Theres Too Many Pokemon Games Where You Play As A Kid Whos Full Of Life And Full Of Potential. There

theres too many pokemon games where you play as a kid whos full of life and full of potential. there needs to be a pokemon game where you play as a college dropout who lives in a shitty apartment

I guess the reason all that Backrooms stuff has never really fazed me is because I worked in on-site networking support for a while, and literally every city's downtown district is just Like That once you get off the beaten path. Not just the really big cities, either; the one I'm currently living in has a population of less than 250 000 – metro area included – and a downtown area about six blocks across, and the service corridors still manage to do some House of Leaves shit. At one point I was trying to map the route of a misbehaving network cable, started out in a shopping mall parking garage, and ended up surfacing in the basement of the casino across the street. Totally unsecured – apparently neither the mall's administration nor the casino's managers knew that particular service corridor existed.

“i. it’s the morning after, and in the elevator, you almost tell a stranger the whole thing. ii. her eyes turn colors in the sunlight and leave inksplot thumbprints somewhere inside your solar plexus. iii. mostly, you wrote poetry about meeting somebody like her, about what she would taste like, how her hands would feel against your face, how her hips would rock and how that little pink mouth would let out a little pink moan that would linger in the air like a perfume. iv. sometimes, you wrote poetry about death. v. sometimes, you wrote poetry about meeting death, about what he would taste like, how his fingers would feel against his face, how your mother never cared anyway, how boys like you with their red raw mouths never let the sadness out but rather champ it in a silver bit in the rusty back of your throat. vi. in summer thirst, your words dry up around her. you have never been able to hold her. you want to ask her about the universe, about the new pictures of pluto, about her family, about whether she prefers coffee or tea. you want to spill out your river secrets into her sea. vii. her eyes, man. her eyes, and how they glow. her eyes, man, and how you’ll never get this trainwreck body to come up close. viii. last night, after four shots, and with shaking hands, you finally convinced yourself to unpeel flowerpetal limbs from the far wall and walk over and confess it all ix. last night, before you got far, she kissed someone better than you, who writes poems about roses and stardust and ribcages and veins and reads Bukowski on saturdays. last night, you walked away. x. it’s the morning after, and in the elevator, you almost tell a stranger everything. you watch your reflection in the doors as they open. you tear in two and bite down and say nothing.”

— boy howdy that hurt // r.i.d

A serious misunderstanding took place, but they're getting married now so it all worked out?

interlude of our dreams

My piece for @orvstorytimebb / #ORVStorytime big bang. A post-canon YHK comic, adapted from @dokjaphd's fanfiction of the same name: Also posted on Twitter and AO3.

2024

spare thought for the enslaved shepherds in greek mythology/tragedy who rescue the exposed doom babies... sometimes they know why the baby was left to die, sometimes they don't. they just — it's a baby. no one else wants it. you can't leave it here. what harm could it do. it's a baby. you want it to live. it's a baby