WHAT? EXCUSE ME WHAT?? WE'RE GETTING AN ANIME OF THIS ABSOLUTE GOAT OF A MANGA???

Adding something that bothers me:

IT'S NOT "COULD OF", IT'S "COULD'VE", A CONTRACTION OF "COULD HAVE". "COULD OF" DOESN'T MAKE ANY SENSE. SAME GOES FOR "WOULD OF"

IT’S NOT ‘PEEKED’ MY INTEREST

OR ‘PEAKED’

BUT PIQUED

‘PIQUED MY INTEREST’

THIS HAS BEEN A CAPSLOCK PSA

this is fuggler#1 the fuggler. he is a fuggler

WHAT IS A FUGGLER

Would you be so kind as to list 5 things that make you happy? If you’d like, you can even pass this along and encourage others to do the same by putting this message in the askbox of the last 5-10 people who liked or reblogged something from you! :)

Sweet of you to ask! Here they are:-

My cat

Writing on a Saturday evening when I don't have any homework and my brain has so much inspiration, my hands can't keep up

Tea that is just right

Coming home after college and chilling with a box of milkshake and a good anime

The feeling of calmness that hits me randomly while doing the most mundane tasks

You should sleep

TW! self-hatred, grief, apathy, dehumanization, more tw's to be added

Note: this is a diary page written about my own emotions/struggles/views. it's written in second POV

Date: 8/24/24 -- 2:45AM

            You should really be sleeping now, not reading. Or writing, in this case, but it’s hard to sleep when you feel like you’re wasting your life! The voices of your loved ones ring in your head. ‘’you should make the most of it now’’ or ‘’you should go out more’’.

             You know that already, but you have no desire to see the sun or touch the grass—not when that specific presence isn’t with you. Something inside you has died, and all the joy has simply faded away. It’s hard. It’s hard to enjoy, to laugh, to feel. The emptiness within you is the worst thing in the world. You wish you could fill it, but nothing is ever enough for you.

Nothing satisfies the hunger of the monster you’ve become. Yes, you call yourself a monster. Because it’s true—you are a monster. You don’t heal, you don’t grow, you don’t change, you don’t believe or live; you only deceive. It’s a trait you inherited (you won’t say from whom), and it’s a burden. The destruction you bring is absurd. How can one person bring so much destruction? Why are you like this? You’ve destroyed so many things in your life. It’s depressing—so, so depressing.

            Sometimes I wish I could restart or pause, take a breath of fresh air, or have someone hold my hand and say, "Okay, slow down, breathe. Now, tell me." I’ve said those words to others many times, but why don’t I deserve to hear them? Why am I so different? Not in a cheesy way. Hell, I’m not even going to try to explain what I mean. If someone reads this someday, they’ll either understand or say I’m dramatic and stupid.

And to those who understand—I’m sorry.

I know how much you want to be held but can’t stand being touched. I know how you long for someone to pet you on the head, but you hiss and growl like a wild animal. I know how you yearn for warmth, yet still prefer the cold. I know how you read just to escape into those stories, to live vicariously through those characters, to imagine that your life could be like theirs, with those specific experiences. I know how much you want to live, to feel, how you start to absorb the emotions from the stories you read, just to feel something. But it’s not yours. That story isn’t yours, that emotion isn’t yours, that life isn’t yours—and it never will be. You’ll rot forever, alone, because nothing is good enough, and if it is, you can’t trust it, so you destroy it.

            That’s how you monsters operate. You seek comfort, you seek emotion, you seek getleness and when it’s given, you refuse it, you damage it, you destroy it. I’ll give you my gentle hands, and you’ll return them scratched and calloused. It’s your nature—to manipulate, deceive, destroy—over and over. No one knows what it’s like to be destructive, how dehumanizing it is. No one can come close because they’ll break or rather—you’ll break them . They’ll lose a piece of themselves, leaving empty and incomplete, because you just take and take and never give; you take away from others to fill your own void in your chest, to fit in whatever you can because it hurts. You once believed you had a heart, that you were good, but there’s no good, and there’s no heart and it is your own fault. You are what you hate the most. That’s a bit pathetic, isn’t it?

            You should really stop, but all these emotions and thoughts that aren’t even yours are swirling in your head. You wish so much to be loved like the characters in the books. You wish you could be in their shoes, even with all their suffering, just to finally feel something other than the ache of the void in your chest. You swear, no one knows emptiness and loneliness like you do. You know you’re isolating yourself, but you don’t know why (maybe to protect those around you, maybe because deep down you care, but then you remember that there’s no deep down and that you are what you do). Your chest burns unpleasantly when people talk to you, and it feels gross, it feels wrong, foreign, unnatural. Sometimes you don’t even feel human, you feel like you lack the humanity necessarry to call yourself that. You’re confused, scared and uneasy, you aren’t sure what you are anymore. Are these your thoughts? Are these your feelings? Did you become someone else again?

You should really sleep

Your writeblr coffee shop order is ready!

Boba: What's something that your character keeps hidden? Does anyone know about it?

Fear. Fear of love specifically, fear of loving someone, fear of being loved by someone she doesn't love back, fear of never loving anyone, fear of loving someone who doesn't love her back. She hides just about everything that goes on in her head behind a mask of ego. And she's good at it too, so it takes a good while for just one person to figure it out and it's the person she fell in love with.

I don't wanna reveal the character because I like to build these things up in the writing itself but it is one of my recent characters :)

Fr fr

editing your own writing is like woah you really like commas........ maybe ease up on those commas there, pal........ maybe Fewer commas would be nice

Woah 😳

It's the Legendary Milkman!!!

I got curious and looked up the game because of him. Ran into him on my third run. Turned out to be a doppelganger though :(

Knock-Knock

— Who’s there?

how odd, to watch the creative writing exercises of angry men in the comments of instagram. you noticed it first in the comments of conventionally attractive women - but then it started appearing everywhere else, too.

a young man talks about what lunch he's packing his wife. there is a little story under it, with 300 likes, fabricated from nothing. "this is pointless. if you treat her like this, she will take the lunch to her office and fuck her boss and divorce him and take all his money."

you scroll. a young woman talks about what lunch she's packing for her husband. it is always uglier when the subject of the video is a woman, you've noticed. "you sit on camera and you smile and you are cheating with the neighbor and then you're going to lie about being sexually assaulted by your husband and -"

you stop reading. it has 567 likes.

where did this even become a thing? people making up stories in their head, disgusting long-winded assumptions about intention and sexual disgrace. the evil twin of fanfiction.

like - it's just a lie. it's a lie that they are telling, baldfaced and assumptive. the undercurrent is of course misogyny, but the trouble is that they're so fucking certain. that's what makes the hairs on the back of your neck rise. there is this pervasive, inventive desire for them to be right. that they must be right. all women are cheating, lying, gold-digging bitches. no exceptions.

in the reverse, when women say i'd rather meet a bear in the woods than a strange man - men funnel in from the sides. they defend each other with a vibrance and capacity for empathy you wish applied to like, the other half of the population. a man could be saying i absolutely did kill her and these creatures in the comments would rise up with king shit. she made it happen. they love each other to the point of this sick strange self-gaslighting, a fervent and unhinged cognitive distortion. all men are good, wonderful people. all women are terrible, conniving, seditious, annoying.

and when did it become okay to just, like... say that kind of a thing? at one point, you find yourself typing out a witty and snappy retort. why are you spending so much time fantasizing about other people babe. but as you stare at the screen, some part of you pictures this man in public, saying these things to your face. his soapbox, high and mighty. his mirrored sunglasses and his empty life: tired and lonely.

what a sad and horrible loop he's locked in. he is terrible to women, so women don't talk to him, which he uses as an excuse to act more terribly. he blames this "failure" on women, rather than on his behavior. it cannot be that he is the problem (that the solution is to just put his ego down and accept women as equals) - he begins to invent a sculpture to replace the flesh frame of each person he sees.

it isn't just a woman posing on the beach. it is now a slut with a desperate need for each person to crave her body. it isn't just a woman yelping with surprise during something upsetting. it is a hysterical, unhelpful cretin who will probably make things worse instead of better. it isn't a person.

someone's very sweet wedding vows get moderate attention on instagram. in the comments, a man says good fucking luck you'll waste your life providing while behind your back she's absolutely fucking the best man. this will be so cringe in 2 months when she walks out on you.

you think - is that what you need to be true? is that what you need to happen, for the world to make sense to you?

I can never die