Abysskisser - Thriving Best Hermit Style

in an interesting case of linguistic convergent evolution, the english words scale, scale, and scale are all false cognates of each other

a quick step by step guide on what to do if you come back to your apartment and find yourself locked out because your front door is frozen shut

kick the bottom of the door for 10 minutes

text your landlord

remember your landlord is on vacation and also in her mid 50′s so it takes about 36 hours to receive a response

briefly wonder why the fuck you moved the canada

remember that college tuition is significantly cheaper here than in the united states 

look up and notice your cat is at the window, staring at you. he paws at the window lightly and meows. it’s devastating. his eyes are so big and imploring. decide that you have to get inside your apartment at all costs. not even god himself can stop you from feeding your cat his chicken wet food dinner. frida kahlo herself could descend from the heavens and ask “hey you wanna bang?” and you’d say “hell yeah but first let me open this door so i can feed my cat his dinner”

remember there is a starbucks 3 blocks down the street from you

enter. the barista gives you a weird look for entering a starbucks at 7pm on a tuesday

order a venti cup of hot water. you order in french because the barista just said “bonjour” instead of “bonjour, hi.” you have a strong american accent. you hit the r in merci a little too hard to compensate. you embarrass yourself.

exit the starbucks clutching the massive cup of hot water in your hands. it’s burning your fingers.

return. methodically pour the starbucks cup of water all over the the door frame. it begins moving a little but still wont open

back up

ensure your doc martens are properly gripping the sheet of ice covering the ground. many people have told you to stop wearing doc martens in the winter, despite your protests that theyre actually the ideal winter boot. also, you’re a lesbian and punk’s not dead

release a pterodactyl screech and sprint towards the door, slamming the full force of your pathetically tiny 5′2″ 110lb body into it

you dont know any of your neighbors so you dont care about maintaining your pride anyways

the door swings open

run up the stairs

open the actual door to your apartment and yell MOMMY’S HOME MY LITTLE BITCHASS BABY BOY DONT WORRY at your cat

cat flings his body to the ground and starts purring like he does every time you come home

write tumblr post

Every time I remember that Pyrrha has never seen Palamedes’s face I suddenly want to jump into a trash compactor.

As gen-AI becomes more normalized (Chappell Roan encouraging it, grifters on the rise, young artists using it), I wanna express how I will never turn to it because it fundamentally bores me to my core. There is no reason for me to want to use gen-AI because I will never want to give up my autonomy in creating art. I never want to become reliant on an inhuman object for expression, least of all if that object is created and controlled by tech companies. I draw not because I want a drawing but because I love the process of drawing. So even in a future where everyone’s accepted it, I’m never gonna sway on this.

just found out that if i stay in my room all the time my life will eventually shrink to the size of it and i will lose all memory of how to function as a person. shocked & upset

If I had a nickel for every time a fictional Ianthe was an awful, awful, nasty person who made every wrong decision ever, I'd have two nickels. Which isn't a lot but it is weird that 2 separate Ianthes have broken my heart twice??

Now that I’ve finished it, here are more coherent/useful thoughts (under cut because spoilers)

Oh, this is so perfect. It’s SO perfect.

Ianthe loves being Ianthe. Ianthe loves being Ianthe more than anything else in the world—the closest she gets to loving any non-Ianthe person is loving her twin sister, and from the way Ianthe talks about Coronabeth, it’s pretty clear that it’s a distinctly acquisitive love, not a love based on knowing anything meaningful about Coronabeth as a person. Ianthe is, above all, extremely disinterested in getting to know anyone who isn’t the Most Interesting Girl in the World (Ianthe).

(I think that’s why she likes Augustine so much—he’s spent thousands of years crafting a perfectly blank persona, showing nothing of his interiority, leading Harrow to wonder if he even has any. Ianthe sees that and she’s like: awesome, finally somebody who’s not out to bore me with all their dumb complicated feelings, this guy’s the coolest ever, I want to be just like him)

So for Palamades to hit her with that—oh man. Oh MAN. Ianthe, in your quest to solidify Ianthe Tridentarius as an eternal unchanging paragon of Awe, you have become… not Ianthe. And you were too obsessed with your own Ianthe-ness to even see it.

You thought you could make the devil’s bargain with counterfeit currency and now the bill’s come due. Killing Babs is no big deal because “who cares about Babs?” Baby, YOU cares about Babs! You IS Babs now, bitch! Your perfect immutable self? You went and MUTED it!

God, it’s the perfect way to cut a self-obsessed person to the core. You love yourself so much? The person you love doesn’t fucking EXIST, Ianthe. You invited a permanent roommate into your soul and you don’t even LIKE him and now you’re on the lease together forever and you did it to yourself

The unwanted guest isn’t Palamades. The unwanted guest is Babs.

mama a Body behind you 😰 // pt1/pt2/pt3

i love in fantasy when its like “king galamir the mighty golden eagle and his most trusted advisor who would never betray him, gruelworm bloodeye the treacherous”