"A functioning game is not the forte of Kingsisle."
@stormbreaker101
i had these blorbos that i would pour all over myself and i was sopping pathetic abt them all the time. and i would slam my thoughts abt them against the tumblr tags and they would make loud thuds.
Orion Stormbreaker! AKA Breaker, Neb, and some other random names! He/him! Queer as fuck!
I AM AN ADULT. I don't intend for this blog to be minors-DNI and I won't post straight up smut here, but there WILL be times where I talk/reblog about suggestive or otherwise adult things. Also gore lmao. If you don't want to risk seeing anything like that at all, this blog is not for you.
I'm mostly here to be a fandomite. Main fandoms are Wizard101, Sanders Sides, Project Hail Mary, & Animator vs Animation/Minecraft, but you will see plenty of other media around.
I've got a fancy portfolio for comms. If you wanna see my best art (and maybe get some for yourself), clicky here :3.
Sometimes I write things! In the esoteric "I've nothing officially written but I have so many thoughts" way. My two main projects are CCSAU (a multiversal Canon-divergence Wizard101 AU with .klaraflamez) and the Eras AU (a time travel Sanders Sides AU with .ferretwhomst). I will gladly yap about those at any time, give me an ask!
(One day I'll actually keep track of my OCs and pseudOCs. Today is not that day.)
For the gamers among us, I'm also the admin of a rather large (1100+) Wizard101 discord server, Spiral Challenge Chasers! A server dedicated to the Challenge Mode fights scattered throughout the Spiral.
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retracing ur steps to remember what u were about to say/do is so funny like yeah let me go stand next to the microwave for a second i think i dropped my thought over there. & then it works
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Being an evil doppelganger has to be so fucked up like imagine meeting a better version of yourself. Some chain of events going differently that led to "you" being a better person in a way you can never achieve. Personally I'd have no other option but to try and kill them
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The 25th of June, 1948. She was found in front of some random couple's house, a stray infant, barely three weeks old. It was a right miracle that she somehow wasn't already dead, or ill with anything. The couple agreed to adopt her, raise her as their own, but for that she had to get baptised.
She recoiled from the water being poured over her head. Squirming, kicking, crying. A banshee in hallowed halls, her wails filling the space and ringing for more time than any expected. Her new mother, an incredibly faithful and superstitious woman, believed something was wrong. This child was rejecting her baptism, her first rite, the first steps in her life. Only an unholy child would cry so demonically!
But baby Mary didn't care about the big picture of her faith.
She just hated water being poured on her head. It made her feel dizzy and sick, her hearing muffled and hair plastered sweatily to her skin.
~
Sunday. She hated Sundays. Made to wear extra frilly fancy dresses and shuffled over to church to hear Pastor Simons prattle on and on and on about God Knows What. God loves you, God knows all there is about you, fate is inexorable but also sins are yours to avoid but also Jesus died for them and blah blah blah blah.
She would do whatever it took to delay having to go. Hidding in the attic, hiding in the trees that spanned from house to house, roughhousing with her neighbor's dog and messing up her hair and clothes. She was always so difficult on Sundays, on the Holy day of rest and of church. She's such a reckless, godless child!!
But Mary Lisburn couldn't care about the big picture of God, of church, of any of this.
She just hated being made to sit in uncomfortable clothes for far too long. She could only distract herself with the gory image of a man stripped and nailed by his wrists to the crucifix for so long until she got bored.
~
Every weekday. Mary was a known nuisance in school, especially during History Teacher Eloise Merriweather's classes. She would sit in the back of the classroom, drawing cartoons in her notebooks instead of taking notes. Daleks from her new favorite show Doctor Who, eyes and hearts (no, not the cutesy love heart) and teeth, her teacher's severed head. She would often take these doodle-ridden drawings, wad them up, and toss them at her more studious classmates' heads. And if she wasn't feeling particularly artsy, would chew the rubbers off of her pencils and spit them at the class like watermelon seeds.
Mary couldn't care about the big picture of history, or mathematics, or the sciences, or literature.
What was the point of reading Les Miserables? Some old French people walk through a sewer and steal bread and have a revolution, big whoop! She didn't need to know how rain worked, or about these new "tectonic plates" that made up the earth. Rain is rain! The continents are the continents! She knew how to read numbers and count, she knew her shapes, why does she have to spend hours hunched over graph paper with a French curve in hand drawing arbitrary curves!? And who cares about old and dead people like Winston Churchill, Queen Victoria, King Henry, all that faff and nonsense!? They're dead! None of this will help Mary in her day to day! Homework was an invention of the school! These subjects are useless and boring! It made her want to tear her fucking hair out!
~
Saturday. 26th of December, 1964.
"I want you to belong somewhere. To have roots of your own. With David you'll be able to find those roots and live normally like any woman should do. Believe me, my dear, your-"
CRASH.
"MARY LISBURN! WHAT WAS THAT?!"
Mary didn't care about how expensive the television was.
She did care that her mother was about to give her a bloody ass-whooping. She ran out of her house like a dog with its tail between its legs and its paws on fire. She breathed in the rank city air and imagined it filled with the stench of burning flesh.
The last lines she heard on the telly looped in her head.
"I want you to belong somewhere. To have roots of your own. With David you'll be able to find those roots and live normally like any woman should do."
"I want you to belong somewhere. With David you'll be able to live normally like any woman should do."
"Belong somewhere. Live normally like any woman should do."
"Belong. Live normally."
She didn't CARE for living normally. Living normally involved so much meaningless bullshit! Living "normally" meant spending hours hunched over books you don't care about writing reports or equations till your hands cramped! Living "normally" meant sitting still at a desk no matter how much her legs demanded to bounce like her muscles were a swarm of locusts, and her nails demanded to dig into paper or rubber or flesh like hungry teeth! Living "normally" meant dedicating your heart to a God who already knew what you were going to do, and punished you for it anyway! So many unnecessary cares and responsibilities.
SHE WAS NOT BUILT FOR THIS!
SHE WAS NOT BUILT FOR NORMALCY! FOR ROOTS!
She was a stray dog of a girl. She ran from the kennel. She stayed out till Sunday eve, after her parents had gone to sleep.
~
Sometime in her last year of secondary school, he stopped caring for the big picture of her own name. "Mary", a dead woman from nearly 2000 years ago who happened to birth some little martyr crotch goblin that died on a fancy piece of wood. "Lisburn", a pair of people whom everyone THOUGHT popped her out of their holes too, but really they just found her on the street.
He was neither of them.
He was Remus. A stray, a vagabond, someone dead to the world.
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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donna noble is so important to me as a companion whose first impression of the doctor was how viciously cruel they could be (in the runaway bride, to the racnoss) and still CHOSE to insert herself back into their life. this is a woman who knew exactly what she was getting herself into and went for it anyway because she was bored to death. i love her. one of the characters of all time.
so. i do this thing where i wake up still half-asleep, write a note in my phone, and then fall back asleep and forget about it completely until i find the note later.
and i need to show you all some of these because ?????
"A functioning game is not the forte of Kingsisle." @stormbreaker101 - Tumblr Blog | Tumlook
