seen from Yemen
seen from France
seen from Barbados
seen from Japan
seen from Japan
seen from United States
seen from Ireland
seen from Türkiye
seen from Tunisia
seen from Ukraine
seen from Morocco
seen from Australia
seen from Germany
seen from India
seen from Türkiye
seen from Sweden
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from Germany
seen from Russia
my favorite book of the year was the echo wife which starts from the premise 'scientist who pioneered human cloning finds that her husband stole her research to cheat on her with a clone of herself' and gets even more balls to the wall with every subsequent chapter
ok premise of all time.... if balls to the wall entails gay clone stuff this could change the entire game
yusef puddles for the song meme!
Ora dolphin Ora dolphan Ora dolphin, dolphan, dolphon
"Crystal Dolphins" by Engelwood
jon & luis + closet
(crime au. jon & luis are rival hitmen both sent separately to kill the same guy. they’re teaming up about it.)
jon’s been on a lot of missions involving luis—which is why she barely blinks when luis loops xir arm around her waist, xir expression as casual as always as xe murmurs to her. “follow me, i’ve got us somewhat of an in.”
“cerveza isn’t down and around? mingling with the crowds?”
“he has a date tonight,” luis explains, smile curling up further. “a shame of a time to pick it, right?”
jon snorts, placing one hand on luis’ back as they continue to walk towards a side hallway they certainly shouldn’t be in. it’s late enough into the night that none of the other guests pay them a second glace; that is, all except one lone security guard near the door. “a shame,” she replies, flatly, “and a shame we’re going to be followed. well, acevedo?”
💌!
this is a love letter to the cancelled nbc sitcom "go on"
okay hear me out. i have no idea if this show is actually good, but i watched it when i was fourteen. but it's one of those things that burrowed into me when i was a teenager and changed the way i think about storytelling and the stories i want to tell
the basic premise is: matthew perry plays a radio dj whose wife just died. his boss mandates that he goes to a support group, so it's a wacky sitcom about... the support group! led by laura benanti, who should really not be in charge of anything. there's a big group, and a couple of them are more jokes than characters, but one thing i remember is there's a mean lesbian whose wife died, and i think that was the first ever gay character i saw other than like... jack harkness and glee.
this is one of those things where i don't know why this stuck with me so much, and i can't necessarily articulate it, but i feel like you can see this show's influence in my writing. grief is a horrible, hard thing, but it can be the basis of a sitcom, or a friendship. you can write about horrible things and do it with love and joy and affection.
"i'm just tired." + derrick and jaylen
self-indulgent au where jaylen got killed instead of shadowed bc i. think abt jaylen in the trench again a lot
It’s the third time Jaylen’s died, and she still hasn’t figured out where the fuck her room in the trench is.
The first time, she’d been too far gone to even process it when hallways and rooms started branching from the field. The second, she’d spent most of fighting; god fucking knows enough people’d wanted a piece of her, and by the time she’d been called up with the Hall Stars she’d been tired, yes, bloodied, yes, but victorious.
She settles this time for sitting at the base of her statue in the Hall — still of the first time she was incinerated, as if nothing but that initial martyrdom matters, the bright-eyed excitement on her marble face before anyone’d known what this splort could really do. She sits, and she waits to be pulled to the field to pitch, like the first two times, and she waits for someone else to come into the room, and she waits for fucking anything, and none of it happens.
Until there’s footsteps, harsh against the stone floors. They walk slow and aimless, then stop in their tracks, and by the time she looks up Derrick’s back is to her and beating a hasty retreat. She can’t fucking blame him for it, but still she calls out, voice echoing far too loudly. “Wait.” She regrets it as soon as it’s out, but it’s too late to take it back.
Derrick stops. “Hello again, friend of a friend,” he says, static tilting the words sarcastic.
“Don’t make it weird,” she snaps, then winces, then digs her palms into the sharp corners of the statue’s pedestal to keep herself from saying anything else she’ll wish she hadn’t.
“I had no idea what you meant.” He looks back at her, just close enough for her to see him rolling his eyes. Static whirrs like he’s speaking under his breath, but she can’t make out if there’s any words in it. Can’t read his expression.
“Can you —” she cuts off, pride preventing her from actually asking for help, even here, dead three times over and talking to someone who probably wants nothing more than for her to be gone. “Listen, I need a favor.”
“I never promised you a thing, what do you want me to do?” Even with the distance and through the radio she can feel the bitterness in it. Which is — whatever, it’s fair, their last conversation wasn’t exactly on great terms, even if she did make sure to slip a if I get incinerated you’ll talk to me in the trench right clause that’d gone mostly-ignored.
“Listen, dude, if anyone else had stumbled in here first I would’ve just asked them. Even fucking Perez hasn’t come in to try and give me the grand tour again — I have no clue how long I’ve been here, and it’s not my fault you’re the only asshole dumb enough to wander into the big creepy statue room, and —”
“This story’s going somewhere.”
“I can’t find my fucking room.”
“Where, where? When you asked me that question it sounded like a joke.”
“No, I’m — this place is a fucking maze and I don’t know where the fuck it is, but I know you do, because I know you guys raided it for instruments or whatever, and —” Her voice is picking up volume, and she stops all of a sudden, quiets back to a tired mumble. “I’m just fucking tired, dude.”
Static whirrs under his breath again, but he seems to give up on finding lyrics. Instead, he turns on his heel and starts walking away again.
Jaylen stands up, hands clenched into fist at her sides. “Seriously? I’m not asking to be best friends, I just want to know where my fucking bed is —”
“You never understood me much,” he says, turning back around and making a follow me gesture. “It’s just us, walking home and dodging cars. The rest of the believers follow brighter burning stars.”
“Oh,” Jaylen says, halfway taken aback. It takes a moment before she remembers how to move her feet to follow.
bird(s) interface for the headcanon thing!
favorite thing about them: it's very fun to draw, and i love the worldbuilding potential (every link that i find between bird players and the crabs strengthens my silly hc that that the Birds of Montgomery County are their own entity that send players to the crabs to represent their agendas).
least favorite thing about them: that it was a shadow on the gamma1 crabs, so it never actually played games
favorite line: when i asked for a crab to draw, someone in the crabitat said "i'd love to see your illegal take on bird interface." so i came up with an interp and quickly became besotted with a crab that never played. like a fool.
brOTP: looking at the old half-filled gamma1 crabs sheet, i could see it spending a lot of time with clara moonberry. something about birds, cranberries, bogs, bog bodies, and robot crab armor just gel very well together? and uhhh to throw out another name i think that aza stein started out as fascinated by it and initially tried to find out how it ticked but ultimately started roping it into helping with their unethical schemes. the birds don't care about human ethics so it ends up vibing with aza a lot.
OTP: hm. don't know about this one.
nOTP: afaik nobody has shipped any iteration of the bird interface with another player, which isn't something i'm personally planning on changing any time soon?
random headcanon: it didn't have any sense of self until it joined the crabs and carcinized. most of its big actions are still dictated by the Birds, and it doesn't really feel the need to change that considering it's technically one the Birds of Montgomery County, as well. but it's a lot more able to decide the best course of action when the Birds are arguing or unable to offer input.
unpopular opinion: its lore is very tied to the concept of flock of birds!mongomery bullock, which isn't a very popular take on monty compared to actual "montgomery county possessing residents of moco"!moco, crocodile!monty, or armor!moco
song i associate with them: uhhh open six tabs of eastern bird sounds on youtube and play them simultaneously or something idk
favorite picture of them: there has been almost no art of it other than this picture which i posted earlier today, but jiggit did make a really cute clay bird interface at some point.
1 and 4 for the writing asks!
ty : )) this came out long so
agan & their husband + ghost hunter au
There’s a list on the table. Numbered and laminated, taped down on all four sides.
1. Make breakfast.
Agan’s husband turns on the stove and makes two eggs, one over easy and one over hard. He knows he has to do this part right or it won’t work so he watches the eggs with care. He slices two pieces of bread and toasts them.
2. Set a place
He puts an egg and a piece of toast on each plate. The over easy goes on his side, the over hard on the placement across from his. There’s already butter and seasonings on the table. There’s more leeway with the table settings, he’s found, but this is a set up he can live with.
3. Light the candles
He strikes a match against a matchbox once, twice, before it catches and lights the four candles on the table. Two are blue, two are yellow, one of each color on each side. They don’t have to be lit in any particular order but he always goes every other. One yellow, one blue, one yellow, one blue. He blows out the match and tosses it in the sink to soak with water later to make sure it doesn’t catch.
4. Invoke
He sits down at the table. “Agan? I made breakfast.” Across the table, Agan shimmers into view. Their outline is wobbly and the part where their body would be is full of static and movement and hurts to look at for too long.
5. Eat breakfast
“Thank you.” Their voice wavers and echoes like it’s coming out of a drainpipe. One hand goes through the salt shaker while the other goes through their fork. “The eggs. You made them how I like them.”
“’Course. It’s how I say I love you.”
There’s a burst of color from the center of Agan’s chest outward, vibrating through their hands until they can pick up the salt shaker and fork to season their egg. “Yes. I love you.” Their voice is steadier this time, closer and Agan’s husband smiles.
“Well, good. Otherwise this’d be a bit awkward.”
