foone:

Anomalous Item #4742: A set of 173 VHS tapes with blank labels.

When a tape label is filled out (there are provided fields for title, director, and year) and then placed into any functioning VCR, the film listed will play, regardless of if it existed before the tape was played.

This was first believed to be an effect limited to the tapes, ie, the tapes were somehow generating the movie themselves through some method similar to AI art generation, but after initial tests were performed the paratime division discovered the effect is actually antichronological: when played, the tapes don’t simply create the movie named, they alter the past so that the movie mentioned was created.

Thus, after a tape is labeled and played, it can be found on streaming services and in DVD rental stores. The directors, if still alive, will recall making the film, and actors who were active at the time the film was “made” will have anecdotes about events that happened in the film.

This can have ripple effects as well; during the 9th test, the film Big Trouble in Little China, 1986, directed by John Carpenter, was created. Besides the immediate effects of creating a new film that hadn’t existed, an indirect effect was that the film Alien 2, 1985, John Carpenter, ceased to exist. Instead, the sequel to the 1979 film Alien (directed by Ridley Scott)was titled Aliens and directed by James Cameron. It’s believed that by adding a new movie to the timeline of John Carpenter’s direction, he no longer had time to direct one of the works he had directed in the original timeline, as he would have been busy directing the newly-added film, and directing roles therefore passed to another director.

Use of the tapes can also implicitly affect the lifespan of directors. In test #17, Researcher J. Calhoun attempted to generate a film that couldn’t possibly exist: a prequel to a film made by a director who had died decades beforehand.

According to paratime research, the writing of “Star Wars: Episode 1, 1999, George Lucas” on the tape and the subsequent viewing undid the 1981 death of Mr. Lucas, causing Star Wars: Episode 6: Revenge of the Jedi to come out in 1983 instead of 1985, be titled “Return of the Jedi” instead, and it would be directed by George Lucas instead of Steven Spielberg.

This obviously had additional effects as it didn’t merely extend the lifespan of George Lucas by an additional 18 years: at time of writing in 2022, he is still alive at the age of 78. It’s therefore believed that the object doesn’t unnaturally extend the lifespan of the director, it instead reshapes the flow of time so that any events that would stop them from filming the listed movie do not happen.

After discovery of their history altering nature, the remaining anomalous objects have been locked in secure storage at site #22. No further testing is authorized, and emergency use requires level #6 authorization, which will only be granted in the face of imminent disaster requiring paratime remedies.

Article update[2022-11-20]: an incident occurred where it was discovered that former researcher K. Synnol had acquired one of the tapes (see investigation document 2483 for details) and was attempting to use it for history modification, without approval. The paratime division detected the impending history alteration and an assault team was dispatched. Synnol was apprehended before they could complete the use of the tape, however the label WAS filled out but the tape remained unwatched. What effects, if any, the partial use of the anomalous artifact would have on the timeline is unknown, but in previous testing the film only came into being when the labeled tape was placed into a VCR and watched.

See photo attachment #2, below, for artifact 1B, recovered after the Synnol event.

e323abe9ddc04f79b1758a750c2248422621b758

Tags:

#Goncharov #storytime #unreality cw #amnesia cw? #death tw? #this post was queued because my to-reblog list is too long and I didn’t want to dump it on you all at once

mallowmaenad:

unreality-tv-cohost:

☀️ daytime-twin739 Follow

Nobody talks about how being a polymorphic lycanthrope is actually really nice because it’s like having a pen pal who helps out around the house at night :)

🏞️ firstshift-life Follow

I always describe it as like being two roommates who have two completely opposite work schedules

⛓️ cursed-to-coexistt Follow

Stop romanticizing polymorphic lycanthropy. Kids are going to get their hands on an elixir and realize that not every “Mr. Hyde” is as cool as yours

🍹 takebackthenite Follow

I love waking up to see that my day time me was vagueing about me :/ is this because I asked you to take out the trash?

⛓️ cursed-to-coexists Follow

Go fuck yourself

🍹 takebackthenite Follow

You know if we could exist at the same time I would babe 😘

☀️ daytime-twin739 Follow

Guys.

@funnier-as-a-system @funnier-as-a-system @funnier-as-a-system @funnier-as-a-system @funnier-as-a-system @funnier-as-a-system @funnier-as-a-system


Tags:

#storytime #anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog #dashboard simulators #this post was queued because my to-reblog list is too long and I didn’t want to dump it on you all at once

{{werewolf-girlthing asked:}}

how could you like the colour yellow

see a therapist immediately

raspbrrytea:

raspbrrytea:

teaboot:

I actually used to hate it! Like, actually despise it! Yellow was too bright, too loud, discordant, unruly, and clashed with everything. Nothing like what I wanted in my life, nothing I wanted to be.

When I first moved away from home, everything I owned was black. Jet back. As black as I could get. Smooth, cool, sleek, discrete, calm, unassuming. Flexible, cohesive, agreeable black. Fashionable black.

I had a really, really bad time. Unrelated to the decor. It was my first year out of a toxic place I’d grown used to my whole life, my first year acknowledging a mental illness I’d believed to be normal, my first year fending for myself with very little money or sleep or companionship.

I’d grown up on instant white rice and unseasoned ground beef. One day I realized that everything I’d been raised on tasted like cardboard. While out on an assignment, I passed a tent with a woman selling spices, and bought myself some turmeric. I went home and tried making curry with it. It was so yellow.

Another time, my professor took us out to a modern art gallery. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but when we got there, the whole building had been painted bright sunshine yellow.

The artist’s theme was “happiness”.

What it is. How we make it. How to share it.

All bright, lovely yellow.

The house I grew up in was beige. The walls were white. The appliances were post 9/11 stainless steel. My job was to be quiet, compliant, presentable and agreeable.

Black goes with everything. Black is neutral. Black is quiet, reserved, elegant and mysterious.

Yellow is warm. Yellow does what it wants. Yellow tastes sweet and spicy and hot and cool, like a summer breeze, like sunflower petals, powdery like dust on a long dirt road and soothing like well-worn linen.

I still like the look of black. I like the look of most colors. But I like the way that Yellow makes me feel.

Do you understand?

b236ff4dc6cbf622a57e0e7150acd8cf9577406d
a49a53f3f7ce09aedae8c97c93436d45487bdcbb
c15ff377acf16cd91531fff23477f9811eedd33d
7504f2b656425d69c0fbaa7bfead226119fb122a
1b5cb456278f07f68121cf5251a2e7f7dd2d9fd1
1fc455daa3299d6afcbc92987a098eef87ed78d3
82d6b3971d1e0efdd1cf33ecbf1401050c30b7f4
Center top half of image: a plain looking place with rice and ground beef. Text reads "I'd grown up on instant white rice and unseasoned ground beef" Lower half shows OP earring cardboard with a square mouth of sharp teeth with a disgusted look aimed at the distance, with a fork in hand. "One day I realized it all tasted like cardboard."
83831f5bf2f3991eb992d0602f161f2bb3f7378a
a036aab5ad73d31d0ac942d5942e92c1e2c37408
182895920056daec8555e0be79d9a1d7db53a3b3
73f292a787cc22befde1a99c349f9b071c907593
aef7bd24711115f0e7e903e40f962e0dbe313953
5043263293a4fc2cb7f9f15c0528b68d73a997d3
d36f1b981d1b990071f7fe8ad87589c94b397145
4e7a14ddd4bf4897bf69d1bb7c5fabf9670b7356
1b0d5807a584e4365cfaa4205056fdc8a2d3e12d
0a5738efb996706bd1ec4b1a492790f6122143a2
01f5d764b58f0ba2c3305280d3604930479fddad
81d5b8cb0fd7645a6808bc6199fb9080bf60d34c

Thank you to everyone in the notes sharing why they love yellow!


Tags:

#art #fanart #comics #storytime #colourful #I love this #(…though I did not notice the fridge horror the first time I read it) #(even though I know I had read https://marginalrevolution.com/marginalrevolution/2023/09/they-got-the-lead-out-turmeric.html by then) #((possibly I hadn’t learned yet that even rich countries struggle with spice contamination to a significant extent)) #((even if not *as* much)) #(let us hope that the turmeric was‚ uh‚ not *too* yellow) #poison cw #this probably deserves some other warning tag but I am not sure what #this post was queued because my to-reblog list is too long and I didn’t want to dump it on you all at once


{{next post in sequence}}

itsbenedict:

just read Copy <|> Paste, and i gotta say: rip to kate but i’m different. i would simply not give a shit about the ethics of sacrificing clones! if it were me it’d be me and a clone of me wouldn’t think twice about walking into the nuclear reactor if he had the original standing right there. absolutely just kill me if it’s convenient! there’s more where that came from! kate out there trying desperately to cling to the top of the slippery slope and i got me a snowboard


Tags:

#I think I’m in the middle here #Brin-2-9-2-1 responds to that situation with #”well what are we standing around here building up lack for‚ let’s get this over with” #and walks grimly into the reactor #a forgotten party *is* death‚ Robin Hanson #storytime #recs #death tw #amnesia cw

ghostcasket:

teashoesandhair:

collidedscope:

memewhore:

842eaa65f53844ca97d4ab181905d75fbad18d12

the “bad guys” in hallmark movies end up always being the most respectful men ever.

because they will find out their girlfriend of 3 years (that they were about to propose to) went off to a random farm in minnesota, hours away from were the two of them built a life together, and she decided to just… stay there without even consulting him.

and then he decides to take a trip to make sure she’s okay, because this is generally alarming behavior, and then sees that she literally fell in love with her ex within one (1) week- and he wasn’t there, but you can TELL that they’ve made out a couple times.

and then she just strings him along for a few days, until fucking christmas eve, when she just breaks up with him and is like “i know we used to have the same values, but i’ve never loved you. mark makes me happier than you ever did. and you ONLY care about work, whereas i like christmas and fun, like a Good Person.”

and then, after finding out his entire relationship was a lie and he had his life turned upside down in a week and he got dumped on christmas, this guy’s just like “ok yeah that makes sense. i only wish you the best of happiness with mark. i hope you guys build a great life together in christmastreefarmville. thank you for everything.”

An AU where two Hallmark Christmas Bad Guys are both getting flights back to New York after being dumped by their respective Smalltown Blonde Girlfriends, and they bond over their shared experiences and fall in love in the departures lounge

@teashoesandhair your wish is my command :)

Probably, Levi should be more upset.

Probably he is still in shock. Right? He looks out of his taxi window (it’s not technically a taxi, just some guy named Corey who offered him a ride to the airport, because Uber doesn’t operate in fucking Tinyville, Bumfuck Middle-Of-Nowhere, Utah) and tracks water droplets racing each other down the glass, because of course it’s raining, and his bad knee is killing him.

Levi sniffs and rubs at his eyes and then pulls out his phone and books a ticket back to New York, wincing as four hundred and twenty-six dollars are deducted from his bank account.

And, like, he should definitely be more upset.

He just got broken up with. He was engaged, for God’s sake. A four-year relationship… over. Just like that.

Corey says, “Ten minutes to the station.”

Keep reading

{{below the cut:}}

Probably he’ll be more upset once he’s home. When he starts packing up Anika’s stuff into boxes so she can come collect them after New Year’s. He’ll have to do all that processing and he’ll put away all the pictures that are up and probably he’ll remember all the good times they had together and flashes of their relationship will play out in slow motion in his mind. Like a movie montage.

Levi catches his reflection in the passenger side window and starts, pulling his thumb out of his mouth. He hadn’t even noticed he’d started biting the nail.

Corey drops him off at the train station and he books a ticket to Salt Lake City and Levi wants to tip him for the ride but when he turns back the car’s gone, and it’s started snowing again.

He re-wraps his scarf so it covers his ears and turns back. He has to jog—ow ow ow—to catch his train.

Once arrived at the airport, Levi’s gotten over being baffled and has started being mildly pissed.

You’re obsessed with work, Anika told him. You barely make time for us anymore. Yeah, he’d had to pull some long hours for the last few months, but for good reason—he’d been working towards a huge promotion and a raise and he thought she’d be happy for him.

He’d gotten the promotion, by the way. Editor in chief. He’d tried calling her first, a whole bunch of times, and then she hadn’t picked up, so he’d decided Well, fuck it, and flew out to Doodootown, Utah to break the news himself.

He thought it would be nice. Spend the few remaining days before Christmas with Anika and her family in their hometown, then flying back home for Christmas and New Year’s and starting 2023 off with renewed vigour and excitement.

Then, of course, Anika told him that she wouldn’t be flying back with him for Christmas. Or at all.

Which, well. Okay.

She didn’t even congratulate him.

He checks in, and the lady at the desk asks him whether he wants to drop off his carry-on luggage for free, since the plane is very full, and Levi shrugs and says okay and watches his suitcase disappear behind black rubber flaps.

His flight leaves in four hours.

Levi decides to pay the extra fee so he can stay in the fancy lounge, because he thinks he probably deserves that at this point. It’s quiet here, though, so he orders a tea and claims a table over by the window, stretching out his right leg with a contented sigh.

There’s an empty table in front of him, but at the next one sits a man who looks so miserable it’s impressive.

The man is slouched in his chair, dark hair mussed and suit a little ruffled. The cuffs of his slacks are damp, and so are his knees. He’s leaning his head against the window, eyes closed, holding a bloody tissue to his nose. A purple bruise is starting to form on his cheekbone.

Levi stares.

Damn. And he thought he was having a rough day.

Should he say something? Probably not, right. Like, that would be weird, right?

Then he notices the small, black velvet ring box the man is fiddling with and it’s like all the air’s punched right out of his lungs.

Damn.

Levi looks down and takes a sip of his tea, then hisses and curses under his breath because it’s still way too hot and he’s an idiot.

When he looks up again, the man is eyeing him with mild amusement.

And there are a hundred thousand ways that Levi could have handled the situation, but before he can think about ways to not embarrass himself further he hears himself say, “Ouch. Haha.”

Somebody please shoot him.

The man raises an eyebrow. Levi gives an awkward cough, then takes another sip of tea and somehow feels betrayed when it burns his tongue again.

“Maybe you should give it a second,” the man says.

“Maybe,” Levi says, “I should.” His ears are burning.

It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas plays over the speakers.

Levi desperately wants to ask about the ring box. And the bloody nose. And whether there’s a correlation. But then again it is so definitely not his business, so he just stares down at his tea and watches steam rise.

There’s a sharp sigh from across the table. “She said no.”

Levi’s head snaps up, ready to defend himself, because it’s not like he actually asked, but then the guy looks so tired and bitter that he immediately deflates and feels both like an asshole and an idiot.

“I’m sorry,” he offers, which still feels lame but better than whatever he had going on before.

The guy gives a wry smile. “Gonna, you know. Return this. She, uh, said no to the whole relationship. So.”

Ah.

“I’m sorry,” he says, running a hand over his face, “I don’t mean to dump all this on you.”

“Oh, no, it’s okay,” Levi says quickly, and then before he can think about it too much, he adds, “I get it.”

The other guy looks immediately doubtful.

Levi bites the inside of his cheek. “Four years,” he says with a shrug. “Engaged and everything.” He gives a thumbs down and blows a raspberry.

“Aw, shit, dude,” he says, sitting up straight. He removes the tissue from his face, and seeing as he’s no longer bleeding, stuffs it in his pocket. “That sucks.”

Levi shrugs again, suddenly weirdly self-conscious. He traces the rim of his teacup with a finger. “Yeah, well. I didn’t get beat up about it.” There’s a moment of silence, then he sneaks another glance. “Levi, by the way.”

A corner of the guy’s mouth twitches. “Xavier Ortega.”

Levi gives a half-hearted salute. “Fuckin’, enchanté. Or whatever.”

Again, Xavier almost smiles. Levi thinks—Levi thinks he’d like to see Xavier smile. Properly.

And then he thinks, What.

No, he’s just—Xavier just looks like he could do with a cheer-up. That’s it. And, well, so could he, really. They’re both in similar boats. Although it looks like Xavier got the shorter end of the straw here, Levi thinks, considering his ruined suit and, you know, face. Still a nice face, though. Symmetrical. Strong cheekbones. Dark eyebrows over dark eyes and a straight nose and—whatever.

Whatever.

He just got broken up with.

God, why’s he trying to justify this to himself? Why is he feeling weird about this? He’s not even gay. And even if he—even if he was, it’s not gay to acknowledge that a guy is good-looking.

But, like, it’s fine. He’s not—whatever.

Xavier has a split lip, he notices now that the tissue’s not hiding half his face. “Got you good, huh?”

Xavier rolls his eyes. He looks away for a moment, hesitating, then stands up and pulls the chair from the table between them, spinning it around and flopping back down at Levi’s table.

Levi thinks he must look quite surprised, because Xavier says, “I mean, this is easier for conversation purposes. Unless you’re fine with the yelling across tables situation—”

“No, no,” Levi protests. “No, you’re right, this is—easier.” He clears his throat and says, “So, what was her name?” before mentally kicking himself, but Xavier just looks at him weird.

“Well, her name is Chloe. We just broke up, she didn’t die.”

Levi nods, puckering his lips. Right, yeah. Yes. “Is she… nice?”

“Well, she cheated on me.”

“Ha,” Levi says with no humour. “Samesies.”

Xavier lets out a dry chuckle at this, then rubs at his eyes. “Wow. Happy Christmas to us, right?”

Levi raises his teacup and gives a ghost toast. “Merry Christmas to us.” He downs his tea, which is at a palatable temperature now, then says, “Do you want a drink?”

So Chloe and Xavier had been together for almost five years. The whole story is… disturbingly similar to Levi’s whole deal, actually. Chloe decides, two weeks before Christmas, to take a trip back to her hometown, gets pissed when Xavier can’t just take ten days off work to come with her, goes anyway on her sister’s advice, meets up with her childhood nemesis who turns out not to be so bad after all and also cleaned up unfair nice, and then when Xavier went after her because hey, she hadn’t been answering his texts and he was planning to pop the question over the holidays, she decided to dump him.

“She looked me in the face,” Xavier says, head in hands, “and told me she was happier there than she’d ever been with me.” He looks up and runs his fingers through his hair. “And I mean, sure, we’d had our rough patches, but, you know. We were gonna work it out.”

Levi hums. “Yeah, no. I get it.”

“So I said, Are you fucking serious right now, and I guess I raised my voice a bit, and then Mr Goddamn Farm Guy comes storming out and squares up to me and I don’t even know who this dude is, and I tell him to get out of my face, and he fucking decks me. Like, completely unprompted.”

“Rough,” Levi says solemnly.

“Yeah,” Xavier says, exasperated. “And he didn’t even apologise.”

Levi whistles low. It’s quiet for a moment while they both nurse their drinks, then Xavier vaguely gestures at him and says, “So what’s your Christmas Tragedy?”

Levi gives a lopsided grin. “Well. Anika goes home to Middle Of Nowhere, Utah, ‘cause she said she wasn’t feeling great. Wants me to go with her, I can’t ’cause I’m pulling long hours for an upcoming promotion, she’s pissed. When she gets back there she rekindles things with her ex—”

“Augh,” Xavier says. “Brutal.”

“—and last I heard the plan was for them to start a combination bakery and tearoom together. So.” Levi grits his teeth. “Hope that works out for them.”

Xavier looks at him over his glass, then, after a moment of careful silence, says, “You’re allowed to be mad at her, you know.”

Fuck her,” Levi says immediately. “Like, seriously. Why even get engaged to me if she was so miserable? Just break up with me instead of, fuckin’, cheating, and then acting like I’m insane for going to check on her after she just ignores all my calls and texts and goddamn emails. We were going to get married in February, for fuck’s sake. Fuck her.” He presses the palms of his hands against his eyes til he sees stars.

There it is. The upset. Figures that it’s the saying it out loud that really drives home how betrayed Levi feels. Especially when he’s talking to someone whom he doesn’t have to explain it to, because Xavier gets it. Xavier gets it better than anyone ever will, probably.

It’s not quite the movie montage Levi had been preparing for. Rather, what Levi remembers now are all the moments that Anika said things that cut, or did things that bruised. How she’d roll her eyes when Levi got so excited he got the wiggles. How she refused to entertain the idea of getting a dog, even after he begged. How she’d get annoyed with him when his knee acted up and told him to suck it up and stop being such a crybaby. How she’d give him the cold shoulder when she was upset with him and he couldn’t read her mind about it and let it build until she exploded out of nowhere.

Little things that didn’t seem like such a big deal in the time, but that added up to something like a balm for the sharp sting of betrayal.

Because that’s what it is, at its core. That’s why Levi is angry.

More betrayal than heartbreak.

And even though it will hurt for a while still, there’s something that tastes oddly like relief at the centre of his chest, cool and welcome like a breeze on a suffocating July afternoon.

Xavier stays silent. After a moment Levi blinks hard and opens his eyes and finds Xavier looking at him strangely.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Fuck ’em.”

Levi’s stomach squeezes.

He glances wildly around, trying to find anything to look at that isn’t Xavier’s face, and settles for the screen hanging from the ceiling that displays flight information.

“Oh, look at that,” he says. “I should get to my gate.”

“Right,” Xavier agrees quickly. “Yeah, of course, so should I.” He picks up his leather briefcase. “Where are you going, by the way?”

Levi laughs. “How wild would it be if we were on the same flight, huh?” He stands up and winces, ignoring Xavier’s questioning look. “New York City. The 9:15. You?”

Xavier’s eyebrows shoot up. Levi’s jaw drops. “You’re fucking kidding.”

They make their way over to gate B9 mostly in silence, a general air of What the fuck is happening hanging between them. Not quite uncomfortable, but definitely baffled.

“So this is weird, right,” Levi says, dropping into a boarding zone chair. “Like, really weird.”

“Right,” Xavier says softly. Then, eyes trained on the huge Christmas tree and determinedly not looking at Levi, he adds, “Cool, though.”

Levi is—Levi is a little speechless. “Yeah.” He feels kind of floaty. He can’t stop looking at Xavier’s ears, because the tips have gone red. “Yeah. Pretty cool.”

God. Fuck.

Their seats aren’t next to each other, because that would have been crossing the line from freaky coincidence into absolutely fucking insane, but Levi pulls some strings and switches seats with the nice lady who’s next to Xavier, because it’s an exit row seat with more leg room and he has a bad knee. He tries not to look too pleased with himself as he sits down.

Xavier gives him a look. “So do you actually have a bad knee, or…”

Levi slaps a scandalised hand to his chest. “I can’t believe you’d accuse me of such a thing. You think I’d lie about being disabled?”

“I don’t know you that well.”

“And here I thought we had something.” Levi sighs. “I broke my kneecap when I was a teenager. Never healed right.”

“Ah. Sports? Don’t tell me you were a football kid.”

Levi doesn’t know why he feels suddenly bashful. He always feels kind of stupid telling people how he got his injury; the reactions usually range somewhere between mild disapproval and straight up judgment. “Uh, no. Parkour. Actually.”

Xavier’s eyebrows vanish into his hairline.

After a moment of questioning silence, Levi shrugs. “I misjudged the distance between ledges. Fractured my kneecap. But I was stupid and an idiot, also, so I didn’t wait for it to fully heal before going back out, and now I am a human weather antennae.”

“Huh.” Levi would say Xavier looks almost impressed. Mostly sort of exasperated, though. “You know what, now that you say it, I feel like that checks out.”

Levi narrows his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know, maybe you look like the type who would break his kneecap doing parkour.”

“And what kind of type is that?” Levi is halfway to miffed and sort of offended, but then Xavier grins wide and he forgets to be annoyed.

“You tell me.”

It sounds too much like an invitation to be a coincidence.

Levi can’t remember the last time he spent so many hours talking uninterrupted. Or, well, talking to someone who was actually listening to him and actively engaging in conversation. Someone who was interested in him.

Levi can’t remember the last time he enjoyed talking to someone this much.

He cracks a joke that makes Xavier laugh softly, and the noise goes straight through his spinal cord like an electric shock, and then it becomes a game, a challenge, trying to make Xavier laugh like that again.

Xavier shows him pictures of his dog, a wonderfully fluffy brown-and-grey mutt named Captain, and Levi thinks he might actually pass away over how cute he is.

“I always wanted a dog,” he says after cooing over a picture of Captain showing his belly for ten minutes. “Like, really bad. I want a dog so bad. But Anika doesn’t, so it never happened.”

“Well,” Xavier says loftily, “Nothing’s stopping you now, is there?”

That is an excellent point. Levi tells him so.

Then he starts thinking about how nice it will be to have the apartment to himself for a while, and then he feels guilty for being relieved about it, about Anika not being there, and then he ponders how weird it’ll be to be alone for Christmas.

Levi’s never been alone for Christmas before.

His family lives in Alberta, and he can’t really afford another short notice round flight, and anyway the plan this year had been just him and Anika, and they’d had a reservation for brunch on Christmas day, and Levi thinks he should probably cancel that, and that’s just a fucking bummer.

After a moment of thinky silence, Levi quietly asks, “What are you gonna do for Christmas?”

Xavier blows out a long breath. “I don’t know. I think I’ll try to see my sisters. They live a state over, though, and it’s all very last minute, I—we—were supposed to spend it at Chloe’s, and I’m not big on Christmas celebrations myself, you know, my family’s culturally Jewish, so… I’m not sure.”

Most of the rest of the flight is quiet, and a little sad, but also nice, and when the seatbelt light flicks on and the crew announces the imminent descent Levi can’t help but feel a pang of disappointment.

The plane lands. Impatience in the cabin spikes; everyone wants to get home, it’s the holidays, it’s cold. Levi gets up and winces, catches Xavier’s eye as he reaches for his bag and hands it to him.

Xavier is gonna call a cab. Levi is as well.

They’re standing outside.

Levi shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Well,” Xavier says.

“Right.”

“It was nice meeting you, Levi. The circumstances were… less than ideal, maybe, but…”

Levi looks at him. A purple bruise is blossoming on his cheekbone, crawling up around his eye. The tip of his nose is red from the cold. His eyes are dark but if he pays very close attention he can tell where the iris ends and the pupil begins.

And okay. Okay.

He might be a little gay.

“But nice,” he whispers.

Xavier smiles, looks down. Is it—would it be totally weird to ask for his number?

But then Xavier’s cab is there, and he tips an imaginary hat at Levi before turning away. He hands the driver his luggage.

The sharp stab of panic between his ribs takes Levi totally by surprise. As does the fact that when he blinks he’s closed the distance between him and the cab and is holding onto the door.

Xavier looks at him, eyebrows raised.

Levi didn’t plan this far ahead, or at all. He blinks, feeling rather sheepish, then when Xavier’s eyebrows start disappearing into his hairline he blusters, all at once, “So I have a brunch reservation. On Christmas Day. I was, you know, supposed to go with Anika, but, you know. And it would suck to have to cancel. And it doesn’t have to be weird, or anything, we’re just two guys being dudes, getting brunch.” He snaps his mouth shut, absolutely horrified. What the fuck was that?

Xavier’s mouth parts a little.

God. Shitballs. Fuck. Abort. “But that would be weird, right? You know what, never mind, it’s fine, forget I said anything, it’s—”

“Levi,” Xavier says, exasperated. He covers his face with his hands. Then he says, muffled, “Yeah, okay. That sounds nice. I’d like that.”

Oh.

“Are you—are you sure?”

He must sound really incredulous, because Xavier snorts. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Slowly, Levi grins. “Okay.”

“Okay.” They stand there for a moment, and then Xavier’s eyes go wide and he says, “Wait, I should—hold on.” He digs in his pocket and pulls out his wallet, hesitates, then pulls out a small rectangular object and holds it out.

Levi’s grin goes lopsided. “Xavier Ortega. Are you handing me your business card right now?”

To his credit, Xavier looks away sheepishly. “My phone number’s on there.”

Levi accepts the card, hoping passionately that Xavier doesn’t notice his hand is shaking. “Okay. I’ll text you, then.”

“Okay,” Xavier says. Then, tentatively, “See you soon, then?”

Levi takes a deep breath and steps back, cheeks burning, and probably not just because of the bite of winter chill. Something in his stomach twinges, and he says, “Yeah. See you soon.”


Tags:

#Christmas #storytime #anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog #embarrassment squick #this probably deserves some other warning tag but I am not sure what #this post was queued to ensure proper timing

eightyonekilograms:

transarsonist:

victoriadallonfan:

cpericardium:

7a260ecfbeda67f1479b4b154cb4209d1db7a9ab

I wanna read this so bad

COMPUARY

I’ve read this … book …. this year

Android Netrunner was a fun CCG and I’m still sad it got canned, but having to explain the lore makes me wince because it’s essentially this, unironically.


Tags:

#storytime #anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog #(”Tums 2”) #this probably deserves some warning tag but I am not sure what #murder cw? #this post was queued because my to-reblog list is too long and I didn’t want to dump it on you all at once

machine-saint:

yeah sometimes I use a quantum RNG to influence my posts because it’s the one true source of randomness and I think it’s funny. anyway one time this guy messaged me out of nowhere and told me they were stuck in a time loop and my posts were the only thing that was different every time and it freaked me the fuck out so i blocked them


Tags:

#(a couple of the other reblogs have tags implying that this post has context) #(but none of them specify what that context is and I do not already know it) #(…maybe I should just ask one of them what the context is) #(……right‚ I can’t ask them because I’m still shadowbanned and they don’t follow me and they don’t offer non-Tumblr contact info) #((and actively tracking them down elsewhere seems too creepy)) #(………I could message them from a sideblog) #storytime #unreality cw #this post was queued because my to-reblog list is too long and I didn’t want to dump it on you all at once


{{next post in sequence}}

lizardsfromspace:

“Hi y’all, it’s Chronomaster42, the only Youtuber with the ability to travel through, and control, time and space, here with another taste test. I’m here in 1976, and I’m gonna get some fries from Mickey D’s before they changed the recipe, and then I’m gonna take ‘em back to 2022, and get fries from the same McDonald’s, so I can compare. Now, I’ve got my Nixon, uh, Ford? Carter? Era fries right here, so now I’m gonna”

*everything appears stretched and distant, and then the camera flies through space, through the sun, over millions of different Earths, past the faces of individual people in a thousand different timelines, splintered day by day, the long-dead alive once more, their varied futures lying before them. They appear to be screaming*

“annnnnd here we are, gettin’ the new fries, today. I have to say, I like the old fries a bit better, bit more crisp, but Mickey D’s fries are still Mickey D’s fries, y’know? Anyway, I know some of you guys were freaked out at all the screaming time faces last video, but like, I’m used to ’em, and they aren’t even audible to me? But y’know what is audible? That’s right – Audible, use code -”

lizardsfromspace:

“Hi y’all, it’s Chronomaster42, the only Youtuber with the ability to travel through, and control, time and space, here to respond to some allegations.”

“Lots of you are saying, Chronomaster42, why don’t you stop World War II? And I keep saying that I can’t change history. History’s got, like, antibodies, and these haters eject me back to my time if I do anything that’ll change anything. Like the space time con…tainium doesn’t want me traveling around time.”

“And before you start bringing up that guy who erased…France? The fuck is France? From ever existing, that wasn’t me, you guys. Get your facts straight. That was @true_chronomaster, the only TikToker with the ability to travel through, and control, time and space. i have nothing to do with the Evil Leaper Challenge. I don’t have a shadow self. But y’know what I do have? Some words from our sponsor, Raid: Shadow Legends -”

lizardsfromspace:

“Hi y’all, it’s Chronomaster42, the only Youtuber with the ability to travel through, and control, time and space, and today I’m gonna be doing the challenge Gamer_Springtrap2011 gave me, where I’m travelin’ back in time to finally figure out which religion is true, and then I’m gonna make a tier list so we can put all this drama about which religion’s the right one behind us and just settle on one of ’em that’s the best. Like, finally, you know?”

“But before we go back in time to see if Adam and Eve was real, we’ve gotta check in with our sponsor, Adam and Eve, discreet packaging and shipping -”

lizardsfromspace:

“Hi y’all, it’s Chronomaster42, the only Youtuber with the ability to travel through, and control, time and space, still sorry to every world religion, though like, you should really be mad at Gamer_Springtrap2011 for trolling me so hard. I got trolled guys. I’m sorry for my video ‘CHALLENGE: I get this guy sitting under a tree in India to break his concentration’. I’m sorry for my video ‘WHOA: I told a Roman cop where a guy was and got THIRTY SILVER COINS?!?!?’ and shout out to Judas for catching my strays. Like, guys, I’m sorry. You should be mad at Gamer_Springtrap2011 though.”

“Anyways, I’ve got this cool new money-making opportunity in the past. So like, what if we take things from the past, and sell them now? I found this guy with all this metal in his house, and it turns out nowadays they’ll pay a lot for it ’cause normally you can only get copper from people stealing wire to pay for meth, but this is really good, honest copper. But like, I’ve gotta preserve history and shit, so I’ve been taking his copper and replacin’ it with painted rocks. I think people are realizing ’cause every time I go to his house the copper guy’s real mad and carrying stone tablets, it’s funny. That Earnie Sir guy may be selling bad metal, but if you want real metal to hang on your walls, check out our sponsor Displate -”

lizardsfromspace:

“Hi y’all, it’s TimeController73, the one EbaumsTuber with the ability to travel through, and control, time and space, and I uh, think I might have messed up the continuum a bit. I’m gonna take some time to fix it, but you know who will have the movie you want to stream right now? Today’s sponsor, Blockbuster+…”

lizardsfromspace:

“Hello y’all, it’s ChronoMaster42, the only Youtuber with the ability to travel through, and control, time and space, and we’ve gotta talk about something important. Earlier this month I asked to ride that submersible down to the Titanic. They said no ’cause I didn’t have enough money. So, like, I thought, man, you can control time and space! Go back to the real thing.”

“But thing is, I got back there, right, and I was hopin’ I could push Leo back on that raft ’cause the two of them could totally fit, CinemaSins had the real shit on that, but get this: he wasn’t even there? Like, the two of them aren’t even real? I looked all over the Titanic for ’em and I ended up falling from the ship when it broke in half so I made a portal under me, and it’s kind of scary that I could have died on the Titanic and not been able to make content anymore. If I died in 1912 and didn’t have new videos the algorithm would deprioritize me, y’know? It’s so scary to think about. And like, I know I said the screaming faces of everyone’s potential futures didn’t get to me but man, they kinda get to you when there’s also a lot of people screaming in the water.”

“When I got back to 2023 I had two boxes on my doorstep. One was unmarked and just had a note in it saying ‘THEY ARE COMING. THE RECKONING IS NEAR. YOU ARE NOT THE ONLY ONE, AND THE ANTIBODIES GROW. YES, THEY DO GROW, AND THEY HUNGER.’ And I’m kinda hungry too, ’cause I didn’t eat on the Titanic, so it’s good that the other was my first meal kit from today’s sponsor, Hello Fresh…”

lizardsfromspace:

“Hi, y’all, it’s ChronoMaster42, the only Youtuber with the ability to travel through, and control, time and space, and I’ve got some exciting news. I’m gonna be collabing with Mr. Beast on a new challenge video where we, like, go back in time and try to survive for seven days. It’s gonna be cool as hell. We wanted to go back to Imperial China, but Mr. Beast said he was afraid we might not be respectful enough to the Emperor and thus would commit 大不敬, one of the Ten Abominations, and due to our non-noble status, we wouldn’t be able to rely on the “八議” or ‘Eight Deliberations’. Which, like, fair ‘nough. So we settled on our backup plan, which is a lot safer: France in 1916! Man, I can’t wait to see the Eiffel Tower before it got all old stuff and like, we’re gonna see it! Stay tuned, guys!”

d7e870475e44a49a3368426ef01e270108365dec

lizardsfromspace:

9debb993560eea946fa208688cf3aada874b182a

*deep breath*

“Hello, you all. It’s ChronoMaster42, and normally I’m the only Youtuber with the ability to travel through, and control, time and space. But today…I’m the only Youtuber who’s sorry they got Mr. Beast exploded.”

“I am. I know everyone’s canceling me, they’re canceling everyone just cause – it was his idea to go back to the Western Front anyway, and…”

*sigh*

“I’m sorry. I understand how upset you all are at the exploding of Mr. Beast. I want to apologize to the internet and to the whole Chrono crew, ‘cause I know I, uh, *stares into the camera* have changed a lot as a human being, and I’m disappointed in myself more than I’m disappointed in…myself, for going too far? Man, I don’t know what I can do to make it right.”

“I’ve been reflecting. I mean. Reflecting and I’m sorry and like, I understand. I’ll never explode Mr. Beast again. Though…he’s kinda already exploded…and I…don’t think I can re-explode him…”

“*deep breath*”

“I’m sorry for my actions, and I want to move on from this and make videos in the future, with my sponsor…with my sponsor…with my…*furious clicking*…I…don’t have a sponsor. I’ve…I’ve been demonetized! No! No, no, no…let me appeal. Let me appeal…”

“*click*”

A cloud appears behind ChronoMaster42, a swirling vortex through which one can see flashes of times from across all of history, across many timelines; it advances on him.

“What – uh, antibodies, you’re not, like, supposed to be in the present! ‘cause it’s not fixed and shit, and -!”

The cloud envelops ChronoMaster42, who screams, a trail of faces screaming into infinity within the cloud as he, and the antibody, vanish. Stream runs for over four hours with a shot of his empty room, until it’s turned off by a sudden power failure.

printers-are-scamming-you:

Hey guys, it’s ChronoMaster42, the only only only only only only only only only only only only only only only only only only only only only only only only only only only only only only only only only only only only only only only only only only only only only only only only only only only only only only only only only only only only ȏ̸̱n̴̬̽l̷̐ͅy̴̹̅ ̶̭̉ò̷̦n̶̡̐l̴̫̓y̶̟͝ ̴̞̿o̵̪͠n̸̡̉l̵̺̍y̸̜̌ ̸̲̅ò̵̥n̷̩͗l̵͈͂ÿ̴̰́ ̷̟̐ȏ̷̭n̴͖̆l̶̪͠ỳ̴̘ ̵̳͗ơ̸̟n̶̗̽ļ̵̿ÿ̶̫́ ̷̱͒o̴͇̊n̵̕ͅl̸̂͜y̵̱̾ ̵͎̈́ǒ̸̼n̷̺͐l̸̯̉ŷ̶̹ ̸͙͐ȯ̶̻n̷̺͗l̴̝̀y̵͇̋ ̵̫͆o̴̞͘n̵͙̓l̴͎͌y̴͓͐ ̸͓̏o̵͙͝n̷̥͘l̵͈̓y̸͈͘ ̴̬̒o̶̧͔̻̥͖͔͙͂̂͛̅́̒̎̓̓̿̇͊͛̀̉͂͂͑̚̚͝͝͝͠͝n̴̨̡̛̺̥̯̥͇̟̩̜̱̖̰͔͍͖̥̲͈̯̙̠̰̬̠̝̟̘̭̱̫͈̩͌͆͒͐̎͋̍͌̋͐̆̒̆͛͐͆̾̽̏̓̑̄͘͜͠ͅl̸̢̘̬̪̳͎̼̣̪͎̘̞̰͍̖͎̙̜̳̬̺̬͙͔͕͌̀̔̍̓̀̈̊̊̐̌̒̾̎̈́͋̑̅͆̀͘͠͠͝͝ͅy̴̛̛̠̺͔͖̔̅͗̾̉̋̒̐͊́̈́́̀̇͊̎̃̀̓̾̕͠͝ͅ ̶̢̨͓͖̱̩̣̳̯̘̗̳͙̗͙̱̳̦̩͇̤̭͙̉̆͌̐́͑̑̓̑̋͗͆̑̉͌̔̒͌̒͗́̈̍̌̋͂͊͛̆̿͛̄̋̒̊̂̌̒̿̅͌̆͋̚͠͝͠͠ͅͅǫ̷͔͇̜̥̫͇̥̳̠͕͖̟̖̫̗̼̝̠͙̣̲̜̰̉͛͛̑͂̋̎̅̓́̈́̚͜n̶̨͕̖̟̭̯͓̫̙̪͙̺̯̰͎̽̍̈́͝l̵̢̬̦͚̟̥̟̼̯̰͇͈͉͍̲̫͎̠̖͔͇̲̺͉̼̰̦̀̐̄̒͋̓́̕͜͝y̸̢̧̡̢̡̢̡̢̛̛̲͚̫͕̰̭͙̗̻͎͓̥̲̭̱̜̻̟̣̮͓̺̘̫̦͚̗͚̥̥̲͖̿̾͒̏̿͑̓̈̀͑̾͊͂̋̋̑͂̌͆̑̐̈́́̽̅̈́̂̍̇͌͆́̕̚̚͜͠͝͠ ̷̨̧̧͓̜̻̤̰̰͇̠͖̙̫̥̜͇̼̥̭͖͕̹̹̠͖̖̣̹̺̪̼̦͛̔̿̂̈́̈͊̿̓̒̃͆̿̿͒́̈́͒̽͐̑̊́̋̚̚̕͘͜͠͝ͅͅͅỡ̶̧̨̡̢̢̧̧͔̩̹̥̼̟̥̞̲̜̱̼̺̳̻̥͇̲̻̙̟̗̞͈̘̤̮̫̻͓̀̈́̂̾̍̔͒͂͗̆̃͑͑̎͋̉̔̾̉̑̇͌̊͗͊̑̑̍̉̄͋̚͜͠͝͝͝ņ̴̢̧̡̡̪̥͕͕̱̜͖̖̞̰̥͕̞̪̜̯̖̖̳̥͔͖̗̹͕̯̈́̾͋͌͊́͑̒͌̃̏͑͊͐͗͛́̿̾̀͐̔͌̔̑̌̃̌̄̋̕͘͜͝ḽ̶̨̡̦̣̺̯̼̭̻̮̼̪̝͙̣͉͚̥̼̙̙̯̜͈͕̙͇͖̭͇̌̆̀͒͗̍̊̎̅̏̈́͑́̆͐̓́̀̎͑̐̇̆̎͊͑̉̈́́̒̅̾͋̈́̋̅̚͠͝ͅy̶̧̡̡̛̠̘̻͈͇̰̮̤̯̰̤̲̜͖͖̯̫̲̟̤͖̪̫̲̲̳̞̹̫̯̬̯̝̱̜̩͈͙͖͋̀͒̈́̂̐̀̃̉̏̇͑̔̃͛͗̈͗͗̅̃͋̌͗͐͌̽̕̚͝ͅͅͅ ̶̡̢̢̤͈̟̬͙̲̯̣̥̬͓͈̠͉͚̤̘̔̓̓͊͛̄͊͐̓͛͐̅͌̑̑͗̍͋̏̈̽͛̒̍͌͛̓̅͗̈̀̕̕͘̕͜͠ò̴̧̢̪̑̎́̏͆̋̃̆̍͊͊̇̉̂̀͂̽̀̎̋̃̇̏́̐̉͌͛͂͆̍̆̐̊̃̀̕ͅn̵̡̨̢̡̨̧̪̜̺͍̥̫͎͖̳̜̭̜̺̪͇̮̬̙̯̟͔̻̫̤̩̖̝̩͕̩̤̯͙̫̘͔̬̘͊̔̓̎̈́̑̈͐̂̋̋̑͜ͅļ̵̡̡̨̢̧̻̣̝̤̮͚͖͕̲̫̝̖̻̞̞̩̪̗͎̯̖̙̣̻͚͈̬͈̝̼̙͖̩͖̻͛͗͊̇̀͊̓́̂͒̇́̎̑̽̓̂̏̃̑͒̂̈́̚͜͝͠͝ͅy̸̡̡̡̩̠̫͓̘̞͈͖̫̰̤̼͎̼̙̳̒̎̂̈́̊͋̂͋̔̇ ̵̡̛̼̟͉͓̭͚͈̝̩͇͖̜̾͊̑̆́̈́́̌́̅̏͒̌̏̋̍̽̌̑͌͗̍̾͆̓́̓̂̐̿̍̾͒͋͂̇̽̎̅̏͘̕͝͠͠͠ǫ̶̡̡̛̼̙̙̭̗̣̳͕̘̪̣̩̣̲̳̳̦͍͈̬͍͇̻͍̤͚͇̥͍͎̫̥̺̱͕͙̲̲̠̘͍̞͌͋́̍͗̉̍̽͂̃̇̀̌́̎̎̀̍̈́́̎͑͗̄̏̓͗̄̈͒̅͗̀̉̊̍͋͆̚̕͘͝ͅͅṇ̷̢̛͕̥̝̥̗̖͍̩̝͈̱͙͉͕͇̊͐̏̓̏͊͑͂͐̏̊͗̇̀̽ͅļ̵̧̞͖̲̗͖̫͉̣̟̏̈́̋̍͐̅͂̍̃̾̇̏̐͛̋̌̔̕͘y̴̡̡͖̤̮̠̮̫̟̱̗̖͉̫̱̩̳͔͇̪̟̗̫̣̬͐̂̓̌͂́̒̅̈́̒͐̈́͊͐̌̅̈́̀̓̏̽̀̊͗̈́̓̽́͛͗͗̍͐͝͝͝ͅͅ ̷̢̡̙̦̺̮̟̺̥̱̫͔̎̄͊̒̇͛̅̉̑̂̒̏͘͝ͅỏ̴̢̜̌̽̃̓͗̆̚ñ̶̨̢̼̹̥͙̳͔̯͈͔̲̩̭̮̫̜̟̣̰͖̜͎̻̣̹̩͈̳̺̾̌̓̏̏̅̃͠ḷ̸̢̡̛̜̺͈̲̙̝̣͈̙̭͎̜͖̝̩͚̹̖̪̙͉͔̱̺̉̏͛̾͊̀͊̒̐̋͑̈́̿͂͒́͂̃̅̀͑͐̋͊̿͑̄͋̈́͜͝͠ͅy̶̜̭̲̺̣̣͖͍̺͖̩͍̹̬͈͎̹̬͚͇̩̻̘͚͉̻͍͍̻̯̱̗̩̹̱̳͎̮͇͔̰̓̉̓̍̄̾̓̍͑͊̽͌̈̾́̑͗̿͑̋͂̄͌̓̿̍̕̚͜͝͠͝ͅ ̷͕̀̎̊͋̎̃́̏͗͗̒́͑̀́̽͆͆̓̾͑͌͂͂̽͛͑̅͊̓͐̃͑̋͗̃̈́̓̚̕̕̚͘̚͘͘ơ̷̧͓̫̣̥̳̻̘̻̝͎̪͔͓̹̺̱̰̺͕̪͈̱̼͍̺̯̼̖͇͚̻̰̥̥̯̱̭̺͔̰͇͎̗̞̗̂̎̇̍̏̓͗̽͑̐̾͛̏͐̇̅̓̌̈́̒̈́̈͊̌̀̈́͒͑̂̈́̀̽̌̂̌̈́͋̄͐́̉͆̇͗͂̕̕̕͜͜͝ń̴̛̰̰̰̜̮̬̙͖͓͎͕̹͉̯͙̦̹̻̳̤̜̻͇͔͛͂̅̎́͘͝ļ̵͖̘̳̹̜̱̰̲̑̌̈́̆̍̓̇ỵ̶̢̧̧̢̺̥̰̲͙̤̖͓̟̗͍͔̘̰̥̜̯̖̼̜̟͔̞̗̝̫͔̟̩̫̫̗͖͙̬͍̆͛͜ͅͅ ̷̠͔͖͎̝̿͊̀̎̓̉́̑̄͆̅ơ̷̡̨̢͕͙̭̗̹̼̼͓̮̗̲̬͕̬̥͙̲͙̼͖͓̟̜̖̯̟̜̜̜̖̖͇̺̟̙̳͖̜̱̗͇̫̗̪̏͆̑͋̊̓̆̃̔̏͂̊̏ͅṉ̷̨̨̧̡̨̨̢̢̛̛̳̳͕͇̻͍̻̗̥̣͖̰̭̟̗̘̖̞̖̬̺̝̼̝̩̹̝͇̳̗̬̠̔̒͌̎̍̏͋̽̿̊̈́́̅̒̚ͅͅļ̷̡̭̯̤̲͖̜̯̟̟̗̼̺̩̳̖̱͍̝̫̣̖̪̤̲̖͈͇͎̳̣͔̱̥̑̋̑̕͜͜͜ͅy̵̨͔͚͇͕͚̫̯͈̞̬͕̠̻͗͐̿͑̽͊́̽͒͛̍̉̉̌͒̈́̿̿̔̏̊̈́̀̾̇́̃̊͑̇̈́͌̅̊̃͋͒̚͘͝͠ ̸̡̡̳̩͈̫̙͕̥̫̖̳̼͔̺̠̳̥̠̬͉̺̰̰̮͍̠̗̪̰͙̮͇͚͒̌̿̌̀͠͝ͅơ̶̢̢͉̰͔̦̯̺͓̣̯̪̼̰̪̩͙̩̱̣̫͓̱̣̟͓͍̓̅̈̑̆͌̾̀̏̏̀̓̐̔͆͗̑̊̇̐͆͗̇̌̈́̑̆̅́̇͆̔̂͛̔̍͌̄͘̕̕͠͝͝͝n̷̢̧̳̿͠ļ̸̢̡̢̡̨̡̧̼͇̳͍̺̺̗̹͚̘̣̞̗̙̻̟̥͈̥͇͎̺͙̠͉͈̻̠̥̼̼̣̩̖͔͈̟̫̺̤̬̃̓͋̐̈́͒͗̎́͜ȳ̸̨̧̨̪͓̭̤̯͎̣͖͔̖̗͎͉̥̼͉͍̲͖͓̪͕̝̟̬̜̤̣͙̪̥̙̖̗̣̟͔͚̔̐̈́̒͜ ̷̧̢̨͔̝̫͎̪͍͈͔̖̹̗͙̼̫͙͙̬͔͈̤͉̙̪̞͖̹̠̣͍̭͉͍̞̰̻͈̼̂̿̐̄̒̀̎̂̍̆͒̂̈́̓͑̉͌̃͐͋́͋͋͂̌͛́́̋̇͒͒̀̊́̏̀̎̆̄͘͜͠͝ͅͅǫ̸͔̭̩̩͉͕̲̝̥̣̬͕̼̤̰̝̓̄͛̊͑̔͆̾̂̓̐͛̈́͋͜͜͝͝ͅn̴̨̢̢̺͉̼̼̠͚͉̠̪͚̱͈͓̪͓͖̻̮͎̞̫̓͂͜ļ̷̢̛̛͕͓̖̞͉̺̜̱͓͕͚͈͈͈̜̩̺̲̞͉̫̣̥̙̻̙̹͕̖͈͚̙͚̠̗̰̹͌͒̉̅̄̂̊̎̉̐̄̏̈́̏̈̏̐̂̃͌̾̿̿̀͗̆̉̌̄̅̔̀̀̓͛̑̀̚̚͘͘͜͝͝͝͠ͅͅͅy̸̨̧̨͖̼̩̳̩̝̦͇͍͙̙̪̠͎̘̪͈͍͈̺̩̲̼̫̲͕̦̘̘͎̦̣͚̘̺̩̩̞̼̤̆̾͗̆́̉̈́̍͒̍͆̀̈́̎́͗̇̈́̑͌̒̂͆́̎̓͗̍͌̕̕̚͠͝͠ ̸̧̛̘͈͎̘͚͙͇͇̙̖̠̙̟͛̆̉̅͗̓̑̍̅̀̈́̉̈̈́̄̒̌̾̆͂͊̒̍̃̀̋̈̄̆͊͐͛͑̌͘̚͝ọ̵̧̧̡̧̥͇͇̯̭̓̊̍̿̀̈́͂̔͋́̔͗̓̊̿͋̌̓͗͋̔͒̂͂̈́̕͠͠͝ṇ̸̨̢̛̥̝̖͚͓͚͎̺͕̦̯̗̹͎͉̝͙̼̲̥̮̳̀̑̉̏̃̅̓͒̉̒͆́̒̇͋͌̃͒́͊̇͌̔͋̒͂̈̅̌̏͂͂̂͑̇͛̃̐̋̏̅̚̚͘͜͝ͅļ̴̧̼̯̖̳̬̙̱̣͕͔̖̖͈̗̻̱͔̞͙̬̲͔̤̱̮͉̺̯͔̳̻͈͙̙̲̰̗̳́͌̀̉̃̉̀̍̂̑̏̈̏̿̌̑͘͘͜͝͝ͅỹ̴̨̨̧̢̡̛̠̱̯̤̤̳̗̹̞͚̹͎͖̠͉̰̙̹̲͚̹̝̦̥͙̣̩̯̤̥̜͖̮̮͍̺̠̬̱̳͎̆͌͌̾̔̌̈́̈̂̓͌̑̿͊̿̀͛̂̈̽̓̆̐̈̏́̄́̇̆͗͒͒̍̉͗͝͠͝͝͝ͅ ̵̨̡̧̛̬̹͙̰̰̺̼̹̮̳͎̟͔̺͎̼͚̠̰̗͈͚̲͍͔̘̻̗͙̥̞̰̻͚͖͈͛͗̎͛̀̿̀̓̑́̄͆̓̉̏͋̌̈́̎̒̈̈́͛͗̐́̽̅̏̏̇̾̅̕͘͠͝o̵̭͚̼͋͐̿̒̅̓̀͑̌͌́̌̽͊́̑̂͗̽̒̍͊͛̔̔̂̓̍͊͋̏̐̐̎̿͘͘̚̚͘̕͘ņ̶̡̮̤̻̪͓̞͓̤̫̣̩̙̲̤̰͔̤̯̇̀́͋̅͊̈̆̃͊̅̈́͌́̎͂͋̀̈̏̿̆̾̀̌̋́́͛͌̓̓́̀̋́̃̑̕͝͠͝͝ͅl̴̛̯̺̝̦͎̥̳̼͍̝͖̭͛̉̓̿͊̉͗̏̾̒͑̔̅͊̓̔̀̃͌̅̾̃̌̐̅̔̀̇̃̌́̀̀͜͝͝͝͠ý̷̨̡̨̢̝̖̙̮̞̠͔̩͔͉̪̻̹̰̟̱̬̦̘̹̤̱̗͙͎̮̠̟̞̬͖̮͜͜ͅͅ ̶̨̧̢̡̝̘̺̯͇̣̺̝̗̯͎̻̲͙͔͉͉͒̅̆͐͒͐͆͊͌̀̈́̓͐̓̉̊̊̔̿̏̓͛̄̄̿̈́͐̐̽̃͑̑̾̃̅̑̆̋̚̕̕̕͜͝

Keep reading

{{below the cut:}}

{{in monospace font:}}

1 day after the livestream, ChronoMaster42’s videos started showing disruptions like this. 12 hours later, his videos started to become still shots where he once was. 6 hours later his channel was deleted. 3 hours later people started to forget his name. 90 minutes later he was a distant memory. 45 minutes later,

It takes a lot of work to erase something. You have to delete it, empty the recycle bin, but that doesn’t do it. It’s still there. Until it gets overwritten by something new. Until that happens it’s hiding, being torn apart in the background by new objects encroaching upon it’s space. It’s still there.

He’s still there.

Every day another thing happens that is logged, he’s still there.

Little by little he is removed.

Perfect, from the perspective of them.

And the echoes of reaction videos, liking and subscribing, and sponsorships diffuse through the walls of the interdimensional complex.

lizardsfromspace:

I can’t believe my shitposts have fanfic now


Tags:

#storytime #time travel #anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog #amnesia cw #death tw #this probably deserves some other warning tag but I am not sure what #this post was queued because my to-reblog list is too long and I didn’t want to dump it on you all at once

foone:

idalwaves:

foone:

People keep showing up uninvited to our Vampire Club and we immediately know they don’t belong, for obvious reasons

If they’re the DoorDash delivery person, I at least hope y’all give them a good tip. /joking

Look, we’re vampires. We don’t eat. If we’re doordashing to a vampire club meeting, it’s so we can feed on the delivery guy.

And that’s a terrible idea, which is one of the reasons we have to have regular vampire club meetings. You can’t just eat delivery drivers, especially not ones you ordered to your own house, damn it!

There’s way too much of a paper trail. These drivers are GPS tracked and everything. You’re basically telling the police exactly when and where your snack went missing. You don’t think they’ll figure out you’re involved and start asking questions?

This is an important thing to teach old vampires because so many of us have been hanging out since the 1750s and don’t really understand this newfangled tech. And while it’s relatively easy to teach an old dog a new trick (like ordering stuff on a smartphone), the problem is that they don’t fully understand how it works. It’s basically magic to them. So they’ll just get themselves in trouble. Thus the whole “don’t DoorDash a victim to your house!” talk I give at all these vampire groups (ideally each vampire community should have their own tech guy, but wouldn’t you know it, a bunch of immortals are vaguely conservative in their ways and haven’t gotten with the program and turned some IT tech at the local call center… So I have to travel a lot)

And no, Orlop*, for the last time: using dating apps is not the Modern Vampire Lifehack you think it is either. There’s a paper trail again. Your virgin meal’s roommate is just gonna call the cops and go “my roommate went on a date and hadn’t been back in a week” and they’ll get grindr to give them the records and it’ll lead them right to LestatDaddy69.

Besides, your bewitching aura doesn’t work over an app, so you can’t exactly mesmerize them into coming home with you. Plus you can’t fill your profile with sexy selfies if YOU DON’T SHOW UP ON CAMERAS.

Anyway the current times are tough on vampires. They’re used to having a lot of their meals basically fall into their open mouths, but situations have changed. If some poor soul has their car break down outside your creepy mansion, they’re not gonna come inside and ask to stay the night or use your phone, they’re gonna call AAA or use an app to summon an Uber.

And no one is doing door to door salesman shit anymore, they’ll just spam your Hotmail address.

So vamps are getting desperate, and this is leading many of them to get sloppy and do foolish things. Which is exactly the opposites of how vampires need to act: we are immortals and need to look at the long game. Let humans do short-sighted things, we gotta think about what we’ll be doing in 200 years. And from that perspective, the absolute last thing we need to do is get a bunch of vamps caught by the cops and end up triggering another big anti-vampire crusade. Do you want another Svalbard Incident? Because I sure as fuck don’t!

The average batfuck can’t even imagine how bad it would be if we got the government on our asses. Do you know how easy it would be to figure out half the vamps in the country if they started doing metadata analysis specifically to look for us? Hell, census records alone would give you a bunch of vamps just because of how lazy ya’ll have been with hiding the fact that you’ve owned the same moldy mansion since before the revolutionary war.

This is the kind of shit I have to deal with all the time. These bloodsuckers who are so arrogant because they’ve been living large for a couple hundred years and don’t seem to realize what I’m telling them: the hemotypicals have them outnumbered a million to one and they have computers now. You can’t keep acting like this is still the depression era when you could grab some worker off the street and have no one notice or care that they went missing. You are going to get your undead ass killed, and more importantly, get the rest of us killed too.

Gah. At least I don’t have to teach them how to us windows 98 anymore. Thank fuck for the user friendliness of iPhones.

* editors note: the Orlop deck is part of wooden sailing ships. Vamp!Foone probably meant (Count) Orlok, the antagonist of the 1922 German expressionist film Nosferatu – Eine Symphonie des Grauens)


Tags:

#storytime #vampires #this probably deserves some warning tag but I am not sure what #embarrassment squick? #this post was queued because my to-reblog list is too long and I didn’t want to dump it on you all at once

seat-safety-switch:

If you believe the news, these days, it’s never been easier to get murdered. Everyone is waiting to snuff you out. Even suburbs are roiling apocalyptic zones that mandate you buy a very expensive security system and an up-armoured luxury SUV. A road trip is completely out of the question. After all, who knows what kind of whackos are out there?

To answer this question, we became those whackos. No, we didn’t serial kill, or even parallel kill anyone. What we did was load up the old ‘72 Toyota Crown wagon with a bunch of spare oil and parts and hit the road. We wanted to figure out if the world really was all that dangerous, and to prove it, we stayed at only the sketchiest bed and breakfasts across New England.

Things got off to a bad start. You see, the coterie of folks that I usually travel with are not exactly the most refined individuals. Because a lot of us were raised entirely by junkyards and our parents’ respective parole officers (thanks Joerg) we have trouble “fitting into” the conventional structure of society. That wouldn’t stop a serial killer, of course, who would surely prey on at least one of our group as we slept soundly inside Maryland’s least rat-infested rustic cabin.

No such luck. In fact, it turns out that the proprietors were afraid of us. They had been conditioned by the news, you see, and spent the entire night sleeping in shifts, wondering when we would burst through their bedroom door, looking for jewelry that we could hock for money to afford a Holley carburetor rebuild kit. Little did they know that the Crown was in fact running a diesel engine out of a Cuban grey-market lawn tractor, and also that we had no intention of ruining the experiment by trying to cause trouble.

That first morning, we parted, each group wary of the other. The experiment could not continue: it was likely that we would encounter the same problem the entire way up the Old Bay Expressway. We knew what had to happen next. After driving at high speed, we arrived at the local TV station, barely shaven and ready to pitch our new fear-based “action news” program. The audience would surely believe ridiculous lies coming from disgusting dirtbags like ourselves, our crude language and 10w40-stained visages lending our dire warnings extra authenticity.

“Folks,” I began, in my most folksy voice, “you gotta get rid of any old Mopar parts you have on your property. They were made by sleeper-agent Communist agitators working with the Y2K bug. Send them to me for destruction.”


Tags:

#anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog #storytime #unreality cw? #murder cw? #this probably deserves some other warning tag but I am not sure what #this post was queued because my to-reblog list is too long and I didn’t want to dump it on you all at once