There's always a slight yearning in the back of my mind wishing I had been born in the right place, time, family situation, income level, etc. to have just lived in one single house for my entire life. Imagine being born in a place that still suits you, even through all of your personal evolutions and etc. The idea of deep familiarity with an area because you've lived and explored it for 40+ years, being encased in a web of memories and connections. Being able to clean out your old childhood bedroom and find personal artifacts, to dig in the yard and remember. I know those lives can still be plenty imperfect, but there's just something so seemingly solid and stable and Grounding about it that I sometimes wish I could have.. (At least from my outside perspective as someone who's moved around a bit geographically and even within the same area, never lives in the same house/ apartment /etc. for more than a few years usually.) Like... having a place that is printed upon, fully your own, rather than chronically a visitor, every thought of a space always tempered with the notion that one day soon you'll have to pack it all up again, etc. There's something peaceful about the permanence.
40 notes
·
View notes
thoughts I’ve had about the moonshine mob because I need some place to hold and drop them at the same time . i am posting this as a means of intense distraction purposes after spending a few nights putting stuff in here so bear with me
- I keep imagining the lot of them to the old “Mad Tea Party” videos by Brandon Rogers. I can’t tell you why this started everything else just falling to pieces in my head but this is what started it . Namely one image in my head that I absolutely have to draw of “YOU’RE HOMOSEXUAL, STOP IT” @ snail announcer and anteater
- same vein as that ^ “i’m making copies-- move, I’m gay” is how I’ve been characterizing the snail.i nmy head. so do with that what you will
- Is anyone going to make a comparison between Lightbug and Jessica Rabbit or am I going to do it . Because I keep imagining her to be just like Jessica Rabbit and the thought WILL NOT leave me. Want so badly to see lightbug to “Why Don’t You Do Right?” it would be so good it kills me
- In all the thoughts I’ve had thus far there’s been at least three (3) of the fly goons . I like to think they are brothers. Why? Reasons
- OH And the recurring thought that I’ve been obsessed with all morning. So whenever I see a spider/tarantula character I always end up sitting here like “oh my god the peets” because tarantulas have such good peets. bitches have paws. So what I’m getting at is that Spider Mobster
Peets. He’s got em.
And not only does he got peets, but I see them as an inside joke in the mob . he came in one day missing a shoe and the peets were spotted, so from that day forward should he ever lose a shoe ever again everyone has to point out the fuzzy wittle paws on the big scary spider and he gets so mad
- caterpillar is the straight man to these bunch of losers . only man around here with logical thinking going on but in the sense that he’s part of a bootlegging group and stills responds to threats of crime with “what! but that’s illegal”
- this image but everybody does this to snail . regularly
77 notes
·
View notes
THINGS ARE STARTING TO COME BACK TO YOU, AND YOU'RE CURIOUS. YOU WANT TO KNOW WHAT'S GOING ON. › FROM ELIZABETH MARCH. @embodies
She still sensed it, the universe spinning around with no ending or beginning; the way her blood curdled a horrid gurgle, even if it no longer pumped to her brain. She haunted marble walls on silent feet. The place a fusion of malevolence and beauty, and Jane, despite her hollowed flesh and often unseeing eyes, couldn't help but find a strange sort of enticement within said walls, all perfectly draped and painted. She knew quite little of its happenings, bizarre spirits of muddled eras all sharing one patch of land; although the mind became a hazy thing due to submittance of the final years of her life, she was no fool. Isolated company was merely favoured, a lithe black cat scampering against corners, gaze finding deathly endurances but never remaining long enough to understand reasoning behind vile acts. Sitting, feeling, unthinking.
Where there was rot, there was Jane Ives. Stuck in the jaws of a hellish beast, taker of lives, but leaving the soul to crumble. Oftentimes she wondered what she was actually doing here; inner workings utterly vandalised by a madman's execution for warped world-peace. The toxicity resting in her bloodstream confused old memories, scorched her past-life: all she remembered of her mother entailed a whiff of perfume and a few phrases of a lullaby she used to sing. One day she'll uncover truths, the ugly and pure— but for now, the body only yearns for kindred consideration, perhaps something to call her own. Three decades would rear its date in a handful of months, and a spark had begun to litter in her mind's eye.
“Yes. I am curious.” The very first time Jane saw Elizabeth, she was positive she had moved to a better destination; swore she bore witness to an angel welcoming her to heaven's palace. (Oh Saint Peter let me in, you must know where I've been! Won't you tell me at last who I am?) Ever quickly, the hand she wished to hold, she realised, was sharp, a creature's claw; fascination did not dwindle but fear ushered the child away. It's clear the woman saw everything happening inside her hotel, including frizzled recollections resurfacing, taunting innocence of youth and marking it for horror. “I remember... things.” Honesty possessed no hesitation, as the words spilled it felt good to speak them aloud. To relieve herself. “There is a block. A... something foggy. It stops me remembering.” Frustration threatened its course, as one might perceive through her jaw tightening, lifeless pallor nearly gaining a flash of colour.
This is your story, written and rewritten, scratched out, burned and buried. “Did I... Was I always... this?” Is it foretold that I haunt the head of a girl graced for much more than her destiny provided? Chin cants, shoulders purposely squared like trying to light a guise of confidence. “Bee - cause I do not think I was always in this place.”
5 notes
·
View notes
I think what bothers me so much about theorizing within fandoms is that so much of fandoms try to use confirmation bias when proving their theories. Instead of shaping theories and creating new ones around given evidence they will try to warp the evidence to fit their theories. people become so attached to the belief that their theory is the right theory that they will outright ignore evidence that contradicts it or try and warp it to fit their theory instead of just...accepting that maybe they were wrong and coming up with a different theory.
not saying that this happens all the time with every theory but it is very common for a theory within fandom to reach such popularity that people would rather force it to be right than admit that evidence contradicts it.
the thing is that no one even says ppl have to completely ditch the theory once it is disproved. it can still be a fun idea to play around with as a "what if" scenario, so the fact ppl try to push so desperately for their theories to be right is wild. your theory doesn't have to be right that's not what theorizing is about. it's about using evidence in an attempt to predict foreshadowing for plot points within a media. It's the fun of putting together the puzzle pieces that the showrunners left behind. your theory doesn't have to be right, you just have to have fun speculating :P
6 notes
·
View notes