#I just don't know how to describe it

[creative-hanyou-girl]

You guys know when you've had that one OTP for so long, done so much fan work for it, read fanfics constantly, and have just dedicated so much mental brainrot and energy to shipping those 2 characters together, that you literally can't imagine one without the other anymore? Like, in your head they've become so intrinsically linked together as a pair that they've just become a packaged deal and become a comfort ship to you? To the point where they never really leave your head, and your always comparing other fictional couples to them????

That's me with InuKag❤💚😩

[raticalshoez]

Was thinking of my post about dream teams and got really invested in whatever Unrequited Hate has going on

[inbabylontheywept]

Memories of Grandpa Dale

I was playing in the barn, but I was also hiding from my grandpa. I was aware that this hurt his feelings, but I didn’t know what else to do. Every year I’d ever visited him before, he’d seemed kind of mad at me, but I’d hoped still that year was the year that we’d finally be friends. I even made a list of things to do together. 

Unfortunately, the list did not fix things¹ so I'd been forced to acknowledge that if he couldn't be happy with me there, and he couldn't be happy with me gone, then perhaps he simply could not be happy. At least, not until someone invented The Secret Third Thing.

(But I was only nine. So. That someone would probably not be me.) 

Fortunately, being happy is a task that I've never needed to delegate - I’m actually quite good at it. I’d been sad in the barn for maybe an hour or so, but eventually that got boring, so I invented a new game where I would chase big clouds of shiny blue flies off the sun-warmed horse-poop and try to shoo them towards a corner of the barn that I knew had a large spiderweb in it. 

I was perfectly aware that this is not ideal for the flies, but I had just read Charlotte’s Web, so my empathy function was very biased towards spiders, who I perceived as patient and compassionate and slightly maternal women. Who just happened to have eight legs.  

(I, like most nine year old boys, would have personally been willing to fight a war for every patient, compassionate, slightly maternal woman I had ever met. If you, personally, have ever hugged a little boy who was trying very hard not to cry in front of his friends after skinning his knee, know that there is a child in this world that would kill in your name.)

(Now live with that knowledge.) 

I played my game with the flies for a long time. Long enough to get into a rhythm of running and laughing and then panting outside on my back while wallowing in the long green grass.

It was during one of those walks outside to lay in the grass that I noticed my mom. She was sitting on a hay bale, looking baffled. I don’t know how long she’d been there, but I was too young and confident to even feel odd. She asked me what I was doing, and I just kind of gestured to the ceiling, and said, You know, just. Feeding spiders.²

She nodded. I was feeding spiders. Of course. 

We sat there a few moments. It was an amicable silence, but I was still faintly relieved when she broke it.  

Your grandpa’s been looking for you, she said. He got some grapes earlier. Wanted to take you to feed the ducks.

I've always really liked feeding ducks³. Visiting them had actually been the next thing on my list. 

I was baffled by the effort. 

He’s mad at me, I pointed out. My mom, to her credit, looked genuinely confused. 

He’s not, she said. 

But he was mad when we picked blackberries, I pointed out. And when we went on that walk down to the prairie. And he snapped at me this morning when I asked if I could have some of his dried mangos. 

The mangos had been my last straw. The weirdest part was that he didn’t even say no, he just (angrily) said of course you can, as if it was an insult to his hospitality that I was asking when just the year before he’d yelled at me because I ate a tin of dried apples. Apparently, I was just supposed to know that those apples were exclusively reserved for The Apocalypse. 

(To be fair, my grandpa has always been very worried about the apocalypse, but mostly in the context of not having enough dried apples for it. There was a period of my life where I thought that The Apocalypse referred to some kind of prophesied biblical event where there would be No More Apples. This thought has stuck with me for a very long time⁴.)

Well. Yeah. My mom said. He’s mad. But he’s not mad at you. He’s just… Mad. 

I mulled this over. 

What about the mangos? I asked, and she shrugged at that. 

Alright, so that time he was mad at you, but that’s being mad one time in three days. Cut the man some slack, you’ve been asking him for permission before eating anything. 

I just don’t want to eat the wrong thing, I said. I’ve always been very defensive of my rule-following. Both because rules are important, and also because that #10 can of dried apples ripped through me like a shotgun full of razor blades⁵. That “snack” had 400% the recommended daily fiber for an adult man. And I was very definitely not a grown man when I ate it.  

It was a very painful experience is what I am trying to say. 

I know, my mom said. 

I don’t even like apples, I added. Still defensive. 

I know, my mom said again. She’s very good at saying it. It always feels like she’s agreeing with me, and not just trying to rush me onto The Point. Sometimes, people need to make detours from The Point in order to explain things. Like, hypothetically, why they once ate a very large number of dehydrated apples. My mom is wise, and she has always known this. . 

I just really wanted to eat something sweet, I continued. They don’t keep anything sweet in the whole house. The day before I ate those apples, I licked all the salt off a saltine just so I could eat the cracker plain. And then the cracker tasted just like a cookie. To me. That’s how crazy I was going. 

My mom nodded her head sympathetically. 

My first month of college, she said conspiratorially, I ate about a box of poptarts a day. 

There was another longish pause as both of us considered what led us to this point. 

My parents are crazy, my mom said at long last. It’s a very peaceful statement to her. I'm sure it was stressful when she first realized it, but she's had a long time to make her peace, and she's made it well.  

Will you go with me? I asked. To feed the ducks?  

He’s not mad at you, she said again. Reemphasizing her point. He’s just mad. It’s just how he is. 

But she went with me anyway.

I watched Grandpa Dale closely the whole way to the pond to see if my mom was right. She was. She almost always is.  He was angry while he drove, and he was angry while he parked and he was even angry while he strode purposefully towards the park. When we got there, he took several grapes, and he angrily put them in his hand, and angrily extended the hand towards the ducks, and he looked at me, and for maybe a tenth of a second he looked okay. Not exactly happy, but a little less mad. Then a duck bit the webbing between his pointer finger and his thumb.

He immediately, without hesitation, without even a second thought, hit the duck with a haymaker⁶. For a human, the punch would have been devastating, but the duck had the benefit of having essentially no inertia, so it just kind of moved sideways and looked perplexed. 

You son of a bitch, my grandpa said. This is a funny thing for anyone to say to a duck, but it was especially funny to hear coming from a former Mormon Bishop. 

Quack,⁷ said the duck. 

My mom started laughing. I'd felt a sort of holy terror at the anger my grandpa was exuding in that moment, but the moment she laughed I realized how absurd it was. I was watching a grown man beef with a duck. I was watching a grown man beef with the world. 

I started laughing too. In a better world, maybe my grandpa would've joined. Maybe he would've taken a good hard look in the mirror and questioned why exactly he was so angry. But he didn't. Instead he swore at the duck some more, and he threw his remaining handful of grapes at it overhand, like a baseball, and then the duck ate the grapes out of the water, and my mom actually laughed so hard she started dry heaving a little, and my grandpa had to go sit in the car for a few minutes by himself to regain his composure. 

¹ He managed to pick blackberries angrily

² Unfortunately, I do this kind of response quite a bit.

³ I got my first kiss from my wife because I managed to capture a duck. They're like, a motif for my life. Very lucky to have that.

⁴ I reference it again in this very weird short story.

⁵ I eat a lot of strange things.

⁶ My wife is concerned people will not know what a haymaker is. It is simply the most redneck kind of punch.

⁷ ...What did you expect it to say?

[thewanderingmask]

Build n Seek aka joy and delight on planet earth

[royalarchivist]

Tina: [Joining the Discord call] Uh, hello?

Foolish: [Sing-song-y voice] Tina~!

Cellbit: Hi, Tina! [Shouting] TINAAA!!!

Tina: [Also shouting] CELLBIT!!!

Cellbit: I miss you. 😢

Tina: I miss you too!

Foolish: Whoa, I didn't get all that.

[babacontainsmultitudes]

RIP Will Campos the only person who was murdered this episode.

[cementcornfield]

Ja'Marr talks about Joe "screaming" at him in college for wearing warming lotion 🔥

[suzuberto]

You got booped by Panini the wanderer frog

He likes you very much and wishes you good booping day

(or only day if you aren't into booping)

He also documented it on his little journal

Image ID

A photo of a green and white belly hand knitted frog wearing a lavender hat and yellow hoodie carrying a little crossbody bag and booping to the camera (frog + clothes are bought but handmade from local ladies, the bag is made by me)

The same frog as before but with an upper photo. He's holding a pencil on his left hand and a journal over his little legs that has a frog hand with "1 apr 2024" and "boop" written on the left page and a "today i booped strangers on tumblr ♡" with a little self portrait below on the right page. At his left side there is a pen holder with other pens and a calendar, and oh his right a plate with cookies and an empty mini cup, he already got his morning tea!

(frog + clothes are bought but handmade from local ladies, the bag + journal is made by me, the other thingies are from sylvanian families sets)

[waitineedaname]

not romantic or platonic but a secret third thing (bonded pair)

[aethersea]

it is funny though how kids' shows are so so so careful about death, no one's ever killed except MAYYYYBE the big bad, all those random side characters are fine, here have a quick shot of them before we leave just so you know they really did survive that 50-foot drop into a stormy sea,

and meanwhile kids' books nearly all agree that it's not an adventure until it has a body count.

[longlivethewildernessyet]

This is in other songs too, but I see it in Emergence in particular; Sleep Token are so, so good at creating an 'eye of the storm' moment in songs. I'm unsure if there is a musical term for it, but you know what I'm talking about— that moment when the heavy music lifts, when Vessel's voice lightens, when the lyrics soften. When things just— simplify.

The first bridge in Emergence is the eye of the storm in the song. It follows after that verse of fervent guitar-backed rapping packed with hard-hitting and complex imagery. In a moment, we go from controlled chaos, a swirling mass of lyrical intensity, to being lifted out into simplicity (though no less hard-hitting). The music reduces to bare bones. Vessel sounds exposed, alone, raw. The focus shifts from an almost desperate need to drive meaning home— we can only understand what Vessel is feeling if we find the truth behind his poetry, and he wants us to do so, to filter through the metaphor— to a statement.

He's hurting. He's lost in the noise. He wants to escape.

We drift for a moment before being plunged back into the refrain.

[lazylittledragon]

Not trying to be rude or anything but you shouldn't use the word 'manic' or 'manic period' etc. unless you actually have manic/depressive episodes because it downplays how severe those disorders can actually be. They're just words but unlearning harmful terminology like that can help destigmatise mental illness and I would hope youi would want to do that.

yeah it's almost like i used those words specifically because i DO understand how severe they are

[ferahntics]

Images that should ban me from making anything else ever again.

[shalom-iamcominghome]

I think now, my opinion about "jews by choice choose judaism!" has changed; not because I don't choose judaism fully, I choose it every day, but as time goes on, it doesn't feel as much of a choice. It feels like a choice in the same way that needing to breathe, to eat, to sleep feels like a choice. To me, judaism is as important a function of my day as my mortal, bodily functions, and I never chose to do them. It happened to me, it continually happens to me

I definitely started my journey needing to consciously choose judaism, but as time goes on and it enriches my life more, is it as much of a choice, or is it just... what happened?

I guess it might be apt to say my conversion is like eating: I have to do it. In that way, it isn't a choice, I have no choice in my need for it. However, I can choose what I eat, when I eat, and how often I eat (to an extent). In the same way, I have made choices about my observance, about the way I think about g-d, and how much I participate in my (offline) community. But I don't think I have chosen my desire to be a jew, just like you don't really choose to fall in love.

[herewegobebe]

TAEMIN | 'Deja Vu' ♡ Troxy London 09.03.2025

[heirofshadowsingers]

Azriel in every book:

‘“If you are going to pick a fight with him, do it after breakfast.” That voice– like shadows given form, dark and smooth and… cold.’ [ACOMAF]

‘I took Azriel's hand, and his rough fingers squeezed mine. His skin as cold as his face.’ [ACOMAF]

‘Az's cold eyes met mine.’ [ACOMAF]

‘Azriel's cold face yielded nothing.’ [ACOMAF]

‘From the fury rippling from Cassian, the cold rage seeping from Azriel…’ [ACOWAR]

‘Azriel’s mask of cold didn't so much as waver at the rejection.’ [ACOWAR]

'As Azriel turned his face toward me— The frozen rage there rooted me to the spot.' [ACOWAR]

‘My voice as cold as Azriel's face’ [ACOWAR]

‘Azriel just pinned that icy, all-seeing stare on Keir.‘ [ACOWAR]

‘Not calm— but filled with icy rage. The sort I sometimes glimpsed in Azriel's eyes.’ [ACOWAR]

‘I could've sworn hurt flickered in Azriel's eyes, but he only shrugged, his face again a mask of cool indifference.’ [ACOWAR]

‘Azriel only watched them with that icy indifference.’ [ACOWAR]

‘But it was nothing compared to the wrath on Cassian's face-- or the icy rage on Azriel's...' [ACOWAR]

‘Azriel's face was stone-cold’ [ACOWAR]

‘Azriel watched her with that cool quiet, keeping utterly still.’ [ACOSF]

‘Azriel answered, eyes full of ice and death as he stared down Devlon.’ [ACOSF]

‘Azriel stiffened. Let his cold rage rise to the surface, the rage he only ever let Rhysand see, because he knew his brother could match it.’ [ACOSF; bonus]

‘Azriel donned the frozen mask he'd perfected in his father's dungeon.’ [ACOSF; bonus]

‘Azriel's hazel eyes held nothing but cool wariness.’ [HOFAS]

‘Bryce held Azriel's gaze, meeting his ice with her own’ [HOFAS]

‘The male who had found her. Who’d carried the black dagger that had reacted to the Starsword. His hazel eyes held nothing but cold, predatory alertness.’ [HOFAS]

‘His face was a mask of cold determination’ [HOFAS]

‘By the time Azriel realized there was nothing there, she had already crossed the ward line. Cold fury tightened his features,’ [HOFAS]

And Gwyn just:

"Aren't you cold?" His breath clouded in front of him. Gwyn shrugged. "Once you get moving you stop noticing it."

Charming irreverence indeed!

Idk, there is just something about it... something to think about...