Theo, he/they, music lover, hopeless romantic, system
https://herrscheroflove.carrd.co/
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ

pixel skylines

Product Placement
ojovivo
occasionally subtle
cherry valley forever

JVL
Show & Tell
One Nice Bug Per Day
Peter Solarz
h

@theartofmadeline
Cosimo Galluzzi
Keni
AnasAbdin

Origami Around
Three Goblin Art

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
d e v o n

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@complexuslunae
Theo, he/they, music lover, hopeless romantic, system
https://herrscheroflove.carrd.co/

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
scrolled so far on emails while deleting and came across gnostichymns. auuughhh i miss you gnostichymns....
OH FUCK OFF
NOW IM SAD
IM SAD TOO MAN.
NO ONE SAID YOU HAD TO POST THIS
NO ONE SAID "MAKE THEODORE SAD"
BUT NO
NO YOU DECIDED TO BE DEPRESSING
NO ONE SAID YOU HAD TO GO ON TUMBLR AND READ MY POSTS!!!!!!!!!!!! LET ME LAMENT IN MY CAVE IT IS YOUR FAULT FOR ENTERING, THEO
WELL SOMETIMES YOUR POSTS POP UP IN BETWEEN THE X READERS AND DID SHIT I CANT CONTROL IT
BOO HOO
wait im sorry theo
YAYYYYYY
scrolled so far on emails while deleting and came across gnostichymns. auuughhh i miss you gnostichymns....
OH FUCK OFF
NOW IM SAD
IM SAD TOO MAN.
NO ONE SAID YOU HAD TO POST THIS
NO ONE SAID "MAKE THEODORE SAD"
BUT NO
NO YOU DECIDED TO BE DEPRESSING
NO ONE SAID YOU HAD TO GO ON TUMBLR AND READ MY POSTS!!!!!!!!!!!! LET ME LAMENT IN MY CAVE IT IS YOUR FAULT FOR ENTERING, THEO
WELL SOMETIMES YOUR POSTS POP UP IN BETWEEN THE X READERS AND DID SHIT I CANT CONTROL IT
BOO HOO
scrolled so far on emails while deleting and came across gnostichymns. auuughhh i miss you gnostichymns....
OH FUCK OFF
NOW IM SAD
IM SAD TOO MAN.
NO ONE SAID YOU HAD TO POST THIS
NO ONE SAID "MAKE THEODORE SAD"
BUT NO
NO YOU DECIDED TO BE DEPRESSING
NO ONE SAID YOU HAD TO GO ON TUMBLR AND READ MY POSTS!!!!!!!!!!!! LET ME LAMENT IN MY CAVE IT IS YOUR FAULT FOR ENTERING, THEO
WELL SOMETIMES YOUR POSTS POP UP IN BETWEEN THE X READERS AND DID SHIT I CANT CONTROL IT
scrolled so far on emails while deleting and came across gnostichymns. auuughhh i miss you gnostichymns....
OH FUCK OFF
NOW IM SAD
IM SAD TOO MAN.
NO ONE SAID YOU HAD TO POST THIS
NO ONE SAID "MAKE THEODORE SAD"
BUT NO
NO YOU DECIDED TO BE DEPRESSING

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
scrolled so far on emails while deleting and came across gnostichymns. auuughhh i miss you gnostichymns....
OH FUCK OFF
NOW IM SAD
ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴇᴍᴏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ
blink182 - playin' !
Zayne was an asshole to be frank—the type that made people tense the second he walked into a room.
He had that permanently irritated expression carved into his face like somebody had stitched his features together wrong—sharp eyes always narrowed, mouth twisted like he tasted something sour every time another human being opened their mouth.
He called everyone posers, called teachers government puppets, called football players meatheads and girls with dyed hair “factory made alternatives.”
He got into fights so often the vice principal stopped sounding surprised whenever his name echoed through the office speakers.
Half the time he came back to class with split knuckles and dried blood smeared beneath the silver rings on his fingers, slumping into his chair while blasting Pierce the Veil through one earbud loud enough for everyone around him to hear the static leaking out.
He was weird, not cute weird either. Just disturbing weird.
He bit his nails until the skin around them stayed raw and angry red, constantly pushed his side bangs back into place every few minutes because he hated when they separated wrong over his eye.
He smelled faintly like cigarette smoke even though nobody had ever actually seen him smoke. And he looked at people like he wanted them dead for inconveniencing him with their existence.
Nobody liked sitting next to him because he stared too hard. Nobody liked talking to him because he always had something cruel waiting on his tongue.
Yet somehow, with you, it got stranger because Zayne didn’t just look annoyed around you, he looked furious like your existence was a personal sin.
You’d catch him glaring from across the hallway with his jaw tight enough to crack teeth. During class he’d stare at the side of your head with this ugly intensity, fingers twitching against his desk like he was physically restraining himself from saying something awful.
Sometimes you’d turn around suddenly and catch him already looking—already studying you—and instead of glancing away like a normal person, he’d sneer like you were the one bothering him.
“You breathe too fuckin' loud,” he snapped at you once during chemistry when you leaned past him for a pencil.
Another time he scoffed because of the way you stood, literally just stood.
“Why do you stand like that?” he muttered darkly. “You look like a lost dog.”
You blinked at him. “What does that even mean?"
“Means you stand weird.”
jackass.
Everybody thought he hated you. Honestly, you did too. It was hard not to when he acted like every little thing you did crawled beneath his skin.
And maybe part of him did hate you.
Zayne couldn’t even tell anymore.
Whatever this thing inside him was, it felt more terrible than hatred. It sat inside his ribs like rusted nails because the same boy insulting you at school went home and carved your name into the wood beneath his bedframe with a pocketknife like a pretty altar he could come home and pray to.
The letters were uneven from how badly his hands shook.
He stared at them afterward for nearly twenty minutes in the dark, thumb brushing over your name over and over until the grooves dug splinters into his skin.
His room looked like a corpse of teenage boyhood. Black walls covered in band posters curling at the edges, clothes scattered everywhere, and empty energy drink cans littering his floor.
Lyrics and scribbled notes were also pinned to the ceiling above his bed because sometimes he liked reading them while he couldn’t sleep—but nowadays when he cant fall asleep he looks under his bedframe, sees your name, and his breath shakes.
His desk lamp barely worked, flickering weak yellow light over notebooks stuffed full of thoughts nobody else would ever read, thoughts and paragraphs about you.
You had ruined music for him, that was the worst part.
Music used to be the only thing that made him feel human. Before you, songs were escape routes, places to crawl into when home got too loud.
When his father started screaming downstairs again, when another plate shattered against a wall, when his mother cried behind locked bathroom doors—music filled the spaces where affection should’ve been. It swallowed him whole and let him disappear for a little while.
But now every song sounded like you somehow.
Every lyric twisted itself into your shape.
His headphones became torture devices.
He’d lay there at three in the morning with music crackling into his skull while thinking about the way your fingers curled around pens during class.
He remembered the way your voice dipped lower when you got tired and the way your shoes squeaked against polished school floors. They were tiny useless details that infected his brain like parasites.
It made him sick.
He hated how badly he wanted you because Zayne had never been soft for anyone before. He never cared enough to memorize somebody’s schedule, neither did he ever stared at a phone screen for an hour debating whether or not to send a text. And he for sure never switched jewelry because of another person.
But now the ring on his finger wasn’t his initial anymore, it was yours.
He’d bought cheap metal letter charms online at two in the morning after spiraling for six straight hours thinking about you laughing with somebody else in the cafeteria. When it arrived he locked himself in his room and replaced the old charm immediately, fingers trembling the entire time. He told himself it was just something he could laugh at later when he regulates his system again.
But afterward he sat there staring at it with burning ears and a racing heart like he’d just gotten married in secret.
God. He was disgusting.
He memorized your schedule and learned which hallways you preferred, which friends annoyed you, what flavor energy drinks you bought from the vending machine. Sometimes he lingered near classrooms just to hear your voice for five more seconds before going home.
And he still acted like he hated you because if he didn’t, he thought he might actually lose his mind.
One rainy afternoon he followed you home from three blocks away, hood pulled over his head while his heartbeat pounded violently against his ribs.
He told himself he was only making sure you got home safe. But even he knew that was bullshit. He knew it when he watched you through rain-soaked streets like something starving, and he knew it when he stood outside your neighborhood for ten whole minutes after you disappeared indoors.
He could’ve left, but istead he stared at your bedroom window until the lights turned on.
Then he went home and wrote six pages about you.
His poems weren’t romantic in the normal sense. They read more like confessions somebody would find beside a dead body, messy black ink pressed hard enough to tear paper apart.
He wrote about your throat constantly, about how pretty your pulse looked beneath skin, about how your hand would look wrapped around his neck “like a chain he’d gladly choke on.”
He wrote about wanting to unzip his ribs and crawl inside your bloodstream just so he’d never have to be away from you again. About how your voice made his insides feel “gooey and rotten sweet.” About how every time you smiled at someone else he imagined peeling his own skin off because jealousy physically hurt"
He hated everyone around you.
Especially guys, guys zayne knew he could never compete with.
Whenever somebody flirted with you, Zayne spiraled for hours afterward. His chest got tight, and his vision got all blurry. He'd bite his nails bloody trying to calm down while imagining their hands touching yours. Sometimes he got so angry he punched walls until his knuckles split open again.
Then he’d feel ashamed, then angry for feeling ashamed, then obsessed all over again.
It became this endless cycle of self-destruction.
At school he only grew meaner because kindness felt too vulnerable now. If he spoke softly to you even once, he thought the entire terrifying truth might spill out of him all at once. So instead he glared harder, mocked you more, hovered around you with this nasty tension simmering beneath his skin.
But there were cracks sometimes, tiny ones.
Like the day somebody shoved you in the hallway accidentally and Zayne snapped so fast it looked almost animalistic. One second he was leaning against a locker half asleep, next he had the guy slammed against the wall by his collar.
“Watch where you’re fucking going,” he hissed.
The guy blinked in shock. “It was an accident—”
You remember how strange his face looked afterward. Angry, yes. But scared too. Like seeing you get hurt triggered something unstable inside him. He released the guy abruptly and stormed off before you could even thank him.
That night he replayed the moment obsessively, you touched his wrist for half a second trying to calm him down—just half a second and he thought about it for three weeks.
Sometimes Zayne scared himself. Especially late at night when everything got quiet and the obsession stopped feeling romantic and started feeling diseased. He’d stare at his ceiling with hollow eyes while your favorite songs played softly through his headphones, wondering why his chest physically ached whenever he imagined you leaving someday.
You weren’t even his.
That was the insane part.
You barely tolerated him yet his entire existence had started orbiting around you anyway.
One night he sat cross-legged on his bedroom floor surrounded by crumpled notebook pages, exhausted eyes fixed on your initial hanging from his ring.
His house downstairs was loud again—his father yelling, something crashing, his mother crying quietly afterward—but he barely heard it anymore. He only heard your laugh trapped inside his skull.
He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes until colors burst behind them. He wanted relief, wanted one single moment where you weren’t tangled around every thought he had. But even now his fingers moved automatically toward another notebook.
Another poem.
Another page.
Another pathetic confession nobody would ever read.
He wrote about your eyelashes this time, about wanting to pin every expression you ever made against the inside of his skull forever, about how terrifying it was that somebody as ordinary as you somehow became the center of his entire miserable life.
Then he stopped writing halfway through because his hands were shaking too hard.
Zayne tilted his head back against the wall and stared blankly upward. The ceiling above him was covered in taped-up lyrics and scribbled thoughts and pieces of you. Your name appeared so many times it looked ritualistic like worship.
Maybe that’s what this was.
Not love.
Not really.
It was just something consuming waiting for him to finally let his guard down and kill him for good.
And still—if you asked him for anything, he’d give it to you, if you smiled at him gently even once, he’d probably spend the rest of the night trembling over it like a wounded animal finally being touched kindly.
Because despite the snarling and insults and dirty looks, despite the bitterness dripping from every word he threw at you—zayne was hopelessly, violently in love with you.
And it was killing him alive.
emo that would carve ur name into his thighs and touch himself to the smell of ur hair wow drools
we gotta get back to torrent distribution, i just watched someone eat eight grand in bandwidth charges because they ran a direct-download piracy site with local file hosting through cloudflare. torrents were invented literally for this exact reason
torrents work like this
i have a file or folder on my pc that i want to share with other people. let's call it gayshit.mp3
unfortunately gayshit.mp3 is 750mb and im not paying for discord nitro so i need another way to send it
i put it into qbittorrent and it makes a torrent file. this is essentially a very small file that points to gayshit.mp3 so other computers can find it. kinda like a treasure map
i send this tiny file to my friend, who loads it into qbittorrent. their computer takes a moment to find mine over the vast expanse of cyberspace and then (as long as my pc is running and the file is still where it should be), it gets copied from my hard drive to theirs
this is the cool part: if somebody else loads that tiny file, they can download it from both of us. if i'm offline but my friend is on, the third person can still get it. this also means that if two people have separate halves of the file, they can download the other half from each other. as long as some combination of people have the pieces between them, they can all have the whole thing.
crucially this does not require a server!!! you can just upload the file to a few people and as long as they keep it, it's still accessible. as long as somebody, somewhere is still connected, it's available forever. the only way it goes away is if everybody disconnects from it.
please learn to torrent
An expert guide to get started using torrentsTorrents are one of the most popular forms of file sharing on the internet, accounting for over
always use qbittorrent, do not use bittorrent or utorrent.
Sinners choice update
new photos showed up on steam.
And why the fuck is Barbatos stepping on Lucifer?! What the fuck does that mean?! The others make sense but Barbatos on Lucifer?!
And it comes out in December. Marry Christmas to ussss
hate what people did to the dead dove tag
mothers and fuckers of the jury. "Dead dove: do not eat" is a label on a bag in the fridge. It means "the content of this bag is exactly what is labeled". It does not mean "trigger warning uhhh something". In fact, it means the exact opposite of "trigger warning uhhh something", because you use it with other tags. You write a fucked up fic with extreme violence and gore, you tag it as "extreme violence", "gore" and you tag it with "dead dove: do not eat". You write a fic with emotional abuse, gaslighting and manipulation, you tag it with "emotional abuse", "gaslighting" and "dead dove: do not eat". You write a fic with your extremely niche kink that appeals to like 3 other people and may skeeve out the rest of the fandom, you tag that with your kink and "dead dove: do not eat". It's so people know you really mean the content warnings.
It's NOT a catch-all term for "uhhh this may be fucked idk". TAG YOUR SHIT GENEROUSLY.

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
alright I've got to do some quick math to explain attitudes towards AI to my boss.
we're looking to create an AI policy, and when we were talking about this, my boss (older millennial) was genuinely shocked to hear that younger people do not (seem) to view AI positively (a la the recent commencement speakers being booed)
please rb for larger sample size!
Question 1/3
What is your age, and do you feel AI is a net positive or net negative in our lives today?
under 18, AI is a net positive
under 18, AI is a net negative
18-29, AI is a net positive
18-29, AI is a net negative
30-45, AI is a net positive
30-45, AI is a net negative
46-60, AI is a net positive
46-60, AI is a net negative
over 60, AI is a net postive
over 60, AI is a net negative
Question 2/3
How often do you visit or interact with museums/archives (whether in person or online)?
Frequently (multiple times per month)
Often (multiple times per year)
Occasionally (a couple times per year)
Rarely (once every couple of years)
Never :(
Question 3/3
If you saw a museum was using AI in exhibits, marketing, research, etc., would you be more or less inclined to visit that museum?
under 18, more inclined
under 18, less inclined
18-29, more inclined
18-29, less inclined
30-45, more inclined
30-45, less inclined
46-60, more inclined
46-60, less inclined
over 60, more inclined
over 60, less inclined
Thank you for helping with this data collection. Please rb for as big a sample as possible!
🫶
Bebe n baby
wanderer/kaeya you lucky son of a bitch
"Introjects need to source separate"
"Introjects need to look at and examine their source to figure out why they formed."
"Introjects need to be exactly like their source."
"Introjects need to be a little different from their source."
"Problematic Introjects should never acknowledge that aspect of themselves."
"Problematic introjects need to be aware of what they did and apologize for it every time they want to speak."
Actually, Introjects need to have a warm blanket and drink and their favorite snack of choice.
when i was a kid i decided that killing people was bad therefore war was bad therefore the military was evil. and adults would tell me it's more nuanced than that and i would understand when i grew up. well i'm a grown up now and idk i still think that killing people is bad and war is bad and the military is evil
How is the feeling of finding a headcanon/fanfic blog that write for male readers:

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
can we'a skip the impeachment and just shoot him in the head
AND NOT MISS
BEING A KINNIE AS A SYSTEM IS ANNOYING BECAYSE???I CANT FIGURE THIS OUT???FUCK ME can i be a singlet again. (guy who needs his headmates help or else he stops functioning) (guy who is also not letting hisbheadmates do their job because he is terrified of missing out)