I desperately need to befriend people who share my love of eyesore colours and desire to wear slutty knitwear...

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I desperately need to befriend people who share my love of eyesore colours and desire to wear slutty knitwear...
PSA: I've asked Stancest Server Father Fordislavski to pass the welcoming committee hat on, and like the demigod he is, he is working on it. If you've asked me about it, keep an eye on the Stancest server tag. Toe nonsense below.
I am not dying, nor is anyone close to me currently dying – though I do vibe heavily with Bowie's Five Years as the soundtrack for The State Of World Things At The Moment, lmao. I got into Stancest nearly four years ago as a way to cope with a stupidly aggressive autoimmune illness, and it keeps Are Ya Winning Son.bmp-memeing by mooning me in the face. I'm tired, comrades. Alexa, play the chorus "Blood" by My Chemical Romance for the surgeons when they sharpen the various tools.
I consider myself having faded into obscurity when it comes to my fanfictions in the Stancest community, and that's alright. I've got 75 unanswered comments sitting in my inbox, and the guilt torments me daily, so my fanfics not being remembered and rotated in recommendations circles seems fair.
Today I got a kudos on Collusion. I had completely forgotten that I even wrote that story.
Tl;dr: receiving little waves from other people who do read my dusty, forgotten stories is the best feeling ever.
Of interest to no one but me, but worth going "hooray" about into the void:
I opened a new document and just wrote away at an idea that I had. One and a half hours-ish later, and I've broken 1000 words. It's not much, but let this remind me that the hardest part is getting started.
thought to take up residency in flat 841 in my brain:
So we know that Ford says that he's not used to his own home dimension, and I for one enjoy the idea of this old grumpy babygirl having to adjust to modern technology. But what if he turns out to already know how most of it works, but hasn't tried it yet? He says things just like a regular 60-year old would do when he's shown the internet ("Ah, yes, I believe that's what YOU'd call TUBULAR, huh!" and is immediately coma strangled).
He knows all that because he's had ample opportunities to return home. I imagine it like window shopping dimensions; he could have gone in every time his home dimension popped up, but he didn't. Too busy hunting evil, Euclidean brick structures.
Anyway, heartbreak on Stan's end.
I tried putting curl cream in my hair and actually diffusing it and now I have the cockiness to think I could totally take care of a full eighties perm.
I was so distracted when I took my afternoon kiddie meth, that I drank from the glass where my nighttime-upkeep post Invisalign treatment braces were chilling in some water, made fizzy by a compressed disc of chlorine and whatever else you find in stuff meant to clean dentures, and LET ME TELL YOU
I'm not punk rock enough to go for another swig.
a classic: he would not say that
the modern Warhol version: he would not last that long