♥PESTCLOUD♥

@pestcloud.bsky.social

174 Followers 525 Following

SHE/IT/SWEETS A HANDFUL OF PEOPLE AND THINGS MADE OF A HANDFUL OF THINGS PFP BY @slitherbop.com (IT MAKES THE COOLEST THINGS EVER)

i just, like, scrolled that one account posting heathcliff comics for like an hour and am greatly amused by how many comments are either people going "man. can't imagine seeing these without having already been an esteemed Heathcliff Reader. those poor fools. those stupid fucking idiots. they don't get it. they can't understand. the horrors. their feeble brains can't comprehend the pre-established 50 years of humor. gasp." and people proving those guys right
SATURN Oh, wow. You really did it. LUNA-TERRA ... SATURN You got so quiet. SATURN You're so well trained! SATURN You're the big strong ace, but you shut down so quickly. You really can't deal with me at all. SATURN Why is that? LUNA-TERRA ...Didn't you say you weren't going to bully me.
discord screenshot read monday (that's me) wants YOU (pointing emoji) to watch goodbye lara (this is true)
i close my window and draw my curtains. in this shaded space, i can imagine that outside, there is a moon, and it is full and bright, and outside, there is a telescope, and people are looking through it, seeing stars, and laughing with each other, in peace, in awe, shining like stars themselves under the moonlight, averse to tiredness and any sleep, and happy to be around each other. i feel hands in hands, clothes against clothes, bodies staying together to combat the cold of the night. an alarm cuts off my thoughts. i shut it off, ignore the sun through the curtains, worm into bed, and go back to sleep. i wonder when i’ll wake up.
i shut my closet door. behind it, i can imagine volumes of manga i promised to read. 11 of them, specifically. it was missing 1 and 13, the first and last volumes. i’d already been told what happens in the first dozens of times, but still, i wanted to read it for myself, but the place near here never had it, so this collection sat around, waiting to become a favorite, waiting forever for the day i got over it and skipped to volume 2, or just read volume 1 online. i can see the main character’s face on the second volume’s cover and the warning when i first opened it on the last pages, when i’d opened it wrongly, and the person laughed and pointed at the cover, it should’ve been obvious the cover with the main character’s face on it is the one you open it from. i don’t remember her name. i shut my dresser drawers. within them, i can imagine gaudy, bright-colored pants and sequin-covered sweaters, and flowing cream tops and dark green skirts, and band shirts with faded graphics and torn hems and dark jeans of the same worn and torn qualities, and i know how they feel, and how to wash them, and how those glittering sweaters and pants make my skin itch when we’re close, and how some of the rips in those jeans got there, and how those skirts had pockets sewn into them to carry whatever pretty things could be found on our walks. my clothes sit at the foot of my bed in a pile. i shut my desk drawer. inside, i can imagine papers and pens and pencils and markers and even erasers of all colors, and sticky notes over drawings more beautiful than i could ever hope to create with these hands. i can see where markers bled through the flimsy notebook paper, and how that bleed through was used for another drawing, and on the next page, another drawing with marker, and on the back of that, another drawing around the bleed, and on and on, these sweet little pairs. on the desk lies my notebooks. one is open to a page of a half-finished sketch. i lost my pencil long ago.
there’s a great many open spaces in a room. wind comes through my bedroom door, sneaks inside my closet, makes small homes in my drawers, passes through the dusty space under my bed, floods through my window, over and under my desk and chair, and brushes my hair and skin. all this invisible movement. all this empty air in my empty space. a breeze only for me. a breeze that, not too long ago, was not only for me. dust gathers over the outlines where a great many items not belonging to me took up the precious space in this room, my room. trinkets and plushies, a handful of little friends that once lived on that desk, sat in that chair when i wasn’t. statuettes and figures that once stood atop the dresser, slightly blocking the tv. books and comics in the closet once well-read and annotated, making for colorful piles. wind passes through the little spaces they used to be. i shut my bedroom door. i can imagine slippers blocking the light that comes in from the hallway under the door, shuffling and awkward, not ready to come in just yet. i can hear nervous breathing and little, constant adjustments. curses under their breath that turned into small affirmations that turned back into worry and shame. i wait, and i wait, and i watch the doorknob, and i hope it turns, and i hope they can open it themself. they walk away.
a screenshot of the game Demon Bluff. there's a purple card and at the bottom of it is the role name "ALCHEMIST". the card has art of some scruffy old man with a huge beard, wizardy pointy hat, and sick shades. just above the alchemist is white text labeling him #5. a text box to the left of the alchemist says "I cured 0 Corruptions". a bit below the text box is badly mouse-written red text that just says "dude."