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okay man

#can i. can i post this here #idk man it isnt that bad #suggestive #at most #i have not played this game but i watched a friend play #and i was charmed by the characters #the outlast trials #franco barbi #mother gooseberry #franco x gooseberry #is there much shipping taking place in this fandom even. do they have a proper ship name #id propose babygoose/goosebaby

I have almost no physical pictures from the last fifteen years.

Ever since phones started spitting out good images, I’ve been storing memories into servers and screens, into the accidental black hole of an erased hard drive.

Once upon a time, hobbies had weight. A CD you could slip into your pocket, a yellow, brittle book, cassettes waiting to be rewound with a pencil. Tangible, holdable objects. Your passion could live in your pocket, your backpack, your hands. It could be shared through hands.

I’m holding a photo of me and my family, twenty-four years ago. The colors have curdled a little yellow, time smudging its fingerprints. Four smiles looking back at me, a good day.

Everyone in my family knows this picture exists; everyone knows I have it.

It has become an emotional landmark, the way a grandmother’s wedding dish becomes a landmark, passed down woman to woman, almost religious.

Do you understand?

I turn it over, KODAK Royal Paper staring back at me and my mother’s handwriting inked across the back: June 2001.

This photo will not be duplicated for safekeeping, I am the safekeeper.

Do you understand?

Memory, when passed through an object, becomes ritualized.

There used to be a time when such memories were passed hand to hand, in a dim kitchen corner on Christmas Eve, my grandmother’s whisper, when I die, make sure your mother has this, pointing at some unremarkable dish.

Except, of course, it is remarkable. Scaled white, what used to be gold finishes eroded from all of the memories of it I remember. This dish is two wars, four generations old.

I fear we are rapidly losing this part of humanity.

In the pursuit of making things cheaper and more accessible, we are making them weaker, too.

What will your great-great-granddaughter inherit from you? A Walmart two-for-one dish?

I hold the photo tighter.

I know when my parents are gone, I will still be able to find them here, in the faded edges, our fingerprints layered one atop the other. If I close my eyes, I can almost feel their arms around me again.

In 2025, print pictures. Offer them to the people you love. If you lack an heirloom, make one. Pass it on. Don’t let capitalism steal your tangible memories.

If your entire life is trapped in a glowing rectangle, you are outsourcing living memory. You need to wake up.

#mar gives the morning news #I found so many pictures from my childhood #and there are so few #and we cherish them #because there aren't 170000 #there are #at most #100.#spread across the whole family #memories #capitalism

Also Louis cannot hate or stay mad at Daniel. He loves him. Platonically. But he does

morrigan was definitely The Campus Cryptid WAY before she revealed herself as a wundersmith. no one knows what her knack is. no one has classes with her. she found the ghastly market by being nosy in a tricksy lane. people keep saying she was smuggled in. someone tried to pressure her into telling them what her knack was by throwing stars at her and the stars turned on them. she got tackled by a girl older than her because she blamed her for the disappearance of her boyfriend. she then proceeded to light the station on fire when said girl scratched her conductor. her entire unit hates her except for two people. she made her whole unit fail an exam and claimed she got kidnapped by bonesmen as an excuse. her patron is famous and also only wears neon. she's goth, she's socially inept, she's

#and there are only 81 scholars being schooled so EVERYONE knows EVERYONE'S business #i attended a private catholic school with around the same number and everyone knew each other's names #there were like. 6 people in my grade #at most #one year there were 9 people in grades 6-8 #i thought this was normal #anyways like NO ONE talked to morrigan other than when she got jumped #they were afraid of her istg #i half think the charlton five got dared to do it and refused to back down #she's so strange i love her #nevermoor #wundersmith #hollowpox

Raph came across Carmine while they were infiltrating a yokai gang's hideout. The team quickly came to realize they were selling more than just illegal weapons, and obviously set every single one free (in the Hidden City, which probably wasn't their best idea but uh, at least everyone is okay?) Carmine followed Raph and the others home and has been with them ever since!

Meanwhile...

Yeah, the mutant Leo was chasing grabbed a random stray wyrm from the alleyway and threw it at him as a distraction. It worked, the mutant got away. But hey, at least Leon has a new pal!

Letsgoo the bush is back

angel gained its wings again

Tho you look good with or without it

bush winners stay winning!

#this is barely a bush yet tho #id say. a lawn #at most #ftm nsft #t4t nsft #t4t #t4t mlm #mlm nsft #mdni #ftm switch #ftm mlm #my asks #my pics

My personal headcanon is that all of the Strilondes are tall except Dave, who’s just average. This is because a) I’m an obnoxious contrarian, and b) I feel that this would disappoint him and I’m mean.

Dave: bro being my dad sucks but at least I get his being 6’4” genes. those should be kicking in aaany day now.

Dirk, king of hyperspecific trivia about his timeline’s version of Dave Strider: Okay so here’s the thing-

#let him be 5'9"#at most #anna talking about stuff #homestuck #dave strider #dirk strider #best of anna talking

I have almost no physical pictures from the last fifteen years.

Ever since phones started spitting out good images, I’ve been storing memories into servers and screens, into the accidental black hole of an erased hard drive.

I’m holding a photo of me and my family, twenty-four years ago. The colors have curdled a little yellow, time smudging its fingerprints. Four smiles looking back at me, a good day.

Everyone in my family knows this picture exists; everyone knows I have it.

It has become an emotional landmark, the way a grandmother’s wedding dish becomes a landmark, passed down woman to woman, almost religious.

Do you understand?

I turn it over, KODAK Royal Paper staring back at me and my mother’s handwriting inked across the back: June 2001.

This photo will not be duplicated for safekeeping, I am the safekeeper.

Do you understand?

Memory, when passed through an object, becomes ritualized.

Except, of course, it is remarkable. Scaled white, what used to be gold finishes eroded from all of the memories of it I remember. This dish is two wars, four generations old.

I fear we are rapidly losing this part of humanity.

In the pursuit of making things cheaper and more accessible, we are making them weaker, too.

What will your great-great-granddaughter inherit from you? A Walmart two-for-one dish?

I hold the photo tighter.

In 2025, print pictures. Offer them to the people you love. If you lack an heirloom, make one. Pass it on. Don’t let capitalism steal your tangible memories.

If your entire life is trapped in a glowing rectangle, you are outsourcing living memory. You need to wake up.

#at most

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