tonight i learned that the only reason sans undertale himself, the main character of the game undertale, has any perceived importance in-game beyond the judgement room relies fully and completely on our rpg-loving asses to talking to him
you can just go this entire fucking game without talking to him
you can almost play all of undertale sans-sans
you don’t have to interact with every single detail in rpgs. in the full 21 years i’ve been alive, this concept never occurred to me. im shaken to my very core by this
this is really specific asssahfhs im sorry but i was thinking of one of my fav songs and realized hey i know most of the words for one of these lyrics in japanese!! but i know SHIT about japanese grammar. here's the sentence: 僕のお父さんが愛は世界できいれい物一番言う. i was trying to say "my father says that love is the most beautiful thing in the world" and idk if i got the order of nouns right. would it be ok to ask if u could point out my mistakes and rewrite it correctly for my future reference? :> ty..
to express someone saying something, there’s a grammatical structure for quoting. i dunno how to properly explain it (& also im by no means fluent) but i think it’d be better written something like this:
its been ages since i lived there so like, my sense of natural flow is a little rusty & my textbook knowledge is fuckall, but it’s at least something like that.
And here it is… The end of this wonderful journey. I’ve been into TMNT 2012 fandom from 2013, but in TMNT fandom from childhood. All these years passed quickly… There were so many sad and funny moments. I remember how happy I was when it began. Another version of my favourite cartoon! I didn’t know that I’d love this show so much. How much I cried watching some episodes (“The invasion”, “Requiem”, “Osoroshi no Tabi”-THAT dream, final arc, etc), how happy I was when a certain ship moment happened, how much I was upset about Shredder, Kraangs, invasions… TMNT 2012 has marked my life forever. Nickelodeon done it amazing! But, unfortunately, everything has the end, so this show has it too. I will always be in TMNT fandom no matter what. And if next shows are bad, I’ll still love them because I love TMNT and everything about it. But TMNT 2012 will stay in a good memory for me, and i’ll miss it a lot. Goodbye, TMNT 2012, we will miss you…
first half of weekly sketchbook #73, some r&m stuff from a tiny and very self indulgent thing where they’re actors bc for someone who doesn’t follow celebs at all i Really Like the interview/photoshoot/paparazzi aesthetic 🙊
i’m like a python, choking
on its own tail while you
run your hands through my hair,
saying it’ll be okay, i’m left alone
pretending i think this is true,
like lying is the new i love you;
i don’t want to let go,
i don’t want to lose this;
endings always kill me;
and i can’t let go of this dream
of you loving me;
i can’t lose this heartbreak;
but maybe if this ends,
i’ll be able to breathe again.
Listen, Sierra Deaton is a ray of sunshine and has been long before she and Luke became friends. There’s no need to hate on the girl because she hangs out with him. She addressed the issue, stated that they were just best friends and the fact that some of you act like she’s lying or being a “slut” for having a friendship with him is disgusting. Do none of you have guy best friends? Do you not know the joy of a boy bff??? There is nothing better, okay? Let’s stop attacking every girl in their general vasinity please. It’s gross and honestly so unnecessary.
"Sorry. The old Neal can't come to the phone right now? Why? Because he's dead." Post-Vault!Neal or Dark One!Neal =p
Note: takes places end of s4/early s5 as Emma becomes the Dark One.
It’s dark and damp and too-warm. It had been easy to be brave in the heat of the moment, when she didn’t have time to think. There’s a part of Emma still here, a part that the dark and damp and too-warm hasn’t pushed out, and that part can’t regret her choice, would do it again over and over and over, but still–
She’s alone. The thought whispers around her, snakes it way around her body and clamps into her skin. She’s been alone for most of her life. She’ll always be alone–
“Henry,” she whispers to herself, and it feels like she’s kicking and screaming and biting against this thing. “Your son is Henry and he needs you. You have parents, and they need you. You’re–”
His voice is small and quiet, but it feels like a bucket of ice water.
Not alone. Not entirely.
She’s shaking and her skin is covered in chill bumps and she’s not sure if the feeling in her stomach is panic or hope.
“Oh, God. You’re…how are you…I don’t understand?”
He grins, almost sheepishly. “I made a deal, remember? How are you here?”
The feeling in her stomach sours, but she’s awake now. Awake and not alone.
“I’m the savior,” she says, wryly. Even in the dark, she can see the understanding in his eyes. He steps forward and grasps her hand, gently, and it’s a lifeline. It’s comfort the same why it was was when they were young and more alive and whole than this, and it keeps the dark at bay, just a little.
“Let me help,” he says, voice low. She looks up, sharply.
“Are you insane?”
“After being down here? Probably.” He smiles, wryly. It’s so good, the thing building inside her rears its ugly head and floods angrily through her veins.
“You can’t. It’s mine.”
“It’s not,” he says, firmly. “It’s fucking evil. It’s not anyone’s, but if anyone can get rid of it for good, it’s you.”
“You can’t be–”
“Listen,” he says, sharply. “It’s not like I’ve been able to much good, down here. Let me be good for something, Emma. Please.”
He grasps her hand firmly. She feels the darkness poke out, tenatively, feeling out the trade.
A life for a life, she thinks, bitterly. She squeezes his hand.
“I’ll fix this,” she promises.
He smiles, widely. “Yeah. I know.”
Suddenly, she’s flung back from him, and everything fades to black.
When she comes to, it takes her a moment to realize she’s dropped out of a living nightmare.
When her limbs begin to feel like hers again, she shifts, pushing herself up. She’s not shocked at the figure huddled in the corner, but it hits her like a ton of bricks, all the same.
“Neal?” she calls out, balling her hands into a fist.
Slowly, he looks up. His hair is soaked and his eyes are too bright and when he speaks, it’s laced with something else.