#ask em

thank you. youve inspired me to make one myself

i looooooooove seeing what’s in people’s bags. im 100% a bag person—and a huge bag, mind you.

frankly, i dont understand how some people can carry around cute little bags with like a handful of items that all lay really nicely and don’t look crowded in photos ??? this is what i took to work today. positively ridiculous amount of items that i didn’t touch once. but that’s ok because when i got home i realized i had my whole bag, didn’t pack my keys, and had locked myself out! so. i had everything i needed to pass the time waiting for my roommate to let me in ;)

Nutmeg: how’s your room/home decorated? Do you have a specific theme or style going on?

In no particular order:

Hugh Panaro - The man is feral and so pelvis-forward. His permanent smirk only adds to it.

Franc D’Ambrosio - The way he moves, look at that man. See also his PONR for the noises he makes.

Greg Mills - He is so soft in real life, but gosh, he is slutty on stage. We don’t call him Greg Finger Lickin’ Mills for nothing.

Ben Crawford - I’m just going to put this fantastic video by @opera-ghost here as my explanation.

Jeremy Stolle - That man PROWLS when he moves.

Adam Robert Lewis - I’ve never even seen video of him, but his VOICE. That tells me all I need to know.

Fluff...yeah that's gonna have to be on the AU's i reckon 😅

A burden rests upon a soul wrought and weary, the weight of history bearing down. Endured in quiet agony, a profound legacy is left behind, and my hands are pried open to reclaim.

The significance of it all…

It is where webbed truths remain veiled in shadows, catching stray hopes, preying on promises.

And with the familial bond bared, I am an oversight, deemed over sight, haze so profound, so permanent.

This reality is rooted firmly in tragedy and all that it has toiled.

Thoughts dwell in the depths, where whispers long to linger, embracing my deepest fears with a tender touch that unveils vulnerability amidst villains.

Dark inheritance mars the days past and present, with future on the cusp;

I grapple with the foreshadowing, the black clouds, the miasma that threatens to engulf, encroaching.

But it is overcast; caught in limbo of what was, what is, what could be. Freedom eludes me. Liberation, lies. Escape, forbids.

These shadows entwine, tendrils delicately woven through my veins.

A stagnant inheritance of sorrow. Gold with the tarnish of ash. A kingdom’s throne of thorns.

Enveloped in contemplation, I delve to uncharted territories of my being.

These lungs crave a mere respite of radiance, capable of piercing the unwavering void.

And in isolation, a fragile flicker moves within, celebrating defiance of the oppressive darkness.

To escape this prison constructed by kin, to let my blood, to wash it clean, such filth in purity;

The irony is not lost on me. I beg, sanctuary. I remain, all-seeing.

I have seen… enough.