what’s the big deal about being avoidant. like ohhhh im dodging the bullet quick everyone lets mock the bullet dodger
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will byers stan first human second

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@thefinalfoongus
what’s the big deal about being avoidant. like ohhhh im dodging the bullet quick everyone lets mock the bullet dodger
pliny the elder sailing towards pompeii: oobh i got pliny of time
This month people have been tearing Flock cameras off their poles.
This month people have been tearing Flock cameras off their poles. Perched above public streets, they are birdlike things, weatherproof, and they photograph every passing car and file it in a searchable national database. Somebody cut two of them in half at Washington Avenue and Westcott in Houston, spray-painted the wreckage, and left an American flag on one of them. Police were notified on the morning of the Fourth of July. Somebody severed a camera in Rutherfordton, North Carolina. The police department posted the photograph itself and collected more than twenty thousand comments. “Not all heroes wear capes.” “Give them a medal.” Here is what the cameras do when nobody cuts them down. Cops use them to hunt immigrants and to follow ICE targets across state lines and to find women who ended pregnancies in states where that is a crime and to watch exes and to watch women they want, without a warrant and without a judge. A cop types a reason in a box and the box does not check. A man in Burleson, Texas, told deputies his girlfriend had taken abortion pills. He showed them the photographs, the FedEx envelope, the instructions. Deputies opened a death investigation into a non-viable fetus, and the district attorney told them the state could not charge her, and they searched anyway: 83,345 cameras across 6,809 networks, a month of everywhere she had been. The reason they typed was had an abortion, search for female. The search reached Illinois and Washington, where what she did was legal. They found her in Dallas. She came into the sheriff’s office a week later, and they thought she had come to explain the fetus, and she had come to report that the man who called them had put a gun to her head. A sheriff in Jerome County, Idaho ran his wife’s plate more than seven hundred times in three months. He typed the same reason every time. Test. The attorney general found nothing to charge him with. He retired in April. The Institute for Justice counts at least twenty-two officers who used the system to track people they were romantically interested in, and calls that almost certainly an undercount. And the cameras keep falling.
Become ungovernable.
Vladimir Archipovich Bondarenko
Vladimir Bondarenko (Russian, 1866–1900), Forest Scene, 1880s, oil on Canvas, 174 × 133 cm; private collection.
there’s just something so awesome about a character you love getting really badly hurt
we need to find the beating heart of The Job Market and we need to plunge a holy gleaming blade into it. its the only way to be free
sob emoji is up there with the period and the comma
every single episode she looks like this. I don't know what this fucking conspiracy is even about.
a character who truly, legitimately goes “but why does that matter?” about their feelings when someone who cares about them asks. and the sudden falling of everyone around them’s faces as they realize that this person doesn’t recognize themself as someone who needs or should be taken care of. i want Everyone to hurt. surprise at the idea, worry for them, horror at not having noticed. do you see this person who doesn’t think of themselves as a person?
“Holy moly!” I say. “Holy moly”? Is that my go-to expression of surprise? I mean, it’s okay, I guess. I would have expected something a little less 1950s. What kind of weirdo am I? Project Hail Mary, page 15
2 am: bedtime were meant to be broken 😈
7 am: I hope i get in a car accident
truly one of the most upsetting things to hear in pretty much any context is "i'm used to it"
let's hear some flat affected cheers and listless applause from the anhedonic crowd
my mind hand touched a hot memory stove
Illusions, (Detail), (before 1901), by Henry Brown Fuller (American, 1867 – 1934), oil on canvas, 70 3/8 x 45 1/8 in (178.6 x 114.6 cm), Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington, D.C.
its just crazy how bad things can impact you
it shouldnt matter if bad things happened to me or not #tbh