silently tapping away at my computer at 3am: how to know if asexua—
*door bursts open* BISEXUAL FBI WE HAVE YOU SURROUNDED
NO I'M SORRY I WAS JUST CONFUSED
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Road to Branson
I’ll never forget the Road to Branson.
We took it in the Bus. The bright green bus that my stepfather had bought. The bright green bus with the buckets and the hoses and the shower curtain rooms. The horrible forty foot cage that we lived in. The bus with me and him and my mother and my siblings and our cats and our dogs and our turtle. All eleven of us in a snot green bus on the Road to Branson.
I’ll never forget the hills. I’ll never forget the belly aching climbs up nearly vertical inclines and the fear that we’d fall on our back. I’ll never forget the swooping of the buzzards in my gut as we descended from the tops of them. I’ll never forget the way my mother’s rocking chair bobbled and shook and slid. I’ll never forget the roaring of the engine as my stepfather forced the poor Snot Rocket to do the impossible on the Road to Brason.
Up and down and Up and down, swerving around tight corners. From the windows on the side, peeking behind the hand stitched curtains clumsily hung, I remember seeing down the side of a drop. I remember vividly imagining going over the side and dying. Dying in a horrible, fiery death from within the snot green bus with our cats and our dogs and our turtle on the Road to Branson.
I remember the rock walls and the undressed Christmas trees that sat atop them. The thick and colorful lines that God had drawn in crayon across the sides that rose above the road below. The oranges and the reds and the grays and the browns. I remember it, because it was something other than the sprawling nothingness of the rest of the Midwest. The bubbles in my ears were a constant reminder that I was in an unfamiliar place. The rising and falling on the Road to Brason.
We went and left and came again, over and over and over. It’s right in the middle, in the middle of the churches we worked at in New York and California. In the middle of Florida and Washington. In the middle of the great emptiness that is the Midwest. When I close my eyes, I can see it perfectly. The drop offs and the tight corners and the looming walls and the freezing cold frosting breaths of a midwestern winter without heating and our turtle paddling gently along the rocky path from his perch atop the four foot speaker that my stepfather absolutely had to have on the Road to Branson.
The boiling cauldron of excitement that brewed inside my chest bubbled over with the addition of that one cheese factory we’d always visit. I’d know we were close when the forest of billboards arose from the horizon, broadcasting shows and caves and rides. Passing the ocean of trees that stretched out further than the sky, imagining the entire thing swallowing me whole. The ziplines and the towers and that one random roller coaster, beckoning us closer with smiling frozen faces.
Frozen faces keeping eternal watch over the Road to Branson.
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the confetti for a not guilty verdict is actually the funniest fucking thing about ace attorney
it’s like they inherently know their system is fucked to the to the extent that they’ve got the celebration confetti at the ready when they don’t wrongfully incarcerate someone
edgeworth never lost a trial until he faced phoenix wright so the confetti goes off and he’s probably like what the fuck ppfthh pffth phhh that last bit is him spitting the confetti out of his mouth
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For International Asexuality Day, I'm hitting you all with the Ace Beam. ☺️
(This took a lot more effort than I thought it would, lol...)
Edit: 800 notes?! In less than five hours?! Thank you all so much!!
Edit 2: 2000... The most I got on any post before was just over a hundred, lol. You are all so nice!
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Obsessed with lovers and piners calling the object of their affections their best friend. Like yessss blur the lines between platonic and romantic love. show how important they are to you in a multifaceted way. Cover up your feelings with another kind of love that is just as true. One type of love does not negate the other and but tragedy can rip both out from under you single handedly, and it will hurt so much more that way. Losing a friend and a lover. Gaining both and not needing any labels for what they are. Using labels but having it be so much more than a title. Were they friends before they were lovers? Or were they lovers whose friendship grew inside of their love? Unclear! Who cares!
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me: so u see apollo's objection theme starts out with the melody following the same beat as the rhythm track in the background, unlike phoenix's objection themes, which are all very distinctively syncopated all the way through. but as apollo's theme progresses the melody gradually gets more out of sync with the background rhythm track. this shows that while phoenix's style is unconventional and "off-beat" from the start, apollo starts out trying to do his job by the book but eventually finds that the most effective way to seek justice is to be a little unconventional and not just follow the beaten track because u can't win by following the rules in a broken system. do u understand. he's finding his voice. making himself heard against the background. it's symbolism
my work emails: inbox (6385)
me: i mean im not a music theorist
my work emails: inbox (6386)
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HI WHAT WOULD THERAPY BE LIKE FOR APOLLO JUSTICE
DOES HE TELL THEM ABOUT THE MAGIC BRACELET. DOES HE TELL THEM THAT HE'S A HUMAN LIE DETECTOR AND THAT IT'S KINDA REALLY FUCKING WITH HIS RELATIONSHIPS BECAUSE IN EVERY INTERACTION APOLLO IS AWARE OF THE CHANCE THEY MAY LIE TO HIS FACE
HOW DO YOU EXPLAIN THAT TO A MEDICAL PROFESSIONAL
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the greeks believed that our souls were split in half so we have to find our missing pieces. but i feel full. my soul is complete. aromanticism allows the soul to stay together
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