Now Playing Tracks

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.

winlark:

ohmyimpossiblestars:

autumnagain:

Petition to get Nathan Fillion a role in Avengers 2 so these two can act together.

Please

Petition to have Nathan Fillion play a very confused Malcom Reynolds in the second avengers then have random shots going to serenity where River Tam is giggling, the entire crew looks distressed and Simon Tam is trying to explain to River why it’s not okay to transport people back in time even if they did insult your intelligence on the matter of time travel.

(Source: gio-bla)

charlesoberonn:

bonez1925:

charlesoberonn:

shitthesignssay:

Aries- "You should have known better than to make me mad!"

 

Taurus- "I told you not to push me. I can only bottle it up for so long."

 

Gemini-  "I’d love to stay and chat, but..”

 

Cancer- “It’s time for me to REALLY take care of you.”

 

Leo-  "This is what happens when you make things about YOU."

 

Virgo- "Keep your shit together, I don’t wanna have to clean this up.”

 

Libra-  “ Ha. I suppose this is what they mean when they say I’m charismatic.”

 

Scorpio- "I told you I don’t take betrayal lightly.”

 

Sagittarius-  "The funny thing is, you still can’t ruin my fucking day!"

 

Capricorn-  "You should have known better than to fuck with my plans."

 

Aquarius-  "No one can match my train of thought. It’s the perfect murder."

 

Pisces- "…aw fuck, I should have let you say goodbye. I’m such a dick."

Waiting for the Homestucks.

The homestucks have arrived.

Just in time.

wildsoulchiild:


fanofallshippers:

icequeen102990:

glampora:

heytheresuckyq:

findinglady:

PLEASE PASS THIS ON! 
I want to make sure every one knows about this and what it can do to your pets 
this is what has happened to my sisters cat after she wore a hartz flea and tick collar and now has a burn like wound on her neck. please pass this on and do not buy hartz’s products! they use poison in their products pets have died because of this!!
http://www.hartzvictims.org/

Yes this is my cat she is doing fine at the moment but I’m so sorry for the people who’s pets are not so lucky

oh my god
PLEASE REBLOG THIS PEOPLE
save pets!

Hartz is the worse EVER! my aunt used it and it ended up killing two of her cats. only one survived but she had the worse skin condition. NEVER USE HARTZ

BETTER REBLOG THISS!!!

Guys this is an actual issue. We had Hartz collars for my dog and he kept having seizures. one seizure he had on the stairs and fell backwards down the stairs, and he also stop breathing from these seizures. When I found out about Hartz causing this I took it off my dog and he hasn’t had a seizure since. And he used to have one at least every few months. DON’T USE HARTZ.
Zoom Info
Camera
iPhone 4S
ISO
100
Aperture
f/2.4
Exposure
1/20th
Focal Length
4mm

wildsoulchiild:

fanofallshippers:

icequeen102990:

glampora:

heytheresuckyq:

findinglady:

PLEASE PASS THIS ON! 

I want to make sure every one knows about this and what it can do to your pets 

this is what has happened to my sisters cat after she wore a hartz flea and tick collar and now has a burn like wound on her neck. please pass this on and do not buy hartz’s products! they use poison in their products pets have died because of this!!

http://www.hartzvictims.org/

Yes this is my cat she is doing fine at the moment but I’m so sorry for the people who’s pets are not so lucky

oh my god

PLEASE REBLOG THIS PEOPLE

save pets!

Hartz is the worse EVER! my aunt used it and it ended up killing two of her cats. only one survived but she had the worse skin condition. NEVER USE HARTZ

BETTER REBLOG THISS!!!

Guys this is an actual issue. We had Hartz collars for my dog and he kept having seizures. one seizure he had on the stairs and fell backwards down the stairs, and he also stop breathing from these seizures. When I found out about Hartz causing this I took it off my dog and he hasn’t had a seizure since. And he used to have one at least every few months. DON’T USE HARTZ.

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