Lemme be a self insert for a moment and explain why Brahms and I would get along just fine:

I collect vintage porcelain dolls and have them all over my apartment.

Got kicked out of private school as a kid for behavioral reasons but also because I stole a golf cart and drove it into a ditch after punching a girl and locking her in the pool bathroom. Dont worry she super deserved it.

All through middle and high school i was the “puppet girl” who’d bring my fkn ventriloquist doll to school and carry him around to bother people with. His name was juan pablo and when I ran away from home my dad decided to take it out on my fkn puppet and rip his head and his arms off and drive around to find me to deliver me his corpse. He was also my prom date.

All through school again, I wanted to be artsy and wanted nothing to do with school after I left. I wanted no one to remember me so I took my photos in wigs and costume makeup and when allowed I wore masks. Literally a friend showed me a classmate’s tiktok that was showing my pictures saying “who the fuck is this bitch.”

My little art desk and workspace is literally under the stairs and I have a weird old timey “refrigerator” wooden cabinet where I store my junk in.

Used to live in a garage/basement for years. Once someone called the police on me because they thought I was breaking into the house, but no I lived there.

I make weird lil dioramas out of insects and random junk I find. I love finding weird little figures and dolls to put in my boxes.

I can play pretty much any stringed instrument.

I eat and live like a fucking goblin. Pretty much nocturnal.

My strap big.

Ah, childhood memories (Patreon)

stavrovensky childhood meeting

When she first Fell, the sky had been all embers, all vicious touch. They’d felt nothing but the bite of flames and gore and the sulphuric acid of a mother’s love turned corrosive. Crowley had burned—heavenly bone, muscle, flesh, the chemical antiseptic of the ether stripping away to bare nerve tissue.

In the eternities since, they’d held their breath, kept herself small. They’d learned to amputate the desire that settled in the tips of her fingertips and in the scarlet ends of their hair. She—alone, ever alone—had dragged herself from the brimstone and out of the bonfire. She’d taught herself to exist in the jaws of an unmuzzled universe, under stars that no longer called their name. Now the sky is blue, and the bookshop burns. The bookshop burns and Crowley’s heart is in her throat, eating its way out of their body. The bookshop burns and yet their angel must be fine. (He has to be fine because the world still spins on its axis and the sea hasn’t swallowed her whole. And if breath still lives in her body, and the universe has yet to collapse in on itself, then their angel has to be fine). But something coils deep in her belly: an oil-slick, a poisonous berry. They bite their lip a brackish silver, the taste of ichor rotten in her mouth.

As though in a trance, she presses forward, and the frantic thrash of panic in her chest forces the double doors wide without so much as a thought. The interior of the shop is all orange-red teeth and flaming claws, tearing into bookshelves and loveseats and oh. Oh, the two of them had just been sitting there not three days ago. (Crowley had tried so hard to stay on her side of the room, to keep her fingertips from brushing the edge of Aziraphale’s as they passed silver-stemmed goblets between them. Skin to skin, breath to body—the indirect touch of their mouths. The passive desperation of six thousand years of want left fermenting under their skin).  

They call for him, heat searing her lungs. It comes out ragged and desperate and too late (always too late). 

Heat knifes clean through her now—a gutting sensation, a disembowelment in the middle of an already-burning funeral pyre. For as long as they had been on Earth together, she’d always been able to sense their angel from anywhere in the world—a steady, beating heart of a presence. An inevitable gravity that wrapped itself around her arms and tugged her forward. It had been axiomatic, a fundamental truth of how the universe functioned: a hand extended always finds purchase. A heart in motion remains in motion. 

So, in a room choked with smoke and two hundred years of memories, she reaches out, expanding the edges of her consciousness, pressing her mind into the outer reaches of the bookshop and Soho and the whole, cluttered universe. She searches for a pulse. And then something within her is breaking. Something is shaking apart in the depths of Crowley’s being—a star turned supernova turned withering, all-consuming black hole. No heartbeat, no flickering warmth, no pull in the periphery of her awareness. The corpse of gravity turns to dust in the corner of the room. 

And she knows—knows with the unflinching inevitability of too many questions, of an ink-winged angel falling from grace—that Aziraphale is gone. Outside, the sky remains blue. The world stays upright. And the bookshop still burns.

(thank u to the incredibly talented @actual-changeling for helping me fix the first part of the fourth paragraph)

kabru as a pwnpd headcanon is genuinely so iconic that man rlly is odysseus' hubristic tendencies made manifest tbh . . .

kinda wild to me that one of the most compelling aspects of both Chuuya and Kunikida's characters to me, that I never really see talked about, is how they're heavily set on a doomed crash course towards complete and utter destruction, and how I am so, so worried for them both.....

I went to an egg hunt today. there were lots of kids there. my friends are younger than me, and I think they were trying to be "too cool to participate."

not me tho. I was borderline regressing. running around collecting as many eggs as I could. I had a blast. I LOVE healing my inner child.

I even said to a friend, "where's your inner child ?" and she replied, "she died when I was 8" so I said, "find her and let her play again !!"

omw to play emotional support for my mom disguised as ✨fun family bonding time✨ for the rest of the week <3333 there's something so deeply wrong with me uwu teehee

I'm fascinated that Vash, Knives, and Wolfwood don't know their birth families and how that plays out with their guardians.

Vash's philosophies are shaped by Rem; Knives rebels/reframes Rem's words to suit his own agenda ("There's so much we have to do to make sure it [Tesla's death by human experimentation/callousness] doesn't happen again." To me, it's a "I learned drinking at my father's knee" v. "I saw my father drinking and resolved not to be like him" relationship, and many people have written amazing metas on this!

Wolfwood has had two prominent guardians in his life—Melanie and Chapel (depending on which version, Chapel actually raised Wolfwood for a bit). It's pretty formative in that Wolfwood before the Eye of Michael is a caring individual but also hard-nosed to a certain degree (becoming a caretaker figure, knowing the orphanage is struggling, etc.), while Chapel teaches him that connections drag you down and that you must make an immediate decision (as the world/job is harsh and unforgiving). His experiences with Melanie and Chapel also shaped his self-sacrificing nature: to help with the greater good, whatever that means—but Wolfwood rebels against Chapel as Knives did with Rem, which (unlike Knives and Rem) is a good thing.

Again, none of these characters know their birth origins or express a lot of curiosity about finding out more, and that nature/nurture dynamic fascinates me because they're a) very much their own individuals but b) still burdened by who raised them.

It's a compelling theme in Trigun that it's not necessarily how you start out; it's the experience and guidances (or lack thereof) do. There are a lot of self-determination/fate interpretations among Vash, Knives, and Wolfwood—what path are you on? Did you create it? Is it shaped? Can you go without a path or make a different one? How does it all end? Can you truly escape where you came from? (More thoughts in the tags lol)

whenever i think about possible headcanons for junko and mukuro’s childhood i’m always reminded of the quote from sharp objects where camille was like “a child weaned on poison considers harm a comfort” and it always makes me feel so so sad idk

ok i like rushed through the whole orv webtoon way too fast so now i have thoughts going in like 5 different directions but ep121-123 drive me so fucking insane actually. every time i think about those two conversations i have to sit down

I finally found the little ✨Dream Girl✨ passage in the Faithgirlz! Bible that made me realize I might just be gay

okay first of all was anyone going to tell me that ac/dc is an australian band. and second of all was anyone else going to tell me that they're apparently colloquially referred to as "acca dacca" in australia

✨️Magenta✨️

I like to think that König maybe has a pretty nasty scar on his face from an “accident” when he was younger (bullies) but got swept under the rugs because maybe the kids involved had important parents or smthn like that. Would make sense given his anxiety + his desire to wear a sniper hood despite not actually being a sniper