Voices In My Head
i-have-been-johnlocked:

inspector-pervert:

vintagebiatchh:

who needs to brush the cat,when you can just cat the brush 

its been a stressful day hasn’t it. here watch a cat being helpful

CAT THE BRUSH

i-have-been-johnlocked:

inspector-pervert:

vintagebiatchh:

who needs to brush the cat,when you can just cat the brush 

its been a stressful day hasn’t it. here watch a cat being helpful

CAT THE BRUSH

alinatotheleft:

flexblr:

youknowimgood4it:

Taken from reddit but it can’t be stressed enough

Making fun of fat people at the gym is like making fun of sick people at the hospital.

"Lol wow you’re doing chemotherapy? Clearly you suck at it if you still have cancer."

alinatotheleft:

flexblr:

youknowimgood4it:

Taken from reddit but it can’t be stressed enough

Making fun of fat people at the gym is like making fun of sick people at the hospital.

"Lol wow you’re doing chemotherapy? Clearly you suck at it if you still have cancer."

sapphirefiber:

tygermama:

morivan:

You know that type of laughter that starts off as a small chuckle but kinda builds up inside your throat, eventually mounting into a full blown, bent over yourself, holding your stomach as you guffaw uproariously?Yeeeep.

this should be a sculpture about the human condition entitled ‘Unbridled Optimism Meets An Uncaring Universe’

There are photos that tell a story, then there are photos that tell a story.

sapphirefiber:

tygermama:

morivan:

You know that type of laughter that starts off as a small chuckle but kinda builds up inside your throat, eventually mounting into a full blown, bent over yourself, holding your stomach as you guffaw uproariously?

Yeeeep.

this should be a sculpture about the human condition entitled ‘Unbridled Optimism Meets An Uncaring Universe’

There are photos that tell a story, then there are photos that tell a story.

sylphofkawaii:

wait does this mean horn sensitivity is canon?

rosietwiggs:

deeeeaaan:

Game of Thrones Wedding Cake

oh yeah lets just have a game of thrones themed wedding

what can possibly go wrong?

*Rains of Castemere plays faintly in the distance*

90s90s90s:

In which Disney gives you incredibly wise relationship advice.

90s90s90s:

In which Disney gives you incredibly wise relationship advice.

cadney:

brad-t and I ♡inspired by this photo

cadney:

brad-t and I ♡
inspired by this photo

shadowofthelamp:

bec-blanche:

shadowofthelamp:

terminalcountdown:

hellzabeth:

pimpeta-slap:

psuliem:

mpregbert:

nagekis:

binart:

DID YOU KNOW THAT MOST SBURB SESSIONS FAIL

ok [LONG POST; APOLOGIES FOR PUTTING THIS ON YOUR LOVELY ART]
this made me wonder what happens to like
the players who go godtier in a dead session
because, like, they’re immortal, and with everyone else dead there is no way they CAN die, because suicide is neither heroic nor just, so they will simply continue to reincarnate forever
until they start to go insane from lack of human contact and anomie
and although sburb keeps them from dying, i imagine that there’s some sort of degeneration going on, maybe every time they die they come back slightly wrong in some way, their speech becomes garbled and they slowly start to look less and less human or whatever
and eventually
inevitably
the only voices left for them to hear are the whispers from the furthest ring
because with all of the time in the universe, even prospit dreamers visit Derse eventually, and as the incipisphere ages the boundaries between universes start to weaken
and it’s so hard not to just give up and accept the invitation, shuck off one’s mortal bonds and leave the session for good, sliding into the many-tentacled embrace of the horrorterrors as your body fully degenerates into madness and lines of code, no longer yourself anymore
just a whisper of what once was but is no longer human.

What if that’s where horrorterrors come from? The mutated god tiers from failed sessions.

ps im crying

This is terrifying

NOTE TEAM MISFAIL: WE ARE ALL TO GO GODTIER AND KEEP EACH OTHER SANE OK? OK.

NOTE TAKEN CAPTAIN’

Your name isn’t important. Nothing is anymore. After all, the clouds block out the heavenly light above and below you, leaving nothing but gray and red.
Gray and red and the cacophony of bleeding colors, the torn rags of your friends as they lie cold and lifeless, no more sentient then the ground you kneel upon. Locked forever in time, doomed to be nothing but dolls of the monster that created you all. They will never return to the soil, will never have the dignity of death, as the game that is not a game will not allow it. You never were religious, but you have prayed. Let there be a messiah, two, three, thousands of them. Let there be something, you think every time with hands clasped tightly before ramming another victim’s weapon into your chest.
Each time, you pray a little harder, stay a little shorter. You were a player, but the outfit you have fastened yourself from the clothes of the deceased leaves even you unsure of what kind. Perhaps time, as you can see hundreds of timelines, hundreds of death of hundreds of innocent lives. You sew your rags because after the fifth time you try to release yourself your robes do not regenerate. You sew yourself but the thread is missing and the fabric is missing and your brain is only just beginning to realize the meaning of eternity.
You play with your friends. A flick of their hair here, a halfhearted hand-holding there grows to hugs and empty sobs. A tango for one and a slow degeneration into the madness you welcome.
You lose track of the holes in your robes and in your soul. The tallies blur together. Names and dates and lives fade as the clouds shudder, the ground quaking and Skia itself weeping for the victory you will never see. 
You cannot speak.
You fumble with whatever you can find, play card games that cannot be won against yourself. You try on their clothes and find they fit. You have shrunk. The coding decrees it. You shed your rags and gain new ones. You grow and cycle out the last choices of the dead. You can still hear the screams no matter how much you silently shriek for anything you can repent. Nothing obeys you.
You cannot see.
You thrive on touch and thought, but thought cannot be relied on. Puzzles and riddles have long since ceased to matter, and you wonder if you exist. A living thing reaches into your mind, twists it and molds it and you do not notice. 
You cannot hear. 
You find a sword after seconds and days and millennia of searching and stab the pain away again and again. There is nothing left to touch, nothing to maim, nothing to live for as there was nothing to live for in time long since lost. Your spirit is gone. 
You do not exist.
You are one of many.
You are the Dead Souls that will never truly be free.
Eternity is but a breath in your lifespan, and your dearest wish is death. No one will give it to you.
There is no one left to.

I’m sorry but I need to reblog this again

I’m reblogging this again in honor of 4/13 because it is still my absolute favorite writing I’ve ever done, even nearly a year later.

shadowofthelamp:

bec-blanche:

shadowofthelamp:

terminalcountdown:

hellzabeth:

pimpeta-slap:

psuliem:

mpregbert:

nagekis:

binart:

DID YOU KNOW THAT MOST SBURB SESSIONS FAIL

ok [LONG POST; APOLOGIES FOR PUTTING THIS ON YOUR LOVELY ART]

this made me wonder what happens to like

the players who go godtier in a dead session

because, like, they’re immortal, and with everyone else dead there is no way they CAN die, because suicide is neither heroic nor just, so they will simply continue to reincarnate forever

until they start to go insane from lack of human contact and anomie

and although sburb keeps them from dying, i imagine that there’s some sort of degeneration going on, maybe every time they die they come back slightly wrong in some way, their speech becomes garbled and they slowly start to look less and less human or whatever

and eventually

inevitably

the only voices left for them to hear are the whispers from the furthest ring

because with all of the time in the universe, even prospit dreamers visit Derse eventually, and as the incipisphere ages the boundaries between universes start to weaken

and it’s so hard not to just give up and accept the invitation, shuck off one’s mortal bonds and leave the session for good, sliding into the many-tentacled embrace of the horrorterrors as your body fully degenerates into madness and lines of code, no longer yourself anymore

just a whisper of what once was but is no longer human.

What if that’s where horrorterrors come from? The mutated god tiers from failed sessions.

ps im crying

This is terrifying

NOTE TEAM MISFAIL: WE ARE ALL TO GO GODTIER AND KEEP EACH OTHER SANE OK? OK.

NOTE TAKEN CAPTAIN’

Your name isn’t important. Nothing is anymore. After all, the clouds block out the heavenly light above and below you, leaving nothing but gray and red.

Gray and red and the cacophony of bleeding colors, the torn rags of your friends as they lie cold and lifeless, no more sentient then the ground you kneel upon. Locked forever in time, doomed to be nothing but dolls of the monster that created you all. They will never return to the soil, will never have the dignity of death, as the game that is not a game will not allow it. You never were religious, but you have prayed. Let there be a messiah, two, three, thousands of them. Let there be something, you think every time with hands clasped tightly before ramming another victim’s weapon into your chest.

Each time, you pray a little harder, stay a little shorter. You were a player, but the outfit you have fastened yourself from the clothes of the deceased leaves even you unsure of what kind. Perhaps time, as you can see hundreds of timelines, hundreds of death of hundreds of innocent lives. You sew your rags because after the fifth time you try to release yourself your robes do not regenerate. You sew yourself but the thread is missing and the fabric is missing and your brain is only just beginning to realize the meaning of eternity.

You play with your friends. A flick of their hair here, a halfhearted hand-holding there grows to hugs and empty sobs. A tango for one and a slow degeneration into the madness you welcome.

You lose track of the holes in your robes and in your soul. The tallies blur together. Names and dates and lives fade as the clouds shudder, the ground quaking and Skia itself weeping for the victory you will never see. 

You cannot speak.

You fumble with whatever you can find, play card games that cannot be won against yourself. You try on their clothes and find they fit. You have shrunk. The coding decrees it. You shed your rags and gain new ones. You grow and cycle out the last choices of the dead. You can still hear the screams no matter how much you silently shriek for anything you can repent. Nothing obeys you.

You cannot see.

You thrive on touch and thought, but thought cannot be relied on. Puzzles and riddles have long since ceased to matter, and you wonder if you exist. A living thing reaches into your mind, twists it and molds it and you do not notice. 

You cannot hear. 

You find a sword after seconds and days and millennia of searching and stab the pain away again and again. There is nothing left to touch, nothing to maim, nothing to live for as there was nothing to live for in time long since lost. Your spirit is gone. 

You do not exist.

You are one of many.

You are the Dead Souls that will never truly be free.

Eternity is but a breath in your lifespan, and your dearest wish is death. No one will give it to you.

There is no one left to.

I’m sorry but I need to reblog this again

I’m reblogging this again in honor of 4/13 because it is still my absolute favorite writing I’ve ever done, even nearly a year later.

rosydrops:

Cleaning
clean bathroom tips
organize your closet
how to fix a leaky faucet
how to keep a clean kitchen
removing stains from your carpet
Money
how to coupon
what to do when you can’t pay your bills
see if you’re paying too much for your cell phone bill
how to save money
How to Balance a Check Book
How to do Your Own Taxes
Health
how to take care of yourself when you’re sick
things to bring to a doctor’s appointment
what to expect from your first gynecologist appointment
how to make a doctor’s appointment
how to pick a health insurance plan
a list of stress relievers
how to get free therapy

how to remove a splinter


how to avoid a hangover

Emergency
what to do if you get pulled over by a cop
a list of hotlines in a crisis
things to keep in your car in case of an emergency

how to do the heimlich maneuver

Food
recipes that take 30 minutes or less
Yummy apple thing
Brownie in a cup
Cookie in a cup
French bread pizza
Egg tacos
panera mac n cheese recipe
different salad recipes
harry potter recipes
healthy recipes
various cookie recipes
chocolate cupcakes w/ eggless cookie dough topping
s’mores pie 
nutella hot chocolate
peanut butter nutella swirl cookies
cookie in a mug
starbucks holiday drinks
fruit leathers 
brownie in a mug
how to make ramen 1000x better
eggless cookie dough (not to bake, just to eat)
make recipes using things you already have
how to put together a very fancy cheese plate 
make different flavored lemonades
various desert recipes
make tiny chocolate chip cookies
20 dishes every cook should know
learn how to make your own tea
Macaroni and cheese in a mug
Study snacks (2)
40 on-the-go breakfast recipes
Home
what the hell is a mortgage?
first apartment essentials checklist
how to care for cacti and succulents
the care and keeping of plants 
Getting an apartment
Job
time management
create a resume
find the right career
how to pick a major

how to avoid a hangover

how to interview for a job

how to stop procrastinating

How to write cover letters
Travel
ULTIMATE PACKING LIST
Traveling for Cheap 
Travel Accessories
The Best Way to Pack a Suitcase
How To Read A Map
How to Apply For A Passport
How to Make A Travel Budget
Better You
read the news
leave your childhood traumas behind
how to quit smoking

how to get a book published


how to knit


how to use a polaroid camera


how to solve a rubik’s cube


how to stop biting your nails


how to stop procrastinating


how to stop skipping breakfast


how to stop micromanaging


how to stop avoiding asking for help


how to stop swearing constantly


how to stop being a pushover

learn another language
how to improve your self-esteem
how to sew
learn how to embroider
how to love yourself
learn how to do yoga
100 tips for life
learn how to make your own cards

rosydrops:

Cleaning

Money

Health

Emergency

Food

Home

Job

Travel

Better You

missespeon:

i figured out who keeps sending all the anon hate on here

image

pinkbubblybubblegum:

ukomfortabel:

do you ever get anxiety when thinking about how you’re not really living your life that you just go to school and eat and sleep and do homework and then after that you’re gonna get a job and you’ll work the rest of your life maybe marry and have kids and then you die and you haven’t even lived at all i can’t breathe

I’m so glad someone feels the same way