#- j

[kromazque]

dont talk to me

reference screenshot:

[corset]

Tonight for dinner i had ice cream and chicken strips also i talked with my dear friend and it was super cool and i made a horse in the sims and listened to music and that was all also super cool anyways does nu metal hands at you goodnight anyone who is still up at this scary hour 2 Aye Em

[filenesdebasement]

“Sometimes a guinea pig is just a head with feet. These are called babies. These are their stories.”

[clever-and-unique-name]

Yesterday at the diner, husband could tell I was in my head about some things. I didn't feel cranky exactly, but I was responding to things a bit aggressively and my words were more curt and abrasive. It's what happens when I'm busy trying to beat back my feelings with a rolled up newspaper and also participate in conversation.

Husband asked me what had me in a bad mood, and I tried to brush it off. Just a stupid spiral from a dream that I couldn't get out of, etc. Stupid thoughts about things that can't be changed.

He gives me A Look and says, "Well, those thoughts are going to be in there anyway, you may as well talk to me about them. Maybe they'll even find their way out of your head for a while."

And god damn it, he was right. I talked about my stupid feelings, they turned into Our stupid feelings, and then they left me alone for the rest of the day.

[grayscale-kaleidoscope]

God, I don't care. We can do whatever with work today. Sit and enjoy a coffee. Zone out for a while. Fuck it, whatever. I'll protect us from whatever backlash comes, though I doubt there will be any. We're so understaffed they're just happy we showed up.

This entire week has been way too fucking busy, and I just can't be fucked anymore. So fine. God. Fuck.

[thelunastusco]

As someone who’s both a fictive in a system, and fictionkin with a few different kintypes, the simplest analogy I know how to describe the difference is this:

Being a fictive is like waking up in bed from a long, deep sleep. You know your mind and self was somewhere else before you woke up. Sometimes you remember what, sometimes not. Sometimes it was okay, sometimes it was bad. But either way you’re here now, not there in the darkness, and you can start your day.

Being fictionkin is like going about your day minding your own business, and then slamming your most sensitive toe into a box that you didn’t know was there. And after you go “shit goddamn it son of a b--” you open the box to see what the fuck you just ran into, and go “oh....... that”.

Idk that’s the best way I can sum it up.

[stagehandedarchive]

img dump.