me: *replies to something six months ago* me: sorry im late
Today's Document
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he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Monterey Bay Aquarium

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oozey mess

@theartofmadeline

Origami Around
Claire Keane

Discoholic 🪩
Mike Driver

祝日 / Permanent Vacation
Sweet Seals For You, Always

Love Begins
One Nice Bug Per Day

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@motoshock
me: *replies to something six months ago* me: sorry im late
PSA: You don’t need to apologize for being inactive.
If you have a lot of crazy stuff happening in your life, do not feel guilty over letting your activity drop while you deal with it.
You can post updates, sure. Your followers will appreciate knowing you haven’t vanished off the face of the earth. But none of them want you to plead for forgiveness and stress yourself out further with what’s usually self-inflicted guilt!
And anyone who expects you to rp during a hard time in your life is toxic and should be unfollowed, if not blocked, immediately.
You are not there to write for their entertainment. You are a person. You have problems just as much as the rest of us, and that’s okay.
HE WAS A VILLAIN FIRST. ( cred. )
he is the death of hope.
( home ) / ( inbox ) / ( begin )
‛ written by ali
streetspeakin:
‘ SO DO IT, man. ’ because now they’re talking; that free-spirit spitfire that clint was RAISED on, brows hitched with a genuine sort of interest to fuel that familiar flame.
‘ i mean – you know, listening to yourself every once in a while? following that gut feeling? s’one of the most human things you can do. your body knows what it wants more than you do and you gotta feed that urge sometimes. sky’s the limit. ’ and because he knows he’s being vague, he shortens the distance between them to land a firm hand on mo’s shoulder; just for a little support. ‘ —— ever heard of wanderlust? ’
“I DON’T THINK my gut is right.” he murmurs silently, shaking his head. he’s never felt more defeated about anything before. usually his heavy optimism is enough to wear down even the most pessimistic of people.
“’cause i’m so TIRED, clint. i’ve been running for forever. i want to look at some flowers, i want to eat some brownie cakes, i want to hug small puppies and prank old guys in suits. it’s not my gut -- it’s my instinct. my instinct wants to run but -- but i want to stay.”
he lets out a huff, cringing as if he’d just wounded a frail creature of sorts. features sadden, and his hands fall in his pockets. “what’s wanderlust?”
/licks mo's forehead
shoving past an urge to be thrown into a fit of giggles, he cants his head to the side, grinning widely. “why do you DO these things you DO?”
streetspeakin:
‘ mmmm. ’ a sound of either genuine empathy for the other’s circumstances, or one of an idle weariness that lets the former part of that conversation breeze on by. ( he’d never considered just how EXHAUSTING it was, having to explain simple things all the time. )
‘ A’IGHT. fair enough, or whatever. i’m jus’ gonna tell you though, there’s a lotta better ways out there to be human than letting yourself fry in some classroom like an egg on the sidew – ’ was he gonna get that reference? clint cuts himself short. ‘ – nothing. ’
shoulders fall into a slouch, one drooping lower than the other as the other explains what they did. the grin is quick to collapse among features that once thought they knew what they were talking about, but clint’s words crashed into those implications like the rocks settled beneath niagara falls.
“better ways?” he asks, less inclined to inquire about alternate ways of expressing his humanity, and more inclined to find out what could POSSIBLY be better than the standard push-shove of the american nightmare.
“what do you think i should do? i know i was kind of stubborn about it before but ... ... this doesn’t seem like where i should be. i’m trying to figure things out on my own, but my gut wants to go miles away.”
streetspeakin:
‘ that’s easily the WORST god damn thing i’ve ever heard get said. and i’ve heard a guy threaten to carve my eyes out with a taco bell spork. ’
( both true. )
‘ but i dunno, man. college – c’mon. convince me AGAIN that this is a good idea on your part. ’
“gro-ooo-oss,” he said with a tickled grin not sure how he felt about that mental picture in particular. “i didn’t know taco bells had sporks.”
though, admittedly, he wasn’t entirely sure how a bell made of tacos could be physically sound, or even PRACTICALLY sound, for that matter.
“i ----” brows furrow, and he’s squinting at the other. “it makes me feel more human, i guess.”
streetspeakin
“i ---- i don’t know. it’s kinda hard, but not like i don’t get what they’re talking about, it’s just a lot of reading, and a lot of BIG words, and not enough doing anything. we talk about the theory of doing stuff but i like a more hands-on way.”
who tagged me in a thing
streetspeakin:
‘ uh.
‘ okay?
very hesitantly–because he knows at this point that questioning the weird shit mo does on the regular is absolutely pointless–he offers his hand, thumb jutting upward with his fingers curled into his fist.
for a cell phone?
it’s a quick process, really. he takes hold of the other’s thumb, and presses it to the fingerprint scanner a few times, each resulting in a satisfying bzzt of a confirmation from the phone. one the fingerprint was processed, he grins.
“okay, now unlock it, and open the archery app.”
streetspeakin:
he’d beaten up kids with smaller glasses for less.
‘ know what, man? nothin’ would fuckin’ make my day more. shoot.
if it was possible to develop arthritis in one project, he would’ve. bandaged arms and grease riddled features hint he debugged, tested, debugged again, rinse, repeat, repeat, repeat, THEN immediately found clint.
“gimme your thumb.”
streetspeakin
“wanna see this cool cell phone i made?”
he asks, wiggling his eyebrows at the other, as if he had the biggest secret in the UNIVERSE; which to him, he did. he could barely contain his excitement.
streetspeakin:
‘ that’s not —
HE LETS IT GO. short part of the something is right, be it straw or stick or fuckin’ stegosaurus; a hefty five-hundred ( he knows, his eyes had counted ) that he doesn’t even glance at twice because he’s too wrapped up in a tale of MUTANTS & THEIR MAKERS. clint got the short part of an s-word, alright, because he’s left wanting more.
‘ y’know, the earliest game i ever played was pokemon pearl. kinda fucked up, yeah? we were the slim pickin’s of the last generation to have these thick ol’ gameboys and i didn’t get a DS til i was fifteen. i think my brother had one–i had a brother–and i think he had this little gameboy, it was purple, or maybe red, i dunno, but it was the one thing he didn’t like sharin’ ‘cuz he knew that it’d get in the wrong hands if i wasn’t careful and we’d both lose it. which was kinda pointless in the end ‘cuz we lost it anyway, i guess.
there’s a hazy flash in the back of his head of the console in question obliterating into a hundred and one tiny pieces under the heavy boot of the so-called man of the house, followed by a flying FIST that knocked the rest of the memory straight out of him. ( dad wasn’t a fan of games. )
clint spends the rest of that statement staring off into the smoky swirls embed- ded into the wood of the table. the butt of his fork taps rhythmically against the surface; he’s neither nervous nor comfortable, but rather stuck in some sort of odd middleground of the two , like the feeling you get when you’ve dozed off heavily in a daydream and you really need to snap yourself out of it. something inaudible slips out in the mumble of chapped lips–a personal thought, quietly reminiscing how his brother had only gotten four badges by the end of it all, before he drags his gaze back up to nearly meet mo’s.
‘ … hey, SPARKPLUG. you got any plans later?
MOTOSHOCK, slayer of all things electronic, righteous heir to zeus’ throne, probably, and genius technopath extraordinaire, has himself never finished a pokémon game. he was super good at starting them, he was super good at catching them, but he could never wholly finish a game. he didn’t know what to blame it on. his commitment issues? his inability to allow a story to truly end? or maybe it was the way actually beating the elite four was set up? either way, he knows he has a stash of unfinished pokémon games and nintendo consoles back at his motel room, and he’s more than a little bit frustrated about it.
“you can borrow my gameboy if you want. --your brother can too. i don’t mind.” he offers clint what he thinks is a supporting grin, but it probably just came off as a stitch-grimace. the other seemed ... ... ... saddened by the story. which, in turn, made him feel sad. they should get cotton candy, or something. that usually makes him feel a lot better.
at the question, mo cocks his head to the side. any plans? he never really had plans. he just sort of ... wings it, all the time. “nope. i just sort of wing it. all the time.” he states, a direct quote from his mind palace.
jsyk streetspeakin
motoshock:
i’m diggin it, i’m diggin it, but honestly? we need to up the ante
OH MY goD
jsyk streetspeakin