I Have So Many WIPs That If Only I Knew How To Work With Myself, I’d Have Finished Or At Least Made

I just got an idea: what if a symbiote was injected into a human? Like, the actual symbiote, not like Anti-Venom stuff. IDK if this is even scientifically possible to inject a symbiotic creature into someone, but hey, creativity.

Anyway. Since it’s injected into the person, it changes their DNA and stuff and the body gradually adapts to the intrusion, evolving the body. So, their entire body is now like the Symbiote.

For example, if you throw something at the Person™, they could just make a hole in their body or shift their body to avoid getting it. Or maybe something like an arrow could just pass through because they have a goo-like body now thanks to the goo-like nature of a symbiote without a host.

They can maybe shift to resemble anything? Like, maybe their feet can shift to have skater blades, who knows? Maybe they can even copy the mechanics of wheels and have wheels for feet, IDK if the friction would hurt though. Maybe they can just snatch something from the shelf of a grocery store and store it inside their body because they have a goo-like body and they can just absorb it into them. They can probably shape shift now into different things or people! Granted, the people they shift into will have their own color scheme. So if you're white, whoever you shift into will be white no matter if you copied a black man's look or not.

You cannot change your genetic makeup...well, the color palette at least. And if you shift into things??? It's probably all black or whatever color the Symbiote was and you can't copy certain materials like glass because how??

You know how Symbiote hosts can swing like Spidey? Well, they can do that with any part of their body. Which...Symbiotes can probably do naturally since...well, since they don't have a limit to the wrist like Spidey does. Soo...eh. They're basically the same, except every Symbiote trait is now innate to them.

They probably cringe or just get discomfort from being under the heat or having steam hit their body. Not pain, but mild discomfort. It's when fire is involved that a problem arises.

And they are not allowed in loud spaces or they are in pain. Clubs? Nope. Parties? Nope. They would get noise-cancelling earphones. And because of their aversion to loud noises, they probably start becoming more reclusive and introverted, preferring quiet spaces.

Maybe because it is a symbiote that is injected into them, they still have the living creature but just in their head. Unless they wanted to make a head for themselves like Symbiotes do. So it is basically just a Symbiote, still in your head and everything, it just can't get off of you. Two different people in one body.

Also, maybe, just maybe, because it was injected...you get access to the Hive Mind. Complete access without even needing permission. That being said, since Venom bonded with Spidey which means Spidey's abilities are now in the Hive Mind which explains why Venom has a lot of Spidey's abilities—Person™ will still have those abilities. Stronger than Spidey and have Spider-Sense. Spidey will also not be able to sense Person™.

Thing is, when you do Symbiote stuff like stretching a portion of yourself like Venom does when he swings or grabs something to hurl at someone, it can either be the Person™'s skintone or the color of the Symbiote, it is generally up to the person what they go for. Usually, when shape shifting, they'd just shift their appearance and not change color during the process to be more subtle. Probably just subtly changing their features gradually to be less noticeable. But when they're doing Symbiote stuff, I imagine that their limb would become the color of the Symbiote so it doesn't look like they're a goo-like version of Mr. Fantastic.

Short people can be taller! Tall people can be shorter!

Male bodies can have lady parts! Female bodies can have male parts!

Contradictions

I'm the very embodiment of contradictions. The physical manifestation of duality molded into a body. I am the adjective of two extremes. To describe me is to confuse oneself, to describe me is to describe everything and nothing. I feel inferiority just as I feel superiority. I'm the most evil nice person to exist for there are equal amounts of nicety than there is evil in me. I am sinful saint. I utter the words of a god that my heart oozes no faith for, yet any arguments of my god's existence fills me with a rage like a devout.

I grieve no one and everyone. My heart beats no care or love for any entity be it my family or my friends or a lover that never will exist for my heart will hold nothing but apathy. Yet. My words and my actions are devotions of a semblance of a love that I do not feel. My thoughts are dedicated for them as if I am driven by love—yet my heart beats nothing but pumped blood.

I understand myself very well, the only person to ever understand me. Though I confuse myself all the time. I am so inexplicable that I am only explained by my name. My name is all the explanations one needs, every nuances of my being—blurred and confusing it may be for anyone but me. They explain me by uttering my name, chalk it up to [—] being [—] as if that's the only explanation for my behavior and my words and my expressions.

People talk about me as if they can understand me, as if their words are true. It is not. Even those that hold the title of my closest friend always gets it wrong. They say my name as if it explains it all despite them not knowing what it is that's actually being explained by the simple whisper of my name.

What's in a name, I wonder?

Because it definitely is not understanding.

No thoughts, just Death Eater Draco. 🫠

Kuroko: why are you so large?

Atsushi: God decided to bless me with a big dick but found out a small body can't handle it so he gave me a bigger body.

KnS/GoM: . . .

Rewatched Saltburn and I'm obsessed with Farleigh and Oliver's tutoring scene. The essay specifically. For those who don't remember: Oliver did his homework and all his assignments and genuinely gave a well thought out essay for their summer assignments. Farleigh shows up hungover and late and didn't even read the books. But the teacher immediately loves Farleigh and is chatting him up with an interest he barely tried to show Oliver. Even after Oliver gives his presentation and shows that he's clearly a much better student than Farleigh. Obviously this is the real start of their rivalry. But it's also such a beautiful look into their characters and how they mirror eachother. Farleigh understands Oliver's essay, I believe. But like the teacher he's bored by it. The knowledge and work is there, but the presentation of it is boring and strange. Academic and correct, but lacking the appeal to the audience. (Which, can we talk about the fact Farleigh was genuinely listening at all? The teacher zoned out and switched channels, but Farleigh was interested and paying enough attention to know the exact number of times Oliver used the word "thus" in his essay. They respect each other truly even if they despise eachother at this point, and refuse to acknowledge the grudging respect.) So Farleigh does what he does best, he gloats over Oliver. He picks apart the style of the essay and it's presentation rather than addressing the central argument or topic. This delights the teacher and frustrates Oliver who is like, "so you're going to critique the style of my essay rather than it's substance? Seems a bit lazy" and that's the core component of these two characters.

Farleigh is ALL about presentation. He knows how fragile his pedistal is placed up and in view for everyone to see. He's a charity project, just like every other rando of the month. Sure he has some familiar connection, and that's given him a leg up in this world. But it's still shakey at best. He always has to give the correct performance, say the right words, keep his audience on HIS side. Unless he wants to get knocked down with the rest of the common rabal that he knows he's belongs with, but can't stand the idea of. So yes, of course he picks apart the one thing he knows Oliver is failing at. He takes his one advantage over Oliver and uses it mercilessly to both entertain and secure his audience on his side. (I wonder if the positions had been different some how, if Farleigh would have had anything to say about the substance of the essay itself. He was paying attention to it, did he want to have a real academic conversation? Did he possibly want to try and connect to Oliver in that way? A real and non performative way with someone who's so similar to him?)

As for Oliver, obviously his character is intelligent. He does the readings. He does the research. He puts the time and effort in to *learn* in the way Farleigh never does. And it must infuriate him that his essay is so easily pushed to the side for a cheep critique that doesn't even address the central argument of his essay. Of course he would hate Farleigh from the start for that. It's such a quick negation of all that Oliver has to offer and give just because it's not wrapped up in a pretty bow. And that's just his character. The substance is there, the intelligence is there. But it's not enough. It will never be enough. Because Oliver doesn't know how to translate it to his audience in a way they'll care about. He learns and tries to mimic, but it always falls short because he just can't seem to figure out the way to blend in and present himself so seamlessly as Farleigh.

And that's why they're such perfect mirrors of each other. They're both intelligent and clever. But they've found different ways of getting what they want and proving themselves. Farleigh is the face and the presentation, Oliver is the substance and body. In another world imagine what these two could have done and been if they hadn't been pitted against each other for the same prize. And the fact Oliver definitely deliberately shoved Farleigh out at the perfect time so he wouldn't get hurt and killed? Oliver and Farleigh respect and admire the other. But their tragedy is they can never be on the same page or team because the world they're in says there is only room for one. And they'd both do anything to get that title.

thinking about how focused and intelligent and in-control Monoma had to be to not only keep dozens of warp gates of all sizes open at the same time but ALSO remember the exact coordinates for ALL the planned combat areas to move everyone to the correct places

I'm pretty.

That's what they tell me. People like me, they like my face. They say I'm beautiful. But it is as they say: beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Those are not my eyes.

For when I see myself, I see a horrendous amalgamation. I stare into my reflection and I see the rot of a hateful person. I always wonder how people can see beauty in that face. The fat in my cheeks, the uncanniness of my face, the creepiness of my big eyes, my oily nose, my big chapped lips, my cheeks filled with imperfection. I don't have awful break outs, I don't have awful acne.

I can say I'm thankful for that.

But sometimes, there would be a too red spot in my cheek, or a red dot accompanied by two others. Sometimes my pores look too big. My lips, chapped and dry and ugly as I am on the inside.

They say I'm pretty.

I say thank you, but I don't see it.

I know what lies beneath that deceptive beauty that I cannot see. What lies underneath is hideous, repugnant person whose heart is filled with hatred that it drips out of every pore on her skin, rotting her teeth, wrinkling her skin, greying her hair. Her hatred so abundant that it fats her up.

She's ugly.

I'm ugly.

Why can no one see that?

The ugliness she harbors, why can no see that!?

Pretty? Is this what beauty is? The cruel, violent, angry thoughts that floods her mind constantly until she hallows herself out with how deep she buries her hatred and her anger and her emotions; she buries it so deeply that she digs the hole to the other side of her and it drips out for the entire world to see.

I can't see that "pretty" that they speak of. How can they say I'm pretty? When I lash out, when I speak with vitriol lining my every word, when I stare with swirling storms of vexation. What is pretty in my ugliness? What is beautiful about my hatred?

How can they see beauty in me, when all I see is every single negative thing to exist in the world in every piece of me?

They don't know me.

They are so blind as to who I am, to what I am, that they can see my being in rose. And I wish they will never take off those glasses. I cannot bear for them to see what lies beyond the rose hue of their view.

I'm pretty, they say.

It makes my skin crawl with disgust, my mind cloud with disbelief, yet it warms my heart, makes my stomach giddy. I am giddy. I am disgusted. I am an amalgamation of contrast, of duality. I smile, say thank you. While the monster that is my reflection stares at me, a constant reminder that I am an imposter of beauty.

I'm pretty, they say.

And I pray,

That in their eyes, it stays that way.

Guys, guys, guys!!

It’s a good app, try it. I’m not the type to use planner apps or planners in general, my life is a mess. But…like, I like this app??

IT HAS A FONT STYLE DESIGNED TO HELP AT LEAST A BIT FOR DYSLEXIC PEOPLE??

It does have premium but without it, it works just fine.

The format itself is minimal but easy to navigate. It has helped me fix my sleep schedule a bit, but, like, you still need to have the discipline to actually follow the schedule you plan for yourself. No planners will help you if you don’t follow through with it. Creating tasks and reminders are easy and you can use OneSec which:

And this is what it mainly looks like, I customized my appearance to be purple tho

i’m screaming

5000 likes!