#[ BUT YEAh ]

[yepthatsacowalright]

Just cause I went down a bit of a rabbit hole and thought this was also interesting enough to mention: In 2017, Bishop Mariann Edgar Budde oversaw the removal of stained-glass panes from the Washington National Cathedral honoring the Confederacy (which is fucked that those ever existed at all - and were made in 1953?? SIGH - but I digress...) and had them replaced with stained-glass windows honoring the Civil Rights movement, called Now and Forever by Kerry James Marshall.

Underneath the panes are two tablets, into which the poem "American Song" by Elizabeth Alexander has been hand-carved.

I know this decision probably wasn't solely the bishop's, but I just thought it was a really thoughtful replacement, and a beautiful combination of sentiments. The poem is my favorite part. I suppose to most it is a prayer, but I like to think of it as a spell being cast. Which is why it is so powerful, I think. That you can interpret it in your own way. The glass, the poem, the resting place for Matthew...all of it is the kind of message that, in my humble opinion, every house of worship should strive to uphold, if they really meant it. Be a place where even people who don't attend services, who don't practice and never will, feel welcomed in the words, just as much as anyone else.

In case you needed another reason to like her

[lyxchen]

Shhh, be quiet or they'll hear you

(Close ups and some other versions are unter the cut also if you like my art then please reblog it)

[metamatronic]

I wanna make fanfic for your AU but idk what it would be 😞

first off,ahhhhhhhhh thank you,

secondly, well, I tend to just…rewrite the plot points of the games, tbh??? they tend to all have little narrative arcs of their own.

alternatively, for smaller stuff, you could also do what I do—a million and one dumb ways michael could accidentally reveal his identity to VR gang.

[hanaasbananas]

In year 11 we had someone nick some ethanol from the science labs to spike a water bottle and give to this one "popular" guy in our year who he hated. For some reason this guy shared the bottle with his friends and then they ALL had to get their stomachs pumped. Guy who stole the ethanol got excluded and then posted a youtube video of him beating the shit out of a punching bag with a picture of the guy he'd originally intended to poison taped to it it was INSANE

where do TV shows get this idea that high school is constant drama, nothing even fucking happened to me in high school

[moomeecore]

the usa would be a better country if we had more celebrations that involved giving an important job to a very silly animal

[some-red-herring]

was thinking about how lorsan got his "gig" at gerda's in the first place....

[nogenderonlychair]

Is anyone going to talk about how this is probably the first time in years Logan hasn’t worn his suit underneath his clothes

[ryuzumisama]

Chilchuck Timbs 👞

[bastart13]

I remember starting these in 2022, but what better time than the present to finish the wedding set

The charms really were beautiful

[solvisun]

smartass on court but a dumbass in the kitchen

i live for domestic tsukki actually

SORRY xo | K. Tsukishima

synopsis; he says somethings he didn’t mean, and he apologises in his signature tsukki way.

word count; 1482

warnings; hurt to comfort, no prns mentioned for reader, a lot of tension i guess, finished at 12am thanks.

“—and then I told her that I—“ you stop mid sentence when you realise he might not be listening. “Are you even listening to me?” You question, narrowing your eyes at him as the grip around the steaming hot mug in your hands tightens a little.

The room was dimly lit by a feeble light, and nothing other than the soft hum of the television causing minuscule vibrations in the drums of your ears can be heard.

Tsukishima’s head was lolling back against the cushions, arms limply sprawling over the sides. His eyes were tightly shut in an attempt to block any spec of light from making its way into his retina.

“Hm?” he questioned, turning his head a little. The question was, however, laced with an unspoken tone of annoyance that made the hairs on your skin stand like saluting soldiers. “I’m so tired, can we have this talk later?”

He is tired. His body is aching from the amount of times he’s jumped today. His head feels slightly wobbly on his shoulders. He doesn’t want to talk because he thinks he will say something wrong. He knows he will say something wrong, and mess this up.

You blink at him. Your mouth grows a mind of its own. “You’re always tired,” You say before you realise it, while placing the mug on the coffee table that is slightly coated with a thin layer of dust. “Shit, sorry I didn’t—“

“Well, sorry, I have a fucking life,” he muttered with a taunting voice, lips pressed into a slight frown that had a hint of exasperation tattooed into the delicate creases on his lips. He wished he didn’t say that. He wanted someone to slap him in the face.

The previous hum of the television dissipated into nothingness, your pupils widening by the words spilling out of his lips. “What?”

“You heard me, sorry I have dreams I’m chasing,”

“You’re not being serious, are you,” you replied. Was he implying that you’re a good-for-nothing with no goals in life? You gulped, heart skipping a several beat.

“I am. I’m tired of this, it’s becoming a lot to deal with,” he replied. His fingers went up to his temples, rubbing them in small half-soothing circles in a sad attempt to quell the throbbing headache evolving behinds his eyes.

Your mind reeled, the word tired echoing across your lobes in a manner that created a distorted symphony of confusion and disbelief from within.

“So listening to your partner talking is a chore now? Emphasis on the partner that has no life or dreams to chase.”

“I didn’t mean that—“

“You said it though,” you replied, voice faltering a little with an overwhelming sense of suffocation submerging every cell in your body. You clenched and unclenched your fists in an attempt to calm your nerves.

“I just need a few minutes of silence, I fucking came from a match, okay? I’m tired and this is not too much to ask for,” he bit back.

Saying this doesn’t feel right, he thought. Saying this might have been a mistake, he thought again. Because lying is bad. He loved hearing your voice. It’s what kept him going, the contagious hum of your voice, the way it trembled with anticipation, the giggle he’d like to store in a bottle and get drunk over every single day. Lying is bad. He was lying.

Silence laced itself, it’s thin threads tangling around the both of you. Your eyes were wide open, pupils dilating with hurt. Your cheeks flushed—a hint of embarrassment tattooing itself on you.

Embarrassment mixed with disbelief.

“Okay, so next time I won’t ever speak unless you ask me to, does that work for you? I will book an appointment to speak with you, actually,” you cut through the silence, voice growing louder. It had a slight tremble to it—one he could only hear. One he’d recognise even if he heard your voice from across the seven oceans.

“That’s not what I’m saying—“

“Oh, so tell me what you’re saying, because it sounds to me like you just don’t care,”

“I do care, I’m just exhausted and I don’t want to have a conversation I don’t want to have.” As soon as these words spilled out of his mouth, regret hit him like a tidal wave. A cold hand clutched his beating heart as he saw the colour drain from your face.

“…a conversation you don’t want to have…?” You questioned, brows furrowing in hurt, the question leaving a bitter taste in your mouth.

“No wait—that’s not—“

“No it’s okay, I’ll stop talking then, you don’t have to waste your precious energy on me, or listen to convos you don’t want to have” you stood up, tears threatening to spill out of your eyes. Everything else he said has dissipated into background noise as you focused on the ringing of your ears.

You rush in hurried steps into your shared bedroom and slam the door hard enough for the sound to echo throughout the walls of your small apartment. Tonight, you fell asleep with caged sobs, a tear-soaked pillow and a heavy feeling chaining around your heart, suffocating your every breath.

The clock ticked 4.56pm.

With every tick, with every time a hand moves, you are reminded of the argument you’ve had with him last night. It’s 4.57pm and you’ve been on bed all day, arms sprawled in a chaotic manner, pillow soaked with tears, hair tangled in a mess you might never be able to detangle, and a slightly dry throat.

You wonder where it all went wrong. You wonder if the words he’d uttered had a hint of truth to them. You wonder if he had thought about what he said in the past 12 hours.

You decided to finally give the bed a break and get up. With a heavy heart, you slowly lifted yourself off of the soft mattress, the soles of your feet making contact with the cold wooden floor, sending a shiver down the small of your back.

Truthfully, you expected the place to be a mess. But as soon as you stepped foot into the leaving room, each step once again leaving a trail of chills down your back, your nostrils were engulfed by the warm smell of salted caramel and morning coffee.

Your eyes trailed around, the previously visible coat of dust on the coffee table has been wiped into nothingness, the couch was dusted and cushions placed in a way that scratched your brain, floors so clean you can practically see a reflection of your dishevelled hair on them.

But what caught your eyes the most was the small basket sitting still on the same couch. You step closer, your curiosity getting the best of you. A woven basket with flowers, a mug, a vanilla scented candle, and a few other stuff. A card. You pick up the card, a silly smile etched into your lips.

TO Y/N

I’M VERY SORRY ABOUT WHAT I SAID YESTERDAY. I DIDN’T MEAN ANY OF IT, IT’S NOT AN EXCUSE BUT I WAS TIRED AND I DON'T KNOW WHAT TOOK OVER ME. I HOPE YOU KNOW THAT I REALLY ENJOY LISTENING TO YOU. I LIKE YOUR VOICE, IDIOT. I LOVE YOU AND I’M SORRY.

—TSUKISHIMA KEI.

The sound of rustling pans filled your ears, catching your attention. You rushed into the kitchen, only to be welcomed by your boyfriend, with your pink cooking apron, and a frown that screams confusion chiselled on his lips as his eyes read over what seems like a recipe book.

“What are you doing?” Your voice startled him, causing him to drop one of the pans he was holding in his hands.

“Holy shit, you scared me,” he muttered, leaning down to pick up the pan.

“I think that’s deserved,” you smiled as you make your way to him in a jolly manner, yesterday’s conversation seeming to have disappeared from your head.

“Maybe,” he replied, setting the pan on the countertop. His hand made its way to his neck, an attempt to rub the nervousness away. You stare at him, waiting for him to spill what he’s about to say. “Will—will you continue telling me what you told that woman,” he mumbled, a faint blush sprawling on the apples of his cheeks.

You eyed him with confusion and a furrowed brow. Until you realise what he meant. A grin made its way to your lips as you stepped closer, planting a sloppy kiss on his cheek.

"I’m glad you asked," you replied, a warm smile on your lips as you launched into a detailed recounting of yesterday's events.

The intimacy of the moment, the shared space of your kitchen, the rhythmic clinking of pots and pans as he (cluelessly) cooked, and the easy flow of your conversation, all combined to create a sense of comfortable ease.

thank u @heartmaddie and @chlosology for beta reading ily guys

[orionfrommars]

More Elita and Bee bc I love them very much

I was also inspired by @crumb-crumblet-s-crumbington overly emotional optimus ♡

[Please do not steal, trace, repost or modify my work]

[ochiody]

what if penelope was in love in paradise

[yaoirotic]

Prince of Heat Damage

[lindseybyrd]

As with all writing advice books, sometimes you gotta know what to take and what to leave and what to laugh at for sure !

no one told me that Stephen King's On Writing calls the entire fantasy genre out as Tolkien fanfic. all I ever heard about this book was that he's anti-adverbs (he is) but there is some scathingly mean and funny shit here.

[vickozone]

Look at the sky, Martin. 👁️

k I’m gonna go eep now