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darubyprincx · 5 months

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if tumblr existed in empires s1 then the dashboard would look a little bit like this i think

🏜️ cactus-abolitionist

MY CAT JUST RAN OUTSIDE IN THE MIDDLE OF A SANDSTORM IM

🌿 theres-no-place-like-gnome Follow

oh no are they okay?? i don't know how serious sandstorms are but maybe you could go after them?

🏜️ cactus-abolitionist

Sand blowing past you at upwards of 75kmh. It's also really hot sand. It's been known to literally strip the flesh off of bones wait post cancelled my cat just walked back in she's fine guys

9 notes

🏺 clay-the-dirt-man Follow

visiting the Mythlands today and me and my family found a neat lil natural floating island while hiking

🏺 clay-the-dirt-man Follow

to the people in my notes going "what the fuck": have y'all never heard of physics?

🥀 remorse-is-remorse-of-course Follow

OP WHERE THE FUCK DO YOU LIVE WHERE THIS IS NORMAL

🏺 clay-the-dirt-man Follow

western mezalea?? lol

🔧 verylostmechanic Follow

well that explains a lot.

🏺 clay-the-dirt-man Follow

Can I Help You

🔧 verylostmechanic Follow

ain't emperor joel dating a fish

🏺 clay-the-dirt-man Follow

yeah, they're married. Isn't Emperor Joey a demonfucker????

#dude why are the notes arguing over the ethics of being ruled by a demon 😭 what the fuck #op im so sorry

11,798 notes

🌸 prismarined Follow

...i'm in this class thats being taught by the headmaster today and she smells like weed. i'm not gonna say anything but like. what

🦦 i-like-otters

yeah the academy's just like that. as long as she's not like, actively dying or anything she's probably fine??? idk o7

#reblog

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⌛️ thelittlesandthatcan Follow

I JUST GOT BACK FROM A BUSINESS TRIP WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN THE COPPER KING'S GONE

🐟 kelpieselkie Follow

I DONT KNOW I DONT LIVE THERE BUT apparently nobody expected it either?? like some people are saying it was the Dragon Fight that did it (i know Emperor Joey came out with statements that Emperor Riffs actually helped kill the dragon and unleash the demon but its been two days and we all know that he hates that guy so idk) but nobody actually knows anything. it's crazy bro

⌛️ thelittlesandthatcan Follow

my mom said the royal housekeepers found a note from him alongside like everything he owned but they're not saying what's on the note yet. holy shit

237 notes

🐠 fishfucker997

this will definitely have an impact on the local trout population

🏰 all-the-kings-hen Follow

the Guardian of the Thirteenth Empire just died and you're worried about fish???? be for real omg

🐠 fishfucker997

have you people never heard of references in your life

🏰 all-the-kings-hen Follow

why are you interacting with me i literally have "codlanders dni" in my bio

🐠 fishfucker997

my brother in cod you literally reblogged this from me??

🐠 fishfucker997

they blocked me lmao

#how is this post only 2 days old

197,233 notes

🐪 camel Follow

she dragon fight on my copper king til i disappear

elvfish-deactivated-20210503

who the hell let a camel onto this site lol

🐪 camel Follow

You will die at age 87 with nobody to mourn you and no stars still shining to watch you go.

#911 i just witnessed a murder

87,546 notes

🌻 helantheia

anyone know who made emperor pearl's dress? it's really pretty :0

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📷 desertphotography

West of the River of Plenty, Pixandria

2,307 notes

#ray's tag #mcyt #empires smp s1 #empires smp #pix would absolutely still have tumblr btw. hed be posting aesthetic pictures in the middle of exile #this took me way too long to put together you're all welcome #fake post #fake posts #writing #keys' writing

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pmkinpiexox · 3 months

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♡Pumpkin's intro♡

♡Hello to all my lovely followers and anyone visiting my page~♡

♡Welcome and enjoy♡

♡This post is just some stuff about me♡

♡please leave and do not interact if you are not 18+♡

♡ Age: 23

♡Sagittarius sun, Leo moon, Aquarius rising. Year of the dragon 🐉 ✨️

♡ She/Her, They/Them, I genuinely do not have a preference so don't worry about ever offending me. But pls let me know if you'd like to be called by certain pronouns so I can be respectful to you <3

♡ Pansexual. DONT LET MY POSTS FOOL YOU. I'd like to start making posts for the girlies too soon~

♡ Switch but definitely sub leaning

♡ My dms are now open but may be slow <3

♡ Submissions and Asks are open. Please let me know if you want me to answer you privately.

♡ dumb princess

♡My kinks/Stuff Im into (nsfw)♡

♡In no particular order♡

♡ Daddy kink

♡ Edging

♡ Denial

♡ Praise/degradation most praise tho

♡ cnc

♡ humping

♡ being tied up/handcuffs

♡ Sex toys

♡ Erotica/Erotic audios

♡ scissoring

♡ DDLG

♡ corruption kink

♡ mind control

♡ dirty talk

♡ rough sex and soft sex

♡ dumbification

♡ hentai

♡ roleplay

♡ guided masterbation

♡Breeding

♡Absolutely not into♡

♡ Diapers

♡ Animals

♡ Toilet stuff

♡ Vore

♡ Blood

♡ Self-harm/mutilation

♡ Anything under 18+

♡ Sounding

♡ Anal

♡ cumflation

♡ Milking

♡ Choking (but I do like being held by my neck)

♡ Humiliation

♡As long as your kinks/desires are consensual and safe, and between adults, I will not judge you♡

♡Special interests (sfw)♡

♡ Stranger Things

♡ Video games

♡ Poetry

♡ Anime

♡ Tarot

♡ Astorlogy

♡ True crime/creepypastas (Idk if they call them that anymore but oh well)

♡ Reading

♡ Journaling

♡ Camping

♡ Alt/Indie/Rock/Angst/Musicals/Emo music

♡ Collecting rocks and trinkets like a little crow or gremlin <3

♡ weed 🌱 + psycs 🍄

♡Please again feel free to pop me any questions or dms you'd like~♡

♡Pumpkin sfw tumblr♡

My discord cuz why not: grumpyypumpkin

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kwazyfun · 2 months

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Hi hi hi☺️ wanna know allllll the stuff about me?

Well first, you should go take a look at alllll the stuff i posted (that didnt get taken down) before tumblr lightly spanked me 🥲@kwazy20 - don’t get lost and forget to come back here tho🤞🏼🤭

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・.・。.・゜✭・.

But anyway here’s the basic’s ->

Name -> Zoey - but please, call me all the cute names🥰

Birthday -> 27th of April - make sure to put it in your calendar so you dont forget to give me a birthday kiss 🫶

Located -> Australia - petition for disneyland to come here?🥺

Cpl other likes -> Baking & decorating cupcakes, getting all your love and attention, there may be a lil star wars obsession in there too👀 oh and i like to get high, bring some weed over, we’ll sesh🤭

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・.・。.・゜✭・.

Now for the spicy stuff my precious followers have been long awaiting🙈 …

✨The kink list✨

> A small list of kinks for now <

ABSOLUTELY 100000% A SUB!!! if it wasn’t obvious already

✨ Dd/lg

✨ Bondage

✨ Praise

✨ Size difference

✨ Knife play

✨ Behaviour modification

✨ Auralism

✨ Corruption

A couple things i find HOTTTT❤️‍🔥

✨ Eye contact

✨ Possessiveness

✨ Confidence that you can control my behaviour

✨ Use force! … the force 😎

More stuff to be added in the near future…

Am i missing anything you wanna know?🫶

#about me✨#is the basics for now😌#too tired to write more🙃

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archangeldyke-all · 24 hours

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okay hopefully tumblr doesn’t eat this one 😣😣

can we plss get more details about plug!Sevika and reader meeting for the first time at a house party??

& can we pls have a cute moment of reader completing Sevika’s gap until she’s a blushing mess like in this post: https://www.tumblr.com/idyllicbby/747661932204572672/all-im-thinking-about-is-having-a-first-meetdate

yes absolutely!

here's a link to the post mentioned!

men and minors dni

you hate house parties.

especially this one.

the mysterious red liquid coming out of the coolers on the counters are so watered down it's like chugging warm juice, the music is awful, and your friends have all paired off with their partners-- dancing and making out in coupled bliss. you're miserable.

"fuck this." you grunt, pushing yourself off the wall and through the crowds of grinding bodies. you're going to find yourself a decent fucking drink-- not whatever this shit is.

the kitchen is sparsely populated and empty bottles litter the counters.

you start scouring the cabinets and fridge for liquor, and just when you're about to give up, your eyes catch on an unattended, half empty bottle of vodka behind a kissing couple.

you consider the predicament. the guy's got the girl sitting on the counter, pressed between her legs, his hands on her ass and the bottle bumping into the back of his hand. you'd have to get right up on them to reach your prize.

you really don't want to lose a limb to the couple.

you also really want a stronger drink.

you huff, stomp over to the other side of the kitchen, groan, then cringe as you flail your arm behind the couple to grab the bottle.

you get away easily, giggling as you clutch the bottle to your chest and start backing away from the pair. they dont seem to have noticed you, and just when you're sure you've gotten away with your thievery and you start pouring the vodka in your cup, your eyes catch on an amused, sparkling pair of silver irises.

you stiffen, your cup starts overflowing with vodka as you stand frozen, blinking at the woman across the room who seems to have been watching you this whole time.

she grins and raises an eyebrow at you.

you gulp, then smile bashfully, gesturing the bottle out toward her, offering her some. she bursts into laughter.

you find yourself by her side in a moments notice.

"can i top your drink off for you, miss?" you ask, giggling. the woman snorts.

"yes please." she thrusts her red solo cup between the two of you, and you pour a few shots worth of vodka into the juice. "'re these non-alcoholic for a reason or...?" she asks. you laugh.

"right!? how're you gonna throw a party and not even have drinks!" you giggle. she holds her cup out and you clink your plastic rim against hers before taking a sip.

it burns going down, this time.

"ah, much better." she sighs, leaning against the wall. "so, how do you know the shitty hosts?" she asks. you laugh, then shrug.

"i dunno 'em. my friend knows a guy who invited her-- she asked me to tag along." you say. "you?"

"'m just the plug." she says. you grin.

"oh, are you?" you ask. she huffs a laugh, then gestures to the fanny pack on her hip.

"can i interest you in a purchase?" she asks, unzipping the pack. you gasp.

ten minutes later, you and sevika have ditched the loud house party to sit on the back porch and share a joint as you sip on your drinks.

you've got the giggles. sevika's weed is strong, and the drink you poured yourself is strong, and sevika's pretty and she's only looking at you.

"what're you smiling at?" she asks, her own smile pulling up at her lips. you just shrug and pass her back the joint.

"you lookin' for new regular customers?" you ask. sevika chuckles, grins and nods, then takes a hit.

"i certianly am. you lookin' for a new plug?" she asks, exhaling. you don't really hear her question, though, because as she laughs and talks, your eyes catch on the gap in her front teeth. your stomach bursts into butterflies.

"you're so pretty." you whisper. sevika blinks at you. "y'r smile's so..." you trail off. sevika grins.

"really?" she chuckles. you nod, biting your own lip, wondering what it'd feel like if sevika sunk her sharp canines in your bottom lip. "you're high."

"you've got good shit. and a pretty smile." you say, nodding.

this time sevika's smile is more bashful. "what's your number?" she asks. you grin and pass her your phone, and she passes you the joint in exchange.

when she returns the phone, her contact name is '🍃 sevika 🫀'

you have to bite your lip to keep from squealing.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @leomatsuzaki @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @vikasub @glass-apothecary

#sevika #sevika imagine #sevika arcane #sevika x reader #sevika x you #soft sevika

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thesiltverses · 7 months

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I don’t know who types up the ask answers on this blog but to whoever’s reading this: how do you all feel about being alive and sentient? What keeps you going, what purpose propels you through this chaotic void? What do you think (or hope) waits for you after your inevitable end? What do you think constitutes a life well lived?

I'm going to answer this in the most wayward and stupidly overlong manner possible, because the previous ask had me thinking about puppets, and I was already mid-way through writing up a book recommendation that's semi-relevant to your questions.

Everyone (but especially people who've enjoyed The Silt Verses and all the folks on Tumblr who loved Piranesi by Susanna Clarke) ought to seek out Riddley Walker by Russell Hoban.

Riddley Walker is a wild and woolly story set in post-apocalyptic Kent, where human society has (d)evolved into a Bronze Age collective of hunter-gatherer settlements. Dogs, apparently blaming us for our crimes against the world, have become our predators, hunting us through the trees. Labourers kill themselves unearthing ancient machinery that they cannot possibly understand.

A travelling crowd of thugs led by a Pry Mincer collect taxes and attempt to impose themselves upon those around them with a puppet-show - the closest possible approximation of a TV show - that tells a mangled story of the world's destruction, featuring a Prometheus-esque hero called Eusa who is tempted by the Clevver One into creating the atomic bomb.

Riddley himself, a twelve-year-old folk hero in-the-making surrounded by strange portents, ends up sowing the seeds of rebellion and change by becoming a conduit for the anti-tutelary anarchic madness (one apparently buried in our collective unconscious) of Punch 'n' Judy.

It's a book in love with twisted reinterpretation, the subjectivity of interpretation, buried or forbidden truths coming back to light (the opening quote is a curious allegory about reinvention and cyclical change from the extra-canonical Gospel of Thomas, which is a good joke and mission statement on a couple levels at once) and human beings somehow stumbling into forms of wisdom or insight through clumsy and nonsensical attempts to make sense of a world that is simply beyond them.

It rocks.

The book starts like this:

On my naming day when I come 12 I gone front spear and kilt a wyld boar he parbly the las wyld pig on the Bundel Downs any how there hadnt ben none for a long time befor him nor I aint looking to see none agen. He dint make the groun shake nor nothing like that when he come on to my spear he wernt all that big plus he lookit poorly. He done the reqwyrt he ternt and stood and clattert his teef and made his rush and there we wer then. Him on 1 end of the spear kicking his life out and me on the other end watching him dy. I said, 'Your tern now my tern later.'

Riddley's devolved language - a trick which has been nicked/homaged by many other works, most notably Cloud Atlas and Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome - is a masterwork choice which may seem offputting or overwhelming at first, but which has its own brutal poetry and cadence to it, and ultimately which makes us slow down as readers and unpick the wit, puns, double-meanings and playful themes buried in line after line.

(Even those first five sentences get us thinking about cyclical change, ritual and myth in opposition to the dissatisfactions of reality, and 'tern' to paradoxically indicate a rebellious change in direction but also an obedient acceptance of inevitable death.)

In one of my favourite passages in literature and a statement of thought that means a lot to me, Riddley has been smoking post-coital weed with Lorna, a 'tel-woman', who unexpectedly declares her belief in a kind of irrational, monstrous Logos that lives in us, wears us like clothes, and drives us onwards for its own purpose:

'You know Riddley theres some thing in us it dont have no name.' I said, 'What thing is that?' She said, 'Its some kynd of thing it aint us but yet its in us. Its lookin out thru our eye hoals...it aint you nor it dont even know your name. Its in us lorn and loan and shelterin how it can.' 'Tremmering it is and feart. It puts us on like we put on our cloes. Some times we dont fit. Some times it cant fynd the arm hoals and it tears us a part. I dont think I took all that much noatis of it when I ben yung. Now Im old I noatise it mor. It dont realy like to put me on no mor. Every morning I can feal how its tiret of me and readying to throw me a way. Iwl tel you some thing Riddley and keap this in memberment. What ever it is we dont come naturel to it.' I said, 'Lorna I dont know what you mean.' She said, 'We aint a naturel part of it. We dint begin when it begun we dint begin where it begun. It ben here befor us nor I dont know what we are to it. May be weare jus only sickness and a feaver to it or boyls on the arse of it I dont know. Now lissen what Im going to tel you Riddley. It thinks us but it dont think like us. It dont think the way we think. Plus like I said befor its afeart.' I said, 'Whats it afeart of?' She said, 'Its afeart of being beartht.'

While Hoban is, I think, deeply humanistic to his bones and even something of a wayward optimist, the notion of human beings as helpless and ignorant vessels, individual carriers - puppets, if you like - for an unknowable and awful inhuman power-in-potentia and life-drive that lacks a true shape or intent beyond its own continued survival (even when that means destroying us or visiting us with agonising atrophy in the process) conjures up the pessimism of Thomas Ligotti, another big influence on our work and a dude who was really into his marionettes-as-metaphor.

Let's go to him now for his opinion on the thing that lives beneath our skin. Thomas?

Through the prophylactic of self-deception, we keep hidden what we do not want to let into our heads, as if we will betray to ourselves a secret too terrible to know… …(that the universe is) a play with no plot and no players that were anything more than portions of a master drive of purposeless self-mutilation. Everything tears away at everything else forever. Nothing knows of its embroilment in a festival of massacres… Nothing can know what is going on.

Curiously, both Ligotti and Riddley Walker have appeared in the music of dark folk band Current 93, whose track In The Heart Of The Wood And What I Found There directly homages the novel and ends with the repeated words,

"All shall be well," she said But not for me

These words, in turn, hearken back to Kafka's* famous reported conversation with Max Brod:

'We are,' he said, 'nihilistic thoughts, suicidal thoughts that rise in God's head.' This reminded me of the worldview of the gnostic: God as an evil demiurge, the world as his original sin. 'Oh no', he said, 'our world is only a bad, fretful whim of God, a bad day.' 'So was there - outside of this world that we know - hope?' He smiled: 'Oh, hope - there is plenty. Infinite hope, just not for us."

So, we walk on.

We carry this thing that's riding on our backs, endlessly bonded to it, feeling its weight more and more with every passing day, unable to turn to look at it. Buried truths come briefly to life, and are hidden from us again. Perhaps they weren't truths at all. We couldn't stand to look the truth directly in the eyes in any case.

If there is hope, it's for the thing that looks out from our eyeholes, which thinks us but cannot think like us. We'll never get to where we're going, and the thing will never be born. There's no hope for it. Perhaps we don't want it to win anyway. It's nothing, and the key to everything.

The Jesus from the Gospel of Thomas says:

'When you see your own likeness, you rejoice. But when you see the visions that formed you and existed before you, which do not perish and which do not become visible - how much then will you be able to bear?'

Kafka, writing to his father, begins by expressing the inexpressibility of his own divine terror:

You asked me why I am afraid of you. I did not know how to answer - partly because of my fear, partly because an explanation would require more than I could make coherent in speech…even in writing, the magnitude of the causes exceeds my memory and my understanding.

Kafka concludes that while he cannot ever truly explain himself, and that the accusations in his letter are neat subjectivities that fail to account for the messiness of reality, perhaps 'something that in my opinion so closely resembles the truth…might comfort us both a little and make it easier for us to live and die.'**

It doesn't bring comfort to Kafka, whose diarised remarks both before and after the 1919 letter make it clear that he views his relationship with the things (people) that birthed him as an endless entrapment that prevents him from attaining any kind of self-actualisation or even comfort, since he cannot escape their influence or remember a time before them:

I was defeated by Father as a small boy and have been prevented since by pride from leaving the battleground, despite enduring defeat over and over again.

It's as if I wasn't fully born yet...as if I was dissolubly bound to these repulsive things (my parents).*** The bond is still attached to my feet, preventing them from walking, from escaping the original formless mush. That's how it is sometimes.

Samuel Beckett returns again and again (aptly) to this pursuit of a state of true humanity and final understanding that is at once fled and unrecoverable, yet to be born, never to be born, never-existed, endlessly to be pursued, pointless to pursue. From the astonishing end sequence of The Unnameable:

alone alone, the others are gone, they have been stilled, their voices stilled, their listening stilled, one by one, at each new-com- ing, another will come, I won’t be the last. I’ll be with the others. I’ll be as gone, in the silence, it won’t be I, it’s not I, I’m not there yet. I’ll go there now. I’ll try and go there now, no use trying, I wait for my turn, my turn to go there, my turn to talk there, my turn to listen there, my turn to wait there for my turn to go, to be as gone, it’s unending, it will be unending, gone where,where do you go from there, you must go somewhere else, wait somewhere else, for your turn to go again

I’m not the first, I won’t be the first, it will best me in the end, it has bested better than me, it will tell me what to do, in order to rise, move, act like a body endowed with despair, that’s how I reason, that’s how I hear myself reasoning, all lies, it’s not me they’re calling, not me they’re talking about, it’s not yet my turn, it’s someone else’s turn, that’s why I can’t stir, that’s why I don’t feel a body on me, I’m not suffering enough yet, it’s not yet my turn, not suffering enough to be able to stir, to have a body, complete with head, to be able to understand, to have eyes to light the way

From Thomas' Jesus:

When you make the two one, and you make the inside as the outside and the outside as the inside and the above as the below, and if male and female become a single unity which lacks 'masculine' and 'feminine' action, when you grow eyes where eyes should be and hands where hands should be and feet where feet should stand and the true image in its proper place, then shall you enter heaven.

Tom's Jesus makes a particularly Gnostic habit of both insisting that the hidden will be revealed and demonstrating the impossibility of attaining a state where the hidden ever can be revealed. Contrary to C.S. Lewis, we will never have faces with which to gaze upon the lost divine and the mysteries that shaped us, and crucially, as Christ puts it, we would not be able to bear the sight of ourselves if we did.

We will never become the thing that's riding on our backs.

Jesus again:

The disciples ask Jesus, 'Tell us how our end shall be.' Jesus says, 'Have you found the beginning yet, you who ask after the end? For at the place where the beginning is, there shall be the end.'

The Unnameable:

I’ll recognise it, in the end I’ll recognise it, the story of the silence that he never left, that I should never have left, that I may never find again, that I may find again, then it will be he, it will be I, it will be the place, the silence, the end, the beginning, the beginning again, how can I say it, that’s all words, they’re all I have, and not many of them, the words fail, the voice fails, so be it

The final passage of The Unnameable, which often is hilariously shorn and misinterpreted as an inspirational quote about how if you don't succeed, try again:

all words, there’s nothing else, you must go on, that’s all I know, they’re going to stop, I know that well, I can feel it, they’re going to abandon me, it will be the silence, for a moment, a good few moments, or it will be mine, the lasting one, that didn’t last, that still lasts, it will be I, you must go on, I can't go on, you must go on. I’ll go on, you must say words, as long as there are any, until they find me, until they say me, strange pain, strange sin, you must go on, perhaps it’s done already, perhaps they have said me already, perhaps they have carried me to the threshold of my story, before the door that opens on my story, that would surprise me, if it opens, it will be I, it will be the silence, where I am, I don’t know. I’ll never know, in the silence you don’t know, you must go on, I can’t go on. I’ll go on. †

We bear this thing that's riding on our backs. We'll never get to where we're going, and the thing will never be born. If it was born, it'd be too terrible for us to bear. There's nothing riding on our backs.

It will never speak us into being.

We keep on calling out into the silence, we keep trying to explain or understand the thing that's riding on our backs, searching for a way to birth it before we die. Our words about the thing are crucial, and they're meaningless, and they're all we have, and they're nothing at all. We cannot name it and we cannot express it, but we cannot stop trying, and we will keep turning back to our words about the thing, obsessing over them, tearing them to pieces, putting them back together.

I'm fumbling at something I can't think or say, but fumbling is all we're capable of. There could be beauty and meaning and comfort in the fumbling, but it's also vain, and foolish, and pointless, and we're lying to ourselves about the beauty and the meaning and the comfort, and we're indulging ourselves pointlessly by going on and on about the pointlessness of it. Nothing can know what's going on. We will never get close enough to understand without being destroyed.

Thomas' Jesus again, warning those who seek to reveal what's hidden:

He who is near me is near the fire.

Riddley Walker, reflecting on the Punch puppet's inexplicable desire to cook and eat his own child:

Whyis Punch crookit? Why wil he al ways kill the baby if he can? Parbly I wont ever know its jus on me to think on it.

If you got to the end of this, congratulations: but the above is honestly the most appropriate patchwork of what I believe, what propels me, what I feel.

As for what comes after life, I think it's fairly straightforwardly a nothingness we are tragically incapable of fully knowing or accepting - it's Beckett's unimaginable and unattainable silence, a silence that his characters' voices keep on shattering even as they cry out for it.

-Jon‡

*I can't remember if Kafka makes prominent reference to Czech puppets in his work, which is interesting in its own right given the thematic relevance (the protagonist in The Hunger Artist is perhaps a kind of self-directing puppet show?).

However, Gustav Meyrink - who some unsourced Google quotes suggest was pals with Czech puppeteer Richard Teschner - did write a strange little story, The Man On The Bottle, about an audience watching a 'marionette show' who are too wrapped up in performances and masks to interpret the reality that they're actually watching a human being suffocate to death.

**Thomas Ligotti: "Something had happened. They did not know what it was, but they did know it as that which should not be.

Something would have to be done if they were to live with that which should not be.

This would not (be enough); it would only be the best they could do."

***Beckett's Malone Dies actually kicks off with a related sentiment:" I am in my mother’s room. It’s I who live there now. I don’t know how I got there...In any case I have her room. I sleep in her bed. I piss and shit in her pot. I have taken her place. I must resemble her more and more."

† I don't necessarily align myself in humour with Ligotti on a lot of this stuff but I imagine he would recognise both Beckett's writing and Kafka's frustrations re explaining the causes of his hatred for his father as sublimation: finding artistic and philosophical ways of sketching the inexpressible horror and uncertainty of our existence in order to reckon with it at a remove without destroying ourselves. A higher form of self-deception, but self-deception nevertheless.

‡Muna's more of an anarcho-nihilist, I think.

#long fucking post just to say 'i don't know'

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breeistired · 27 days

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Rafe with autistic reader

Warnings: Suggestive content, innocent reader

Tropes: kookxpogue, sunshinexgrumpy

Summary: Reader is autistic.

Bree rants: Hi! So, I am only mildly autistic, so if I get any of this wrong I am deeply sorry. ALSO, if you're reading this, please help me work tumblr, I don't know how to make a taglist or boarders. Thank you- Also my askbox is always opened, so ask me random questions, I am always bored. Before I forget, I AM ADDING THIS TO ALL POSTS, AND IF I FORGET IT @brokenwingsgalore WILL PUT IT IN THE COMMENTS. IF YOU DONT LIKE IT, DONT READ IT!!! AND, if you want this to be a full oneshot, please tell me in the comments. I love you and enjoy reading!

(HOW DO I MAKE BOARDERS.)

Rafe! Who found you at his house in his party crying because everything was too loud.

Rafe! Who was about to yell at you but once he looked down, he felt soft and mushy.

Rafe! Who would continue to stare at you while you cry, not knowing what to do.

Rafe! Who finally speaks up and asks you if you need something. You shake your head no and he does not take that lightly. Instead grabbing you some water and sitting beside you.

Rafe! Who eventually finds out its because of how loud everything was and takes you up to his room. Topper whistles thinking Rafes getting lucky. Rafe tells him to shut up and you sit on his bed.

Rafe! Who would calm you down by dimming the lights and covering your ears. He thought this was childish but you seemed to have been calming down.

Rafe! Who would let go of your ears and ask you if you're okay.

Rafe! Who slowly finds out you suffer autism and your friend had brought you here to, "let loose." He would fight the urge to punch whoever that friend was.

Rafe! Who would yell at anybody who even talked near his room so you wouldn't have to panic anymore.

Rafe! Who would spend all night with you, letting you rant about your current hyperfixation just so you didn't have to pay attention to the loud party beneath you two.

Rafe! Who smiles at your little giggles and hand gestures. He hated when people would talk to him, but with you, everything you said sounded so luring. Even though you were talking about sharks.

Rafe! Who would drive you home and get your number.

Rafe! Who becomes obsessed with you after a week of getting to know you. Doing research on autism just so he could help you out like you helped him that night you met, he would've been fucking some girl he didn't like or smoke weed all night. Instead he found you.

Rafe! Who would ask you to be his girlfriend after two weeks.

Rafe! Who buys you anything you hyperfixate on. Legos? He's buying every set and listening you talk about the lego sets. Sharks? He'd buy you a mountain of plushies. Anything your autism liked for a few months or weeks, he would buy.

Rafe! Who never forced you to come to crowded places with. And if you do, he brings noise cancelling headphones or something for you to fidget with.

Rafe! Who practically almost murders anybody who says your too weird or something about your mental health.

Rafe! Who makes sure you eat all your meals, even if its krafts mac and cheese for the 5th time today.

Rafe! Who lets you sleep with him but gets annoyed when you have to put one of your shark plushies between you two. Though he would never tell you he was annoyed.

Rafe! Who ends up telling Barry random facts about the new movie you're obsessed with because that's all you talk about.

Rafe! Who loves you to death despite everything. He loves you and your hyperfixations. (maybe not the shark plushies though)

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