#blips

[deepdishl0ser]

YO THATS MY ARM????

@biposi

[peloriq]

It’s happening!!

I am seeking about $3k to cover copay, medical supplies, transportation, and hotel stay.

Here are some ways you can support me!

Support PEL on Ko-fi! ❤️. ko-fi.com/peloriq

Support PEL On Ko-fi. Ko-fi lets you support the people and causes you love with small donations

^ I have both a donation drive and some characters listed for sale on my ko-fi!

And you can help me with some of those medical supplies by checking out this wishlist I have made:

Check out my list on Amazon

[yokaiwatchplayer]

Got another Yo-Kai for my YKW1 Medallium, Blips, and it took me between 16-17 attempts to befriend her ;-; (I'm saying between because I'm not sure I counted one of them, anyways) which makes me crash out since it only took me 10 for Tanbo, even though he is a higher rank, rare Yo-Kai, and has literally only two locations to get him + having maybe a 50% of actually finding him and not Darumacho, ++ I gave Blips the Nom Burger (best Burger) and I didn't even try to give Tanbo the best of his favorite food... wth 😭

Also fck you Lafalotta because I thought it was Blips at first and got so excited, and then I saw the name ;-;

[twitchingandsalivating]

[crumbleclub]

ficlet about conditioning and psychological torture.

canon to blips.

"Say it, Michael."

Tears covered his face, burning and uncomfortable. His eyes didn't leave the ground.

"But–"

He silenced as a hand came to rest on his shoulder, gripping hard enough to bruise, before it relaxed. A warning.

"Say it."

The stuttered inhale that rattled from his lungs was pathetic. He was pathetic.

"...I w-wanted to kill him."

A hand on his cheek. This touch was meant to be comforting; Father never went for the face, at least not on purpose.

It kind of was. The feeling of his own shoulders relaxing made Michael feel sick.

"And?"

"I'm... glad he's dead?" This was a question. He couldn't remember what William had asked for; the last few hours were a haze. Hours? Had it been that long?

Maybe he was misremembering.

Father smiled, so he must have done something right. It was a sick, sadistic grin that made Michael's skin crawl.

Right now, though, it was a promise of safety, at least for a moment.

"Look in the mirror, Michael."

Michael's chin rose. His eyes were red, his face blotchy. The blood on his lip started to scab where he'd bitten it, and he had to sniff to stop his nose from running.

Disgusting.

"What do you see?"

"A murderer."

William's smile finally reached his eyes. "Good."

He pushed Michael's hair back over his ears, and the boy fought the urge to squirm. He looked a lot more like his father with his hair out of the way.

"Look at me."

Michael did. A lifeless grey bore into him, the sparkle of amusement displaying the most joy he'd seen from his father in months.

Michael's eyes were blue. William said that they would fade, in time.

"Did you like to make your brother cry?"

"Yes."

A mantra, recited. The words were automatic.

Father's smile softened. This wasn't taunting; it was genuine happiness. This was William's only affection.

He paused before the next question. It was as if he was savoring the moment.

William's voice was quieter when he spoke again.

"Do you like to hurt people, Michael?"

Hesitation.

He couldn't wait too long, or he would be punished. Michael didn't need long, though; it was fine. He would just need to pretend he was answering something else.

"...Yes."

The arms that wrapped around Michael made him feel sick, as his father leaned down for a hug. He smelled like cigarettes and scotch and burnt metal. Michael thought he heard his father say good, but he wasn't sure. His head was swimming.

Michael's eyes flicked back to his reflection. He stared at himself from over his father's shoulder.

He was tall for his age, but William's figure dwarfed him. He looked small and fragile; a twisted creature made of paper and glass.

The only child he'd ever wanted to kill was the one who lived inside that mirror.

[belleshaw]

[rhymesalot]

Blips

I’m sick of heartbreak; it’s time to move past. But this isn’t a love poem, that’d be too fast. I won’t be pondering heaven or hell. So where does a recovering poet dwell. ~ Whether writers block or writer’s cramp, a king of yore or disheveled tramp, I’ve a reign of reams at my command. I’ve time and space in my hand. ~ I’ve a rocket ship that’s faster than light. I dance with spirits in the night. I’ve helmed a ship through stormy seas, wrestled a friend in a hive of bees. ~ I’ve felt love and feel it missed. A new day’s today and sunshine kissed. And though this poem has no middle or end, it’s a blip in cyberspace, again to send.

~*~ SCK113018

[maelizwriting-blog]

For a year and a half I longed for you. Hoped for you. Craved you. Missed you.

For eighteen months I prayed for your happiness Because mine or not, You still deserved joy.

Though, Your smile was always too kind to her. Her words, Too mean. She preaches against you, But I know otherwise. You are better than her venom. Worth more than her poison.

A year and a half ago I walked away Because when it was my heart that brought you comfort, You wanted her to be your light. 

She was right for you, You said. She loved you, She said.

But she is gone now, And I refuse to abandon you in darkness a second time.