Kris Fictive | You can call me Kris, or Dagger. Check out the About pageFeel free to send me asks, or DMs, etc. I am SO lonely. and horrible at reaching out. please someone else start the conversation
101 posts
Latest Posts by daggerenby - Page 2
REAL men write pathetic tumblr posts and drop them in their drafts never to be seen again
Ever suck so much at a game you half expect the character to turn around and crawl through the screen to beat your ass for being so bad
just accidentally cut my finger on a bag of popcorn. this is like a joke in a cartoon to show you someone is fragile. head in hands.
BERDLY from DELTARUNE
JUSTIFICATION:
"Berdly is the type of annoying nerdy gamer boy that a lot of transfems were in high school (speaking as a transfem). I think he watches MLP and plays as a girl in all his games and stuff." - Anonymous
Poll 1, Round 4.
Tulip is @silvers-starrway 's
Sprout is @snowpearart 's
since mrs, ms, and mr are all descended from the latin word magister, i propose the gender neutral version should be mg, short for "mage"
anyone else imagine conversations with real people. i dont even do it on purpose. ill be sitting there and suddenly i realize ive been imagining an argument with a girl i hated in middle school for the past 15 minutes
i say no homo to other humans in case they interpret something im doing as something a human would do
“do we think maybe a vegetable would cause less despair” still living in my head rent free
Happy thursday lads. Do me a favour, take my dungeon meshi dating quiz and tell me who you got in the tags
I hate it when polls try to fluff up their choices by forcing me to adopt some sort of weird personality to answer. like instead of "yes" and "no" the choices are "obviously I would!! everyone who disagrees is a moron" and "I'd rather shoot myself in my pinkie toe than do that" like.......... I want to answer but I'd never say that.....that's not me......! !
You see, ever since I was a small child I've always HATED Valentine's Day. Or, not so much hated it as much as I never really understood it.
If you make a holiday all about love, why be expected to do the least lovely, most annoying, most humiliating things? Like go on uncomfortable dates with strangers, or buy ridiculously expensive chocolate for someone who doesn't even like chocolate that much! No one loves that! Why not do something you actually love? Like sit at home and listen to niche Bulgarian techno bedroom shoegaze. Or buy some nice aged stinky cheese.
See, none of it ever made sense to me. Until I realized I was aromantic! I just don't feel romance. And nobody even told me!
You'd think that with something that significant and annoyingly present in life, someone would've at least given me a heads up. Like a doctor telling you that you're lactose intolerant, or allergic to wild parsnips. It's nice to have the info. Like, yeah, I'll probably still eat ice cream from time to time, but at least I know why it rubs me the wrong way.
Which is why, Perry the Platypus—
Gabriel ‘Piss boy’ ULTRAKILL lost so bad to a fight with a sentient go-pro that the angelic republic of dickheads took away his pronoun privilege
im sure theyll remember to add it next time
Just came across this blog, but would this story be worth of official-time-post-ness?
honey i hate to break it to you but i think you forgot to add the story
"this is my bugsona, and this is his vesselsona"
mmhgn late night migraine thoughts I think I should make a bugsona. i think i should do that for myself I think I deserve it. The question to be answered however is which bug perfectly encapsulates Me. and I find this is a difficult question to answer
last week i woke up from one of the most fucked up nightmares ive ever had with that middle panel burned into my brain. like the exact wording and the exact apartment and the exact squidward. i feel like if i didnt make it real something bad wouldve happened. anyway todays upload is spunchbob comic oc
nothing special for super booping yourself though
theres special text for booping yourself
uh pinned post. i'm a Kris/Chara Dreemurr fictive & Shadow the Hedgehog fictionkin. about me on our Neocities
our (system) main is @seafoamspirit
Sonic stuff at @midnightbadnik
probably fix this later. good day
guys the consequences of inaction are noooootttt enough to motivate meeee
not a huge fan of the “i’m just a girl” meme. why do we need to gender-lock the sentiment we’ve all known and felt since 2002: i’m just a kid, and life is a nightmare
in hindsight. shoulda realized that sideblog was shadowbanned when i got more interaction on Cohost with the same tags. nice place that, but not many people. where are the fanartists now? where are we all going?
my role on the leftist commune will be passive-aggressively moving the freshly-washed “clean” dishes that still have food residue on them back into the “unclean” section
Breakfast Time
My son’s stuck in a time loop again.
He thinks I don’t know, of course. He’s never told me that this happens to him (or that he can do this, possibly; I’m not sure which it is.) Maybe I’m a bad mother, if I haven’t proven myself worthy of that trust. But there is only so many times that one can watch their son trudge through a day with bored impatience, anticipating everything you say just a little too quickly and showing no surprise to even the most surprising event, and then come downstairs the next day disoriented but rejuvenated and with a new zest for life and a tendency to get blindsided by even the most predictable things, before one makes the obvious connection.
I don’t think he’s lived through this day too many times yet, because he’s not frustrated by my good morning joke but not surprised by the monster attack being announced on the news. He eats his toast makes polite conversation that sounds just a little too rote until his sister comes down, and he puts his toast down in that distinctive way that make her eyes widen in sudden realisation, a reaction I never would have noticed if I wasn’t looking for it. He told her about three time loops ago, I think, although it might’ve been earlier and I just never noticed the signal until then. I make sure to keep the smile on my face as I push a plate of toast towards her.
The thing on the news is some kind of flying beast, and my son’s eyes don’t leave the TV screen. I expect that calm, solid determination that I usually see in his expression on days like this, but instead he watches it only with a wary sort of calculation. I suppress a sigh – it looks like I won’t be remembering today, then.
The pair exchange glances and look to me. “Hey, mum, I figured we should go to school early. We’ve both got these big tests coming up and – ”
“Yes, fine, whatever. Go.” I know what you’re thinking – obviously they’re off to do something dangerous, and obviously they’re far too young for this sort of thing, and obviously I shouldn’t enable this, and I’m a terrible parent for letting them run off to maybe get themselves killed someday. But I put this to you:
How, exactly, do you expect me to stop them?
As my son heads for the door, though, I almost stop him. I consider, not for the first time, just telling him what I know, what I’ve figured out, and asking him to explain everything, to say where he’s going and what he plans to do about that thing and if his sister is involved and if they at least have help, to put my mind at ease. I don’t, though. Because, logically… I must have done that before, right? In at least one of the countless days that never happened. I must have gotten worried or angry or just fed up with this ridiculous charade and told him that he wasn’t as good at hiding as he thought he was. He has to know that I know, right? And yet, he still chooses to let it play out like this.
Or, perhaps, he told me once. That must have happened, right? I must have been there to help, to patch his wounds and dry his tears and listen to him confess his fears or his worries or his regrets about this big responsibility, about whatever he’s doing out there. He must have told me, at some point, at least once, in one of those nonexistent days. And afterwards, he chose not to tell the me that stuck around. Meaning that I must have given him some reason to keep this secret.
What did I do to him? What did I say to him? How bad a confidante must I have been, that he chooses instead to keep me in the dark?
They leave, they ‘go to school early’, and I start on the dishes. As I wash my daughter’s breakfast crumbs away, the plate slips from my fingers and shatters on the tiles at my feet. I sigh, and turn to get a broom.
Then stop. Pick up all the other dirty plates. And shatter them, one by one, on the tiles.
Then I leave the mess behind me, pull a full tub of rocky road ice cream out of the freezer, and resolve to spend the day eating junk and watching youtube videos. After all, it’s not like it’s going to matter tomorrow, right?
A migrating phoenix has stopped for a decadent sippy of water from a stagnant puddle in a Walmart parking lot and has ignited the years of accumulated fuel leaks into the surrounding pavement. It's so happy.