in most of the ways that matter, i am a coterie of ghosts. here's one of them: https://sparrowlark.neocities.org/owen
ojovivo

Product Placement

Jar Jar Binks Fan Club
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
official daine visual archive
Mike Driver
NASA
RMH
Color Me Curious
Keni

oozey mess
KIROKAZE

Sweet Seals For You, Always
noise dept.

pixel skylines
occasionally subtle
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸

Love Begins
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@erstwhilesparrow
in most of the ways that matter, i am a coterie of ghosts. here's one of them: https://sparrowlark.neocities.org/owen

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.
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Pacing around. The thing that you must understand is that Jimmy’s often sparse knowledge of Minecraft mechanics is directly explainable by the fact that he Doesn’t play regular survival Minecraft like. Ever
Jimmy doesn’t Do longterm survival worlds and when he does, he builds and learns according to his needs. But he is a Modded Minecraft Guy, a One And Done guy, a Challenges guy, a Limited Series guy. He doesn’t have a world with hyper specific farms or a series focused on perfecting any one game to perfection
And so you tell him like. “Find me a trial chamber” and he might have to google that and then do it. And that fits into his general Clueless Guy image, and does a pretty good job to obscure his competence to people who see him through other creators’ content and even some of his own followers
hi <3 ☕️ tfem vowen my beloved?
are there people following this blog who don't know about my eternal boundless love for transfem v!owen..... my heart and soul, my darling beloved, the only light in my life-- [yanked off stage by a comically large hook]
[sounds of a scuffle]
[staggers back on stage covered in sticky notes] okay so i remembered i talk about her most on discord and not Hashtag On Here. but no yeah i fucking adore this headcanon. it is, as with all of my v!owen opinions, totally inextricable from the morass that is my own personal feelings about [gestures uselessly at all of me]. but i Do think everyone following this blog should already know why i started thinking about tfem owen (that one conversation with scott while mining in session 1), and i think it just Works with the way that vampirism for owen was this ~opening up of possibility. louis gets to be this guiding light for owen in all things including matters of gender! AND it forever returns to one of the big things i love to think about with vampirism in vsmp, which is the question of what pushes people into the position of taking a clearly rotten deal? how isolated, how desperate does someone have to be to take [dying and being reborn as an ever-starving thing] as the answer to their problems? what are the circumstances that facilitate someone becoming willing to make that trade? what if you could have everything you wanted, become the person you've longed to be all your life, how high a price are you willing to pay? in the canon case, owen escaping a body he doesn't want, a body that hurts him, is strictly about his disability, but it's hardly as if it doesn't work to add gender stuff to that.
ALSO ALSO i think it's fun if louis is doing weird (Slash Neg (Slash Pos)) shit at her because he is coming from the perspective of growing up his mother's little girl-doll <3
am I your favourite little pervert in your phone be honest
☕️ hand jumper :3
MY OPINION IS THAT IT'S GOOD. like sorry i just . okay bullet points*:

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.
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adult coco sketch from yesterday
send me ☕️ + [topic] and i’ll tell you my opinion on it!
internet friends are kinda like illegally downloaded friends. you don’t get the physical copy but you still get all the great content
#i’d illegally download you all
reblog if you’d illegally download your followers
not to be unduly gleeful or anything but kinda awesome to not know shit about discourse
waw this looks radioactive 😍 (there's another better fixed version on my page 😭)

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.
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This is the correct order! ❤️
so so accurate, couldn't stop myself from drawing this
"What the Jedi Code Teaches Us About Losing Everything" - Kieran Kelly
assorted notes re: the prince (2019)
first thing i said after the movie ended was "knowing this movie was adapted from a book feels like it explains so much?", which is still true on reflection. there's a sense of things happening around and to this main character, like the movie's About him but more in the way a sequence of revelations or portraits than A Story With A Plot? (although i wonder also if i'm missing cultural/historical context given the movie being set Quite Specifically in 1970.) to me there is a sense of some broader story going unspoken in favour of unravelling This One Guy Specifically. do i think the main character has goals? rhetorical question. i think he has attachments that create short-term goals for him but not long-term goals. and do i think there Needs to be a long-term goal -> plot? i think that would make it a different movie and i liked this movie as it was
read a review that describes the titular prince as detached -> lack of dramatic punch but i did like that. something if not empty then obscured about him. which works really well with the visual motif of mirrors -- interactions / eye contact / revelations / advancements seen only reflected in a mirror, mirrors where the edges are warped or blurred. on the platform i was watching on, the blurb described the prince as "narcissistic" which was sort of... hm. clarifying? mirrors are for appearances, mirrors are for looking at yourself. the first instance of on-screen rape + the flashback to the prince's grooming both involving this mirror motif -> mirrors for trying to make sense of oneself externally (trying to see how you must be desirable* from the outside), dissociation during violation (the completely dream-like quality of that first shot into the mirror!!), understanding yourself as an image (which can then cultivated and bartered with)
speaking of cultivating an image. the titles. the prince. the stud (which all the blurbs call "the stallion"). the argentinian. yeah i'll fuck you but i won't call you by an actual name. i'm so ill-equipped to talk about....masculinity, queerness, and masculinity and queerness inside of prisons specifically? but i think the titles are tied to the broader thing where there are specific ~demonstrations of intimacy (that is necessarily gay) that are allowed vs the ones that get you called slurs. shoving a broomstick up someone's ass is a demonstration of power that does not make the aggressor vulnerable in the same way as forcing the new prettyboy to sleep in your bed ?
love is totally inextricable from security in the prisoners' relationships? you get nice things and are protected from those looking to pick on the new guy because the older guy from the top of the pecking order decided he liked the look of you. of course you're cracked in half when he dies; even if you grew to care for him as himself, the first thing he was was Better Than The Alternative
fond of the prince, really. pretty face and he knows it and uses it and holds himself so aloof but you can still tell in all of his relationships he is a thing scrabbling for whatever power he can have because by default he has none. of course he had to kill his friend; he didn't have the charm or wit or skill to get to keep him any other way
Not all dogs have jobs and I think they should get to wear little vests too
oh i do miss lying on here. i should get into telling lies again
i opened up the mirror -- more slippery than you think, these things -- and my mirror-double wrenched himself free, pinned me to the floor and i told him there's not enough life here for the both of us. all the soul of me would fit inside a mouse. he didn't seem to know what to do, having no greater purpose. filched out of undusted corners, licked off paper plates, we shared the rations of sky we had. azure and cotton. we laid out nails on the unwashed bedsheets, took turns hammering them into the space between two wrist bones. we took turns to rinse the rust from our skin. crouched by the bathtub faucet, he said, i might have to kill you. i said, could you?
i went to the library and asked for the biggest, heaviest book they could give me and i guess i sounded too child-self because no one could bear to look at me. i found a movie and i fell through the screen and instead of landing i tumbled out on the other side of my sticker-backed laptop, staring at myself, trying to pinch meat off her cheeks like portions of dough. inside of dumplings there is gestation. i swallow green. i went down to the lake and had an idea about throwing sleeping birds like skipping stones at the wild waves, but don't worry, i didn't do it. i guess i was all tissue paper though, because i walked into a curtain of wind and came out as rivulets, shredded and melting in the freezing rain.
we keep burying bodies. in some ways it's lucky: we have loose soil, good shovels. this is the work i woke to. burying bodies. plunging the blade into the dirt and turning up someone else. you greet them with a hand or a kick in the face. must be a mood thing. we're walking on bones out here, long industrial lots gone fallow. nothing decays. hit concrete going soft. spill marrow.
i didn't even kill him. i had nothing to do with it. we walked together down the long rows of graves, drowning out our footsteps in the sound of metal blade on uneven stone, and then he was gone. i dug for him but there was nothing beneath. i wish i had killed him. i wish i could say there was only room for one of us in my little unsoulled life, that i suffocated him so i could keep some air for myself, but it's all in the dream journal, so much imaginary violence. i didn't touch anything. i didn't draw any blood. the mirror, the plates, the bathtub, and i the sole proprietor of a body ill-used. i tried to feed him thin, thin slices pulled off the meat of my arm, and i don't know where the flesh went. not to him, surely. he, at least, had the purity of total invention. all the dirt was me.
by the time you reach the top of the tower, the girl is already gone. she has melted into multiplying shadows, full of frenzied colours drawn from the teeth of invention, and as you go through each room of your fractal castle, you know she has pilfered one object for every threshold she crossed on her way out. you didn't keep careful enough an inventory, did you? she plucked your eighth birthday from you like an apple from a tree. she is chewing it now, wisping away from this place.

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sometimes you have a weird week. and you write some fic. and is the fic about the weird week? probably not. but it is weird in a different way.
i did not do this every day of the week during which i was writing this, but at least twice i intentionally upset myself until the Do Something About It instinct kicked in and sat me down at my computer to write a couplefew hundred words. what i have learned from this is that there Is an ideal degree of mentally ill that will let you bang out a fic in a week and that degree is not zero. this was the correct lesson to take from this and i will not hear otherwise
You wake up one day and discover you've lost control over a random action or feeling!
Spin the wheel to find out what!
How bad is it?
Actually way better than before!
Its good
It's alright
It's annoying but I'll be fine
It's pretty bad
IM DEAD
worse than death
Nothing changes/results
This idea was submitted by @dbnekonico!
Yeah I think most people do