greendiamond's void

where nothing is everything

obligatori:

People be wanting the character roster to be like

image

yes exactly this is in fact what we want

(via xeshirefm0)

shadowofthelamp:

bec-blanche:

shadowofthelamp:

terminalcountdown:

hellzabeth:

pimpeta-slap:

psuliem:

mpregbert:

nagekis:

binart:

DID YOU KNOW THAT MOST SBURB SESSIONS FAIL

ok [LONG POST; APOLOGIES FOR PUTTING THIS ON YOUR LOVELY ART]
this made me wonder what happens to like
the players who go godtier in a dead session
because, like, they’re immortal, and with everyone else dead there is no way they CAN die, because suicide is neither heroic nor just, so they will simply continue to reincarnate forever
until they start to go insane from lack of human contact and anomie
and although sburb keeps them from dying, i imagine that there’s some sort of degeneration going on, maybe every time they die they come back slightly wrong in some way, their speech becomes garbled and they slowly start to look less and less human or whatever
and eventually
inevitably
the only voices left for them to hear are the whispers from the furthest ring
because with all of the time in the universe, even prospit dreamers visit Derse eventually, and as the incipisphere ages the boundaries between universes start to weaken
and it’s so hard not to just give up and accept the invitation, shuck off one’s mortal bonds and leave the session for good, sliding into the many-tentacled embrace of the horrorterrors as your body fully degenerates into madness and lines of code, no longer yourself anymore
just a whisper of what once was but is no longer human.

What if that’s where horrorterrors come from? The mutated god tiers from failed sessions.

ps im crying

This is terrifying

NOTE TEAM MISFAIL: WE ARE ALL TO GO GODTIER AND KEEP EACH OTHER SANE OK? OK.

NOTE TAKEN CAPTAIN’

Your name isn’t important. Nothing is anymore. After all, the clouds block out the heavenly light above and below you, leaving nothing but gray and red.
Gray and red and the cacophony of bleeding colors, the torn rags of your friends as they lie cold and lifeless, no more sentient then the ground you kneel upon. Locked forever in time, doomed to be nothing but dolls of the monster that created you all. They will never return to the soil, will never have the dignity of death, as the game that is not a game will not allow it. You never were religious, but you have prayed. Let there be a messiah, two, three, thousands of them. Let there be something, you think every time with hands clasped tightly before ramming another victim’s weapon into your chest.
Each time, you pray a little harder, stay a little shorter. You were a player, but the outfit you have fastened yourself from the clothes of the deceased leaves even you unsure of what kind. Perhaps time, as you can see hundreds of timelines, hundreds of death of hundreds of innocent lives. You sew your rags because after the fifth time you try to release yourself your robes do not regenerate. You sew yourself but the thread is missing and the fabric is missing and your brain is only just beginning to realize the meaning of eternity.
You play with your friends. A flick of their hair here, a halfhearted hand-holding there grows to hugs and empty sobs. A tango for one and a slow degeneration into the madness you welcome.
You lose track of the holes in your robes and in your soul. The tallies blur together. Names and dates and lives fade as the clouds shudder, the ground quaking and Skia itself weeping for the victory you will never see. 
You cannot speak.
You fumble with whatever you can find, play card games that cannot be won against yourself. You try on their clothes and find they fit. You have shrunk. The coding decrees it. You shed your rags and gain new ones. You grow and cycle out the last choices of the dead. You can still hear the screams no matter how much you silently shriek for anything you can repent. Nothing obeys you.
You cannot see.
You thrive on touch and thought, but thought cannot be relied on. Puzzles and riddles have long since ceased to matter, and you wonder if you exist. A living thing reaches into your mind, twists it and molds it and you do not notice. 
You cannot hear. 
You find a sword after seconds and days and millennia of searching and stab the pain away again and again. There is nothing left to touch, nothing to maim, nothing to live for as there was nothing to live for in time long since lost. Your spirit is gone. 
You do not exist.
You are one of many.
You are the Dead Souls that will never truly be free.
Eternity is but a breath in your lifespan, and your dearest wish is death. No one will give it to you.
There is no one left to.

I’m sorry but I need to reblog this again

I’m reblogging this again in honor of 4/13 because it is still my absolute favorite writing I’ve ever done, even nearly a year later.

and this is the part where i remind everyone what happened to the doomed timeline rose

shadowofthelamp:

bec-blanche:

shadowofthelamp:

terminalcountdown:

hellzabeth:

pimpeta-slap:

psuliem:

mpregbert:

nagekis:

binart:

DID YOU KNOW THAT MOST SBURB SESSIONS FAIL

ok [LONG POST; APOLOGIES FOR PUTTING THIS ON YOUR LOVELY ART]

this made me wonder what happens to like

the players who go godtier in a dead session

because, like, they’re immortal, and with everyone else dead there is no way they CAN die, because suicide is neither heroic nor just, so they will simply continue to reincarnate forever

until they start to go insane from lack of human contact and anomie

and although sburb keeps them from dying, i imagine that there’s some sort of degeneration going on, maybe every time they die they come back slightly wrong in some way, their speech becomes garbled and they slowly start to look less and less human or whatever

and eventually

inevitably

the only voices left for them to hear are the whispers from the furthest ring

because with all of the time in the universe, even prospit dreamers visit Derse eventually, and as the incipisphere ages the boundaries between universes start to weaken

and it’s so hard not to just give up and accept the invitation, shuck off one’s mortal bonds and leave the session for good, sliding into the many-tentacled embrace of the horrorterrors as your body fully degenerates into madness and lines of code, no longer yourself anymore

just a whisper of what once was but is no longer human.

What if that’s where horrorterrors come from? The mutated god tiers from failed sessions.

ps im crying

This is terrifying

NOTE TEAM MISFAIL: WE ARE ALL TO GO GODTIER AND KEEP EACH OTHER SANE OK? OK.

NOTE TAKEN CAPTAIN’

Your name isn’t important. Nothing is anymore. After all, the clouds block out the heavenly light above and below you, leaving nothing but gray and red.

Gray and red and the cacophony of bleeding colors, the torn rags of your friends as they lie cold and lifeless, no more sentient then the ground you kneel upon. Locked forever in time, doomed to be nothing but dolls of the monster that created you all. They will never return to the soil, will never have the dignity of death, as the game that is not a game will not allow it. You never were religious, but you have prayed. Let there be a messiah, two, three, thousands of them. Let there be something, you think every time with hands clasped tightly before ramming another victim’s weapon into your chest.

Each time, you pray a little harder, stay a little shorter. You were a player, but the outfit you have fastened yourself from the clothes of the deceased leaves even you unsure of what kind. Perhaps time, as you can see hundreds of timelines, hundreds of death of hundreds of innocent lives. You sew your rags because after the fifth time you try to release yourself your robes do not regenerate. You sew yourself but the thread is missing and the fabric is missing and your brain is only just beginning to realize the meaning of eternity.

You play with your friends. A flick of their hair here, a halfhearted hand-holding there grows to hugs and empty sobs. A tango for one and a slow degeneration into the madness you welcome.

You lose track of the holes in your robes and in your soul. The tallies blur together. Names and dates and lives fade as the clouds shudder, the ground quaking and Skia itself weeping for the victory you will never see. 

You cannot speak.

You fumble with whatever you can find, play card games that cannot be won against yourself. You try on their clothes and find they fit. You have shrunk. The coding decrees it. You shed your rags and gain new ones. You grow and cycle out the last choices of the dead. You can still hear the screams no matter how much you silently shriek for anything you can repent. Nothing obeys you.

You cannot see.

You thrive on touch and thought, but thought cannot be relied on. Puzzles and riddles have long since ceased to matter, and you wonder if you exist. A living thing reaches into your mind, twists it and molds it and you do not notice. 

You cannot hear. 

You find a sword after seconds and days and millennia of searching and stab the pain away again and again. There is nothing left to touch, nothing to maim, nothing to live for as there was nothing to live for in time long since lost. Your spirit is gone. 

You do not exist.

You are one of many.

You are the Dead Souls that will never truly be free.

Eternity is but a breath in your lifespan, and your dearest wish is death. No one will give it to you.

There is no one left to.

I’m sorry but I need to reblog this again

I’m reblogging this again in honor of 4/13 because it is still my absolute favorite writing I’ve ever done, even nearly a year later.

and this is the part where i remind everyone what happened to the doomed timeline rose

(via thatssowritingdesk)

dopernose:

screammynameoutloudd:

2010 tumblr: don’t be racist or homophobic or sexist. Be kind and accepting

2014 tumblr: I’m more oppressed than you. Don’t listen to white rappers. Sushi is cultural appropriation. Kill straight people.

2023 tumblr: 

image

great now i have to save this post till 2023 THANKS FOR THAT

(Source: sylvia-plathetic, via nuetralinthiswar)

leifal-secretly:

dersest:

mutant-trolls:

not-so-rabid-homestuck-fan:

nepetaoncatnip:

apertures413thdoctor:

madvonvanity:

captaindemetrios:

nightdenizen:

pantslesswrock:

sassybatterie:

actual-levi:

animal crossing and the last of us
oh

Inazuma Eleven and Silent Hill Downpour… well fuck.
i might draw that when im not so damn tired

Skyrim and Rune Factory (which is Harvest Moon but with swords and more concrete goals and plotlines)
So basically, an HD, 3D-rendered first-person Harvest Moon game but with swords and monsters and dragons?
SIGN ME THE FUCK UP.

Pokemon Platinum and Legend of Zelda: Windwaker. I’m not sure how that would really turn out. I would hope it would be like an open world version of Pokemon Colosseum.

Animal Crossing and Realm of The Mad God????
UM
UMMM??!?!

donkey kong country and final fantasy XIII 
……i don’t know how to respond to this 

Sims 3 and Goat Simulator… That is beautiful

Portal and Half Life 2
Wait

Kingdom Hearts 2 and Mario Kart Wii….

pokemon Y and animal crossing
not bad…..

Portal 2 and Minecraft
Uh okay

League of legends and Tera Rising… hmmm interesting not sure how that’d work though

faster then light and mercenary kings. it would be so pixelated you would need to use a movie theater to go multiplayer

leifal-secretly:

dersest:

mutant-trolls:

not-so-rabid-homestuck-fan:

nepetaoncatnip:

apertures413thdoctor:

madvonvanity:

captaindemetrios:

nightdenizen:

pantslesswrock:

sassybatterie:

actual-levi:

animal crossing and the last of us

oh

Inazuma Eleven and Silent Hill Downpour… well fuck.

i might draw that when im not so damn tired

Skyrim and Rune Factory (which is Harvest Moon but with swords and more concrete goals and plotlines)

So basically, an HD, 3D-rendered first-person Harvest Moon game but with swords and monsters and dragons?

SIGN ME THE FUCK UP.

Pokemon Platinum and Legend of Zelda: Windwaker. I’m not sure how that would really turn out. I would hope it would be like an open world version of Pokemon Colosseum.

Animal Crossing and Realm of The Mad God????

UM

UMMM??!?!

donkey kong country and final fantasy XIII 

……i don’t know how to respond to this 

Sims 3 and Goat Simulator… That is beautiful

Portal and Half Life 2

Wait

Kingdom Hearts 2 and Mario Kart Wii….

pokemon Y and animal crossing

not bad…..

Portal 2 and Minecraft

Uh okay

League of legends and Tera Rising… hmmm interesting not sure how that’d work though

faster then light and mercenary kings. it would be so pixelated you would need to use a movie theater to go multiplayer

(Source: sapphireskin)

Reblog this if you AREN’T homophobic.

sethoroth-vermilion:

yourofficialvalentine:

imageJust want to see how many of my followers actually reblog this.

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IT’S OKAY

TO BE GAY

I WON’T MIND

IF YOU LIKE YOUR KIND

IT’S OKAY

TO BE GAY

I’D STILL LOVE YOU

AND OTHERS WILL TOO

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people are fine by me.

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everyone should reblog this

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for the gifs XD

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this is so….. .__.’ *reblogs*

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via laugh-addict

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I’m lesbian

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if you don’t reblog this unfollow me NOW

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oh dear god the reaction images its like that one things that tumblr used to do that i was so glad people stopped doing

(Source: theydonthavelastnamesinyourworld, via drgears-site-19)

trickster-penguin:

THE ANIMALS IN DISNEY ARE RAVENOUS BEASTS LET ME TELL YOU WHAT THEY SEE FOOD AND THEY WILL COME

i was sitting next to some kid and he was suddenly mauled by a squirrel. he didnt even have food he was just attacked. the person that took this picture is lucky that it was interested in the fries more then him/her. 

trickster-penguin:

THE ANIMALS IN DISNEY ARE RAVENOUS BEASTS LET ME TELL YOU WHAT THEY SEE FOOD AND THEY WILL COME

i was sitting next to some kid and he was suddenly mauled by a squirrel. he didnt even have food he was just attacked. the person that took this picture is lucky that it was interested in the fries more then him/her. 

(Source: addelburgh, via nepetastuck)

Reblog if you love Homestuck

timeisimportant-fandom:

my friend strongly objects to homestuck and says that no one likes it and i want — no, i need — to prove her wrong. so anyone who reblogs this will have their url written in here

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and i’ll show the notebook to her if and/or when it’s filled up. come on homestucks, i know we can prove her wrong!

i sense a note hog but its not like that has ever been a problem around here

(via tiip2ygno2talgiic)

bakrua:

i figure this would be a useful thing to have going around today, to give some people some peace of mind! please do not post screamers today, it’s not funny, and you could hurt someone!

bakrua:

i figure this would be a useful thing to have going around today, to give some people some peace of mind! please do not post screamers today, it’s not funny, and you could hurt someone!

(via drgears-site-19)

christofercringlemisha:

thetwot:

rizaoftheowls:

derinthemadscientist:

mandypatinkins:

I want people who don’t read homestuck to theorize what is going on in this panel 1 2 3 go

I’m just behind a handful of updates and even I have no idea

The Lollipop Guild is trying to convert a cool punk to their terrifying, fixed-grin, eternal-sugar-high Happiness Is Mandatory totalitarian culture. He’s not buying it. (He’s actin’ all tough, but they are prepared to stick a brain-sucking foodstuff into his hair whether he wants it or not. This could come to blows.)
The Cool Teenage Grim Reaper watches with interest. He supposes he wants the punk fellow to win, but he is simply here to carry the losers away to Teenage Hell when the inevitable violence ensues. His robot sidekick, who has had too many Red Bulls possibly laced with crack, is trying to get him to bet cash (or drugs) on the outcome. The Cool Teenage Grim Reaper is silent, and abstains.
A small black parasitic demonchild has attached himself to the Lollipop Guild’s contingent, content to observe with childlike ignorance and to feed on the invisible despair that leaks like thick tar from the candy-colored crew. They ignore its presence and do not shoo him; it consumes sadness and they are well-taught that Sadness Spoils the Fun.
The ghosts of the cool punk’s fallen hipster friends float above, appearing to him in his time of need. He does not know if they are real, like Jedi force ghosts from beyond, or if they are only the hallucinations of his desperate mind as he faces the ultimate foe of his Keepin’ It Real. His angry friend, still bearing the cracked horn and wounds of his violent passing, hisses, “Get ‘em.” His sweetest friend, the motherly one, who cared for him and who he loved like a sister, whispers comfortingly, “You can do it.” His best bro? His best bro who died covering the cool punk’s escape, whose 3D glasses are whole again in his apparition of death? He hangs back, silent, his intense bi-colored gaze solemnly upon his last living friend. I saved you for this, his eyes seem to say. Make me proud, dude.
The cool punk flexes in his shoes, pumped up kicks that were a boon from the Cool Teenage Grim Reaper long ago, at the start of his quest, kicks that will allow him to run fast and fleet to escape the cold talons of mortality. Maybe, just maybe, they will allow him to outmaneuver the sugar-rush speedforce of the trio before him.
Each one’s stiff rictus widens another stretched millimeter as they see the defiance burning behind his cool shades.
“Let’s do this.”

LEROY! Jeeeenkins!

That…was pretty spot on.


Ism I think the guy with the long comment cheated and knows something about this scene because that’s pretty much what’s happening here

christofercringlemisha:

thetwot:

rizaoftheowls:

derinthemadscientist:

mandypatinkins:

I want people who don’t read homestuck to theorize what is going on in this panel 1 2 3 go

I’m just behind a handful of updates and even I have no idea

The Lollipop Guild is trying to convert a cool punk to their terrifying, fixed-grin, eternal-sugar-high Happiness Is Mandatory totalitarian culture. He’s not buying it. (He’s actin’ all tough, but they are prepared to stick a brain-sucking foodstuff into his hair whether he wants it or not. This could come to blows.)

The Cool Teenage Grim Reaper watches with interest. He supposes he wants the punk fellow to win, but he is simply here to carry the losers away to Teenage Hell when the inevitable violence ensues. His robot sidekick, who has had too many Red Bulls possibly laced with crack, is trying to get him to bet cash (or drugs) on the outcome. The Cool Teenage Grim Reaper is silent, and abstains.

A small black parasitic demonchild has attached himself to the Lollipop Guild’s contingent, content to observe with childlike ignorance and to feed on the invisible despair that leaks like thick tar from the candy-colored crew. They ignore its presence and do not shoo him; it consumes sadness and they are well-taught that Sadness Spoils the Fun.

The ghosts of the cool punk’s fallen hipster friends float above, appearing to him in his time of need. He does not know if they are real, like Jedi force ghosts from beyond, or if they are only the hallucinations of his desperate mind as he faces the ultimate foe of his Keepin’ It Real. His angry friend, still bearing the cracked horn and wounds of his violent passing, hisses, “Get ‘em.” His sweetest friend, the motherly one, who cared for him and who he loved like a sister, whispers comfortingly, “You can do it.” His best bro? His best bro who died covering the cool punk’s escape, whose 3D glasses are whole again in his apparition of death? He hangs back, silent, his intense bi-colored gaze solemnly upon his last living friend. I saved you for this, his eyes seem to say. Make me proud, dude.

The cool punk flexes in his shoes, pumped up kicks that were a boon from the Cool Teenage Grim Reaper long ago, at the start of his quest, kicks that will allow him to run fast and fleet to escape the cold talons of mortality. Maybe, just maybe, they will allow him to outmaneuver the sugar-rush speedforce of the trio before him.

Each one’s stiff rictus widens another stretched millimeter as they see the defiance burning behind his cool shades.

“Let’s do this.”

LEROY! Jeeeenkins!

That…was pretty spot on.

Ism I think the guy with the long comment cheated and knows something about this scene because that’s pretty much what’s happening here

(Source: roxylalonde, via literallyjohnegbert)

literallyjohnegbert:

i almost forgot. 

yesterday there was this kid who was wearing a shirt kind of like dave’s only minus the record and he basically had strider fashion, but black hair and nerd glasses. 

i found the johndave child. 

and he’s an asshole. 

What the he’ll did he do to give you that kind of impression

If you are willing to talk about it of course

itsdeepforhappypeople:

stumpxvx:

dont u hate it when its nine in the afternoon but ur eyes are just normal sized

I’ve seen this post three times on my dash and i still cant fucking figure out what it means is it like some secret code. are 22,000+ of you in a secret society????? what the fuck is going on?????

nine in the afternoon your eyes are the size of the moon

(via thatssowritingdesk)