#I AM LITERALLY ABOUT TO EXPLODE

[echoed-evenings]

This blog is gonna be a lot of LOZ stuff for the next couple of weeks, just warning y’all

[giraffeautism]

"ok but are you diagnosed" what are you a cop.

[gatoiberico]

parfait pals

[loboazul16]

This is how these two went right?

[waitineedaname]

my inner monologue is just always thinking about ritsu way too hard

[beartitled]

The bear creatüre has a bachelor degree now

Yea I graduated uni today 🐻‍❄️🎓🎉

Feels weird tbh 💥

My brain did not register this information yet

Diploma comic reveal when? 👀

[skitskatdacat63]

They swapped sunglasses....oh my god..

[sprinklethetangerine]

Hey, I just watched Dead Poets Society for the first time ever! Now, if you guys don't mind, I'm gonna go sit in the corner of my room and scream!

[dreamaruu]

Thinking about all of our Simon & Betty lore, I have convinced myself that F&C is not going to conclude with a magic cure all for them to happily share their love for the rest of their lives (natural or not).

I could talk in circles about this all day but I think all I need to share is this clip.

Their relationship wasn’t toxic. It wasn’t miserable. They loved each other so much, TOO much, and due to that love personal desires fell by the wayside. Betty put everything on hold for Simon and was more than willing to always be the one to take charge. Simon is capable and ever loving, but not always the brightest when acting in the moment and occasionally dips out completely.

I’ve been blinded by optimism that we might finally see them happily together, maybe even see their wedding come to fruition 🥺✨ But Betty has ascended to the ultimate form of independence. The crux of everything they’ve ever studied, every question or artifact they may have ever had is now known to her. If she is still conscious in Golb she’s had a decade to be off on her own unconcerned about Simon. Meanwhile Simon has done nothing but chase and dream of being with her again. He looked to be doing as ok as possible in Obsidian, but start of Fionna & Cake he spiraled into obsession over Betty once again.

I truly think we might be heading towards a break up episode 😭😭😭 Even if we are though it can’t change the ultimate self sacrifice and endless dedication of love in their relationship, Betty’s wish.

“I wish for the power to keep Simon safe”

[thevenusspecial]

these 2 are so funny. why doesnt anybody talk about them

divorced old man yaoi?? gregson is MY wife now

[demigod-of-the-agni]

something something Ninjago/HTTYD au can actually be a thing because they both deal with characters who want to live up to expectations but end up finding their own way to achieving wondrous things

also dragons? pit to fight dragons in? dragon riders?

[arvoze]

hey chat rate this video

[safyresky]

"work wife"???? But not actual wife??

LOL no not actual wife! Both the work wife and I have actual husbands instead 🤭🤭 And my husband is JUST as crazy as I am and WILL do farther daytrips like the absolute insane mans he is! Which is one of the MANY reasons I married him--his weirdness matches my weirdness 💖💖💖💖💖

As a fun fact, the craziest day trip/road trip we have done: we went to IKEA about two ish hours away. Came home, realized upon unloading new bedframe that he had misplaced his wallet somewhere. So what did we do?

WELL IKEA was closed but you bet your ass we got BACK in the car and drove BACK to the pit stop (an hour?? ish?? away??) that VERY night and checked the trash there and asked the people inside (who were sups friendly! They checked the tapes for us and everything!) if they'd seen it. They hadn't! So, we drove BACK home and the next day, after work, we yeeted ourselves into the car and drove BACK to ikea to see if they had it

AND THEY DID!

He was so relieved and then we had IKEA hot dogs for dinner, his treat bc he had his wallet again 🤭🤭🤭 (they are pretty good but costco ones I think deffs are better!)

BUT YEAH. My actual spouse is just as unhinged as I am and I love him about it 😍😍😍😍😍😍

[lizstiel]

Dean’s sitting at the kitchen table eating meatloaf when it all sort of hits – and he’s desperate to remember it exactly how it happened.

With his fork raised halfway to his mouth, a dollop of meat and sauce perched precariously on the tines, his eyes wandered over to where Cas stood by the sink in a pair of ratty pajama bottoms and one of Dean’s old t-shirts. (One of Dean’s old t-shirts, because once Cas gets his shoulders into them they never really sit the same way.)

He’s got soap up to his elbows, scrubbing methodically at the dishes Dean just dirtied, his brow a taught, concentrated line. He’s bringing the same kind of meticulous focus to the dishes that he used to bring to leading the armies of Heaven; that singular kind of attention, both unnerving and admirable. (Dean had once tried to explain that he didn’t need to wash them quite so vigorously, to which Cas had deadpanned, “Do you know how many food particles remain on the dishes you wash, Dean?” It quickly became his job, after that.)

It’s early July. About 6:30pm. The window over the sink is cracked, and the front door is wide open, letting the sound of cicadas and crickets drift in with the summer breeze. The sun’s starting to set behind the field, casting the world in that particular orange glow that has always made something in Dean ache. In the other room, the record player Sam got them for Christmas plays a beat up Janis Joplin record he’d found at a secondhand store in town. The opening chords of Me and Bobby McGee have just started, and the cicadas are humming, and the crickets are singing, and the sun is setting, and Cas is standing in old pajamas washing dishes Dean just used to make them dinner and –

Cas tilts his head.

This isn’t revolutionary. He does it a lot. A very ingrained behavior, some might say. But he isn’t confused, he’s reacting. To the song. He doesn’t react to music the way Dean wants him to, never has, but in his own way, it’s almost like he’s leaning closer to hear it. An infinitesimal thing. The smallest gesture. The corner of his mouth twitches, and Dean has never loved him more than he does at this moment: backlit by a summer sunset in their house in the middle of nowhere, hand washing dishes and listening to Janis Joplin.

Cas turns when the sound of Dean’s fork clattering on the plate sounds, but Dean just scoops him into his arms, chases any worries away with a kiss, and then another, and then one more for good measure. Cas laughs against his mouth, desperately trying to keep his soapy arms away from Dean’s dry clothes. “Dean,” he chides, squirming and chuckling, trying to extract himself from Dean’s grip. “I’m not finished.”

“I’ll get ‘em tomorrow,” Dean promises, peppering sweet little kisses down the line of Cas' throat. He hasn’t shaved in a couple of days. It tickles all the way down. “Love you so much,” he says, because he wants to. Because he’s so full with it he’s overflowing. Because if he doesn’t tell him right now, in this moment, and every moment after this one, he might die. He needs him to know. It’s vital that he knows.

Cas’ laughter warms, and he slides one soapy hand to the back of Dean’s neck, eyebrows raised in challenge when he shudders at the sensation. When Dean doesn’t immediately shoo him away, he slides the other soapy hand up Dean’s arm. “Dean?” He’s not worried, the timber of his voice is honey-smooth and light, but he’s confused. Not that Dean doesn’t tell him often, and loudly, how much he loves him, but to be fair this did kind of come from nowhere, so he understands. It’s just much too much. It’s not enough and it’s everything. It’s everything in the world Dean has ever wanted.

Janis Joplin is singing freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose, and Dean’s arms are loose around Cas’ waist, and he loves him, god he loves him so much, so he kisses him on one corner of the mouth, and then the other. Janis says, nothin’, don’t mean nothin’ hon’ if it ain’t free, no, no – and he rocks their bodies together, slow, to the beat of the music. Cas’ arms come to wind around his neck automatically, and his smile starts to sprawl into something reserved for only the really good moments. Wide and gummy and for Dean – and feelin’ good was easy, Lord, when he sang the blues. He presses his forehead to Cas’ and they just sort of sway there like that, smiling at each other like this might be the last chance they ever get.

Cas says – “I love you, Dean,” just as Janis is singing, you know feelin’ good was good enough for me – and it occurs to Dean that he’s dancing in the kitchen with the love of his life. He thinks back to the longest, loneliest nights he spent staring up at the night sky, believing wholly he’d die bloody and alone on the backend of some random hunt, and how the smallest (but loudest) part of him had wished for exactly this. For someone to hold him and see him and dance in the kitchen with him, barefoot and covered in soap.

He kisses the tip of Cas’ nose, the lines under his eyes. Doesn’t realize he’s crying until Cas is wiping tears away with the pads of his thumbs and soothing hands through his hair. He’s crying, too. Laughing and crying and telling Dean he loves him, he loves him so much, he’s loved him from the first moment he saw him.

It settles in Dean then – really settles deep, and true, and good – that he was meant for this. He wasn’t born to be a weapon. Wasn’t born to be a son, or a father, or a brother. Wasn’t born to save the world or to end it – was just meant to dance. His arms were meant to hold. To sway them both around the cheap linoleum floor, to sling low around Cas’ waist and spin them both ‘til they were dizzy with it.

They laugh and kiss and Janis is saying – good enough for me and Bobby McGee – and Dean is thinking – Yeah. Yeah, it really is.

[keeps-ache]

hold my heart, hold it gentle

[reagomyeggo]

c3 is off for one week and i start shaking throwing up clawing at the walls