#I’m 25!!

[korbydaze]

B I R T H

[et-in-arkadia]

aziraphale and crowley try to perform the tiniest most unobservable fraction of a miracle together and they end up producing a massive burst of power so astonishing in scope that it sets off alarm bells in heaven where it can be seen as an enormous purple beam and radiates with a force twenty-five times the energy needed to raise someone from the dead. we’re told only an archangel could perform an act of such earth-shaking consequence which again is the result of them trying to exert their abilities in the subtlest way possible so can you imagine what they’re going to be like in bed? talk about the second coming. in this essay i will

[jibberjibbsart]

Supernatural “Power Hour” Part 19!

The girls are fighting!!

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[queerpanicking]

so…that was an interesting episode

[teenbiology]

my sexuality with men is that i will read fictional character smut and romance but an irl man is immediately platonic in my head like i do not want a man to do anything to me and i do not want to do anything to a man

[cliopadra]

[thekeythief]

[chocostrwberry]

Secrets

[future-crab]

I know this is a real baby-who-hasn’t-mastered-object-permanence type opinion, but I associate people with their pfps so strongly it’s wild. Even for people who have posted pictures of themselves, I still instinctually think of their pfp as their appearance. Any time I see one of my mutuals do one of those ‘make yourself on this picrew’ chains my first thought is ‘wait you’re telling me you AREN’T a jpeg of Hannibal Lector??”

[rosieleej]

It’s crazy that the twins are turning 25 today because at this moment probably Dipper has already finished his degree in engineering and is doing a masters and maybe a PHD, Mabel having finished hers in art. At this rate they’re old enough to drink, and drive, and vote and reflect on what-the-f happened to them as kids. Right now they’re probably celebrating their birthday in a small private party in the shack. Now the grunkles are 80 yrs and too old to sail at sea. Maybe now Greta is about to marry that duke; she’s as confident and beautiful as she’s ever been. Maybe Candy has some interesting stuff going on. Soos has a child with Melody, and the grandma has passed away, Waddles as well. Wendy is probably not working at the Mystery Shack ( she still cuts wood in her free time). The Weirdmagedon was so much time ago that all of Gravity Falls now can laugh about it. No one really talks about Bill, or the monsters, or the destruction, death and fear that came with them. For more than a decade the town has been at peace. For more than a decade Ford hasn’t feel like a freak. For more than a decade Stan has had what he had wanted for the most part of his life. For more than a decade the Pines twins, both sets, have been loved.

Mabel is now longer afraid of growing up. She already has, and she’s thriving. Dipper doesn’t fears he’s not good enough. Maybe their parents divorced, maybe they didn’t, but each year instead of going home in summer break from college they go to the same small town that opened their arms to them so so many years ago, and they feel like children again.

They. The children that taught me that growing up maybe is not so bad.

Happy Birthday indeed Mabel and Dipper Pines

[ldragoat]

can’t believe i’m getting back into beyblade in the year of our lord 2024

some drawings of the goat 🐐

[yorufi]

fluffy middle age women yuri

↓ portrait close up ↓

[spilledmilkii]

I shall see myself out immediately

[james-spooky]

THE ARCHIVES THEME IN THE BACKGROUND WHEN COLIN DESTROYED THE COMPUTER I JUMPED OUT OF MY SEAT

[griddlebait]

since i couldn’t post the new chapter to celebrate the one year anniversary of sckl and a few of you said you wanted to read it, i'm sharing the first scene of chapter 25 below the cut.

(keep in mind that this is before beta-reading and final edits so a few things might change when the chapter is posted!)

Just past one in the morning, Gideon quietly let herself into her apartment. She carefully placed her shoes on the rack and tiptoed through the living room, assuming that all of her roommates were either asleep or trying to get there, but she soon noticed a dim, fuzzy glow emitting from the kitchen. Not all of her roommates, then.

Harrow was sitting on the counter with the refrigerator left open in front of her so she didn’t have to turn on an overhead light. Gideon wasn’t surprised; she caught her like this every now and then, most times eating individual ingredients or cold pasta straight from the tupperware container or chugging all the water she’d forgotten to drink that day. Tonight she lacked that manic, starved alleycat quality to her movements—she was looser, relaxed, nonchalantly glancing over her shoulder and languidly straightening her posture at the confirmation of Gideon’s presence—but Gideon still spotted a cup of water clutched in her hand when she rounded the bar. 

“Where have you been?” Harrow asked the moment Gideon reached the line between carpet and tile.

“Am I in trouble?” Gideon whispered back sarcastically.

Harrow’s fingers idly tapped against the plastic cup in muted, arrhythmic thumps. Her voice was curiously hoarse as she said, “That depends on where you’ve been.”

Gideon didn’t know what that was supposed to mean, but it warmed her face and prickled her skin. “I was downstairs with Nona,” she elaborated automatically. “She asked me to help her pick out her nail polish colors. And we watched the Ghostbusters movies. And then fell asleep by accident.”

Harrow stared at Gideon. She blinked. She dropped her eyes. Then she said, “okay,” and there was slight resignation in the drooping of her shoulders, an audible settling in the quietness of her voice. She looked down into her cup as if the water inside was suddenly supremely interesting. 

“So … am I in trouble?”

Harrow didn’t look up. “I suppose not.”

The air between them thinned out like a window had been opened and Gideon realized, feeling unlike herself, that she’d gone in the wrong direction. She was supposed to play along and make up something ridiculous yet interesting, like that she’d actually been out at a leather bar with Ianthe getting into fights for fun. She should have given Harrow something to at least roll her eyes at, but she didn’t, and the moment passed, and it was already too late. 

That kept happening these days. Gideon tried not to kick herself too hard about it this time. She wasn’t convincingly dressed for a leather bar anyway. 

Harrow turned to set her cup down on the counter, allowing Gideon a better view of her face. She looked almost as if she’d just rolled out of bed: her cheeks held a curious flush in the yellow light and the ends of her hair were sticking to her forehead and temples, the rest of her grown out buzz cut tousled and poking up in random places. Her expression was blank and tired and gave absolutely no hints at what she was thinking about, so Gideon attempted to read her body language, lowering her eyes and—and—

And Harrow’s arms were extending upwards and curling behind her head in a lazy stretch, and that movement sent her shirt riding up on her stomach to reveal more than a couple inches of bare skin. Gideon privately remarked, her mind growing a bit foggy and distant, that she had never actually seen Harrow’s stomach before.

Which wasn’t a big deal. Stomachs were super common. So were belly buttons. There was no reason to die of shock at the non-revelation that Harrow had both a stomach and a belly button. It was just that every inch of her skin that Gideon had seen before now had been empty and blank—naturally speaking, anyway; Gideon had given her wrist a permanent blemish that summer—and, although it wasn’t as if she’d thought about it specifically, Gideon kind of assumed that the rest of Harrow’s skin would be equally as plain. So even if everyone had a belly button and it was neither impressive nor profound that Harrow also had one, Gideon found herself momentarily transfixed by the small dark brown speck just to the left of it. A freckle, or a mole, or a birthmark, Gideon couldn’t tell with the distance and lighting.

It seemed impossible that you could know someone for their entire life and still keep finding things to learn about them. Gideon thought it was wildly unfair that it had taken nearly twenty-one years for her to discover this very simple fact about Harrow, and then she wondered if something could even be considered a discovery if it had already been discovered by someone else. She found this to also be wildly unfair.

She blinked so hard rainbow flurries danced behind her eyelids and she narrowly avoided physically shaking her head to clear her thoughts like an Etch-A-Sketch. Harrow was totally oblivious to the attention and finished her stretch, dropping her arms to her sides; her shirt slid back down until there was nothing but a thin sliver of skin above the waistband of her pajama pants left exposed. 

The refrigerator was safer to look at. They ran out of orange juice this morning. Cam probably added it to the grocery list already.

“So did you stay up just to get on my ass about coming home late?” Gideon asked. Her throat felt strange.

“No,” Harrow said. After a brief stretch of silence, each word lulling with hesitation like she hadn’t quite decided if she actually wanted to say what she was in the middle of saying, she tacked on: “I was with Camilla.”

That made sense. That explained—yeah. Okay. Not really information Gideon needed to know, but okay. Waves of disappointment rolled through her chest, embarrassment following soon after. She’d been mostly joking—Harrow never needed a reason to stay up—but it was unwelcomingly humbling to be told that no, Harrow hadn’t been waiting for her, and in fact had been plenty busy with somebody else. 

The fact that Gideon had been doing the same thing in a different context, and the question of how much that context mattered and why, were such fleeting, whispering thoughts in the back of Gideon’s mind that they might as well not have been there at all. 

"What, you guys don't have sleepovers?" she asked, her voice supernaturally relaxed as opposed to the unsteadiness she felt internally. 

“No,” Harrow said, and Gideon already knew that. 

"Guess I’m special then,” she pressed because she couldn’t help herself.

“You’re—Yes. You are unique in that.”

That, too, confirmed what Gideon already knew. She still felt better for hearing it. 

Harrow’s leg brushed against Gideon’s elbow as she slid off the counter, but she didn’t seem to notice. She stepped forward and shut the fridge, casting them into a darkness that was only salvaged by streaks of moonlight slipping through the curtains, and turned back to Gideon drenched in shades of gray. 

Gideon wasn’t sure what she expected—nothing, really, she wasn’t expecting anything. It was her body that pulled taut with unnamable anticipation when Harrow looked her in the eye. It was the briefest of glances, and Gideon still could not maintain the contact; she unsteadily cast her gaze anywhere else. Harrow stepped past her to leave without letting the moment linger.

“Goodnight, Griddle.”

Gideon exhaled, her body sinking as if she’d been released. Harrow didn’t notice. She was already halfway through the living room. That was as much of a relief as it was a disappointment. 

“Goodnight,” Gideon replied a beat too late. Refusing to let herself watch Harrow go, she settled for listening to the sound of her footsteps grow quiet and distant. 

[tweetsofyj]