Image 1 Text: "Hubba Hubba"

DORM ROOM PICKLES!!!!!

Elephant seal (woman)

@duothings

Whatever. Go, my Scarab

Going to be a long long day I think...

Uhhh pony guy. Idk. Their name is Beau Beezle, I think they're neat

D is for deez

Dees nu- *shot*

Anyways its my friends iterator Distorted Reflections but mer

@threefinefellows @duothings

I dont usually reblog on main but this is bounteous and deserves all the attention forever

I got very excited to have free time lmao

So!! I did a messy animatic of mine and my friend @multi-lefaiye 's dnd characters!! Mine is Strata, the big dragonborn, and Multi's is Eddie (the little homunculus) and Eden (the tiefling at the end)! All of them are part of the campaign 'Into Darkness We March', which is very dear to my heart <33

Be prepared for lots of them because.... im obsessed. theyre my obsession. never apologising you're just gonna have to deal with it /aff

"Aw man your makeup looks so nice"

Me: this is washable marker and I have no self control

Memory of a Soup

In my kitchen bubbles a soup.

Simmering around a bundle of scraps

are pieces of a meal left to remain.

Sitting in a bag for months at a time,

Meals that I shared with people,

Ones that aren't here now.

It sits alone now,

with me, like my soup,

in a room with no other people.

Sitting in tinting water are the scraps,

steeping liquid with the essence of time.

There is a deep gold as remain.

Golden memories remain,

And they are made liquid now.

A pot containing fragmented time.

Is soup really about soup?

Is it about the scraps,

or perhaps about the people?

I think about the people,

as I strain the golden remain

from the old, useless scraps.

They are a piece of it now,

a droplet of warm memory in soup.

A way to contain months of time.

The golden stock burbles over time.

Still, there come no people,

and I am alone with my soup.

Within its quiet flavor, I remain,

tasting pieces of memory in the now.

But all I feel like is discarded scraps.

I put new scraps

in a bag to freeze time.

The soup boils now,

and yet there are no people.

A pile of ingredients remain

alone in a pot of unshared soup.

There's no memory in these new scraps

because there are no people.

It boils away for hours at a time,

until theres only ingredients that remain.

I eat alone and quiet now

as the warmth of love leaves my soup.

-------

I'm going to live laugh love even if I have to set 500 alarm!!!!