̓̈́͂̎̐̋́͌͒͗̽́̔̚̕͜͠͝͠į̶̨̗̟̤̣̳̲͓̼͈͉̼̜͎͉̯͔̭̙̼̳̜̺̼̟̝̖͚̩͇̭͙͎̺̭̤͊̇̈̐́͌̑̑̒͒̈́̄̏́̓͑̊̋̊̕̚̕̚͜ͅs̵̡͚̳̻̞͔̱̬͕̺̻̳͙͎͙̯̫͊͑̀̓͐̾̎̓̓͘ ̶̧̛̝̣͙̪͆̽́̀͊̌̓͗͒͆̈́́̔̎̒̍̈̏̌̆͗͆́̚̚͝ĝ̴̨̡̨̨̛̮̖̭̰͚͕̙̦̥̱͇͈̣̩͔̻̳̘͕͓̝͎̞̟̃̽̐͆̓̂̍̀̑͆̄̈́̾̀̀͂̈́͆̀͋̋̆͆͛̈̐̈́͆̀͘͘͘͝ͅŏ̶̡͎̼͈̰̘̟̖͕͉̝̱̯͖̭͔͎̭͍̹͕̳̅̈́̔͂̓̓͊̂͌̇͋͑̒͗͑̅̋̒̓́͒́̀͐̀̇̾͘̚̕͠͠͠͠n̴̛͇̭͍̱̝̫̹̖͕̮͐͛̅͌͛́̍̍͊̓̃͆̄̾̓̾͂͑ë̴̡̧̢͙͈̲͈̯͇̺̝͖͕̺̯͎͔̝͙̦̹̬̯͚̹̘̠͎͍̣͕̳̘͉́̄̂̄͒͐̀͒̃̂́̆͌͌̑̔̾̚.̴̧̧̡̬̣̝̜͉͍͇͓͔̯̖̼̻̣̙̱̤̳̝̥̹̪͕̳̪͉̲̙̦͒͋́̈́͂͂̎͂̄̈́̿̎̃͜ͅ ̶̛̛̤̫̬̻͑͗̄̇̌̽̉̐́̓̏͐̿̿͐̓̒̾̄͆̉̈́͗́̾̾͗̃͋̚͘͘̚͝͝ ]
[ You have no time to react. The only thing you manage to do is grab Kyrril and his rat, before lodging yourselves into the transportilizer. Whatever the last coordinates were, that is where you both end up. ]
Blood test results are back. 0’s across the board, dry as a bone under the hood, they’re not sure what they’ve got in those vials but it recoils from light and lunges towards living tissue, which is all normal for girls these days.
