spoonyruncible

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reblog if you need a hug

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i love how Gandalf invested in Hobbits in year one and has been pushing them ever since. Thorin, i hear you need help with a breaking and entering. Can I recommend one of these little cunts? Silent as fuck, trust me. Elrond my dude i know you're skeptical but these four chucklefucks just transported a weapon of mass destruction all the way here. Theoden, you've gotta get yourself a hobbit man, I've got a spare one here. Denathor you big prick, take a hobbit - literally this is the bottom of the range but listen to him sing. Beautiful little bastard.

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don't you think being suspended upside down by your ankles and beaten with steel pipes would feel pretty good for the first couple strikes

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Hey, GoogleDocs, what the actual fuck is this nonsense????

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if you ignore the tags on a fic, get upset by the content of sed tagged fic, and then crawl into the authors comments/askbox to complain/scold/berate them about it, please know i think you're a fucking idiot and i don't respect you at all.

i don't care about your life experiences and why the content is triggering to you- that shit was tagged. you had every opportunity to not trigger yourself and didn't take it. that's on you, not anyone else. blaming other people for your inability to check tags is fucking childish at best.

frankly, i don't believe the sob stories anyways. it's just ugly ass puritans trying to bully and berate writers into censoring themselves, by any means necessary. whats a little 'white lie' to these infantilizing weirdos when they think they have some sort of moral superiority over people who write darker fics? absolutely nothing, that's what. the means (harassment, lying, guilt tripping) justify the ends (bullying dark fic authors out of writing) as far as they're concerned.

best believe if you do this shit and i find out who you are, i'm sending dm's to every writer i know telling them to block your stupid ass

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ARE YOU TODAY’S DATE?

BECAUSE YOURE 10/10

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I had the best experience at the grocery store today.

Me: Oh! Is that a Taylor Swift bracelet?

Cashier: Huh? Oh, no, it's just something my boyfriend made me. It just says, "Haters gonna hate"

Me: I regret to inform you that is a Taylor Swift bracelet.

Cashier: What?

Me: From Shake It Off, you know, "Haters gonna hate, hate, hate, hate, hate."

Cashier: Oh my God, I should have known that. He is in so much trouble right now!

The man had to take a walk to pace that revelation off. And I know that his boyfriend has been waiting God knows how long for this moment, for the reveal, for the pay-off. This is very much the best thing to happen to me all week.

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Tbh, the natural progression of The Lion King III would have been a grim portrayal of an aging, confused Simba who fails to rule Pride Rock with the same power and so, his children fight over control of his throne- except for his youngest, who loves her father too much despite his strangeness and abuse. Simba, abandoned by his family, wanders the land is madness, followed Timon and Pumbaa, who offer council and coded, witty advice. Also he meets Kovu there, who feigns madness and enters the savannah to avoid assassination. It would have been wild.

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*Treebeard sees that the forest is destroyed*

Treebeard: There is no curse in Elvish, Entish, or the tongues of men for this treachery.

Pippin: What about Fuck?

Treebeard: Oh, right. That’s a good one. Fuck Saruman! 

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Meds like,

"Be more social and accomplish a Task™ ."

"Will I feel better?"

"No!"

"then why???????""

"I am chemicals. I know nothing. Only you can comprehend the boundless longing within what you describe as a soul! Also give the dog its dog medicine byeeeeee"

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I wasn’t crazy about this piece so I wasn’t intending on publicly posting it again, but it keeps getting stolen every five minutes so I figured I’d put it here so people at least know who to attribute the original thing to lmao

[Digital illustration, Procreate App, 2020]

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Uh-oh, coming down with a case of “what-if-a-bunch-of-other-people-experience-these-symptoms-as-bad-as-I-do-but-they-suck-it-up-and-work-anyway-and-I’m-just-being-a-little-bitch”-itis

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I'm not gatekeeping, I just have some gates and I've sort of vaguely known they're there, I haven't kept them and the hinges are so rusty i doubt they'd close if I tried. But, like, for ages all that came through those gates were stray geese and a dog I think belongs to a neighbor but might just belong to himself and of course there's the hunching afflicted wrathbeast. That's just having a garden. Things grow there and random folks stumble in sometimes, mispronounce the names of my favorite varietals, say stunningly inaccurate things about them, and wander bemusedly back out.

As a surprise to probably no one I was a deeply lonely child. No one really got me or what my deal was, so when I found something I loved it was mine and mine alone to treasure. As I got older I found other people who liked 'my' things. Some of those people were horrible! But there was a kinship and it was okay to be a bit horrible so long as we could be odd together. Gardens are resilient things, they tolerate mistakes and abuse. It's absolutely wonderful to share, to dance to the same music, that imperfection becomes part of the joy of it, becomes a unique thing unto itself.

So imagine my shock when there is a garden party that rapidly becomes a festival. No one has ever really been here before, it's been me and the geese and that one dog and a few other weirdos. Suddenly my things, things people beat me for loving, are things everyone loves. All at once the landscape is unrecognizable and if I acknowledge that then I'm being a hipster. I don't mind the festival, it's nice, now it's much easier to get things I need without having to put on my trekking gear and hike out to the one obscure location that has The Supplies. It's not bad, it's just weird. It feels like there is something wrong with me instead of something wrong about liking what I like.

I'm not really talking about one specific thing here, there have been a lot of these moments where what used to be unusual or even shameful is now the big thing. And it's good, it's can be great sometimes even with the unforeseen bizarre bad parts. But there is this selfish little part of me that wants to cling to my unloved love, to put a raggedy LP on a barely working record player and lay on the wooden floor of my childhood home staring at a painting of a ship in a storm that is right beside a picture of a young man in a cap and a too large jacket and listen to sea shanties belted out by people not very good at singing while I drift and drift and drift away on the sound and the whitecaps to a place where there is only this. I love the new versions like a drowning man loves air, I am happy that people have found this beautiful thing and can enjoy it, but there is a tinge to it I don't like. A prick of pain every time I see this joy over my joy, over my joy that I was punished for, humiliated for, shamed for. I'm glad people can love these things without suffering but it makes my suffering seem so fucking stupid.

There is a certain temptation, a bitter agony, that makes me want to hiss like an abused cat and cling jealous to my silly little toys. It's not that I want them all for myself, it's that I can't let go of that little kid with a bruisy eye sulking because no one wants to play with him. It's the whisper of, "We can be friends but only in secret. I don't want people to know I'm like you." It's the enthusiasm that rapidly becomes muted because the whole world is demanding to know why you can't just be normal for once. But that same temptation to lash out is the one that makes me reach out my hand instead, especially to people who are like, "Wow! I've never been to a garden before. I'm gonna screw this up. How do I not screw it up?" because now they're that bruisy eyed kid no one wants to play with. I can't protect the person I used to be by becoming the exact thing that hurt me. Gotta keep the gate open, gotta get used to new things even if it takes noise cancelling headphones and an entirely rational amount of backsliding, gotta wake up every day and keep trying even though the world keeps throwing curveballs that no sane person could anticipate. It's all okay. We're in this together and we're all gonna be okay,

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50 people in the rain cheekily asking me "miss the summer yet?" No. I Have Done Nothing But Pray For The Age Of Sun's Downfall. May The Gloom Eternal Take Us All

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This is also a respectable stance, one I hold myself along with Mr. Nate Bargatze

But rarely someone is stricken with an urge to, for whatever reason, just keep digging. To become molemen. To creep unnatural beneath the flesh of the earth and deep into her meat. I am fascinated by these absolute weirdos and respect them.

The act of digging a hole is strangely addictive. Like as a thought it doesn't sound tempting at all, but once you're in there, and you've got your shovel moving, you don't want to stop. You're in the hole and you're increasing the hole, and if someone wants to get you out of the hole you're like five more minutes. Let me have like five more minutes in the hole. Yeah I can quit digging any time I want but I just don't want to. Let me dig for like five more minutes.