#THE COPE

[306saint]

i miss them so bad!!!!!!

[lover-of-mine]

Firstly love Buck’s new outfit. Secondly the BT breakup is definitely coming. Thirdly the BTs of course have immediately jumped to ‘look at Buck stealing Tommy’s clothes!’ to the point where it is fodder for the ‘Buck is moving in with Tommy at the start of season 8’ theory. Okay I guess?? Tommy’s jacket is beige though. You know who we have seen in an olive green jacket like that? Eddie. Multiple times.

Not that I think it is a callback to either Tommy’s or Eddie’s outfits. It is definitely a harbinger of a breakup. But if we have to say who it is most similar to…

Hi love 🩵

Oh, we are back to they're moving in together, okay then, sure, it's not like that jacket is 100% the wrong color, the color Eddie usually wears. It's green, it's a bad sign anyway, the breakup is coming and that outfit is not Tommy's lol

[vulcaner]

i think most USAmericans just straight up forget that people in the global south exist. we live in the richest country in the world

[blushweddinggowns]

It's that time again! Time to project my traumatic childhood on fictional characters instead of going to therapy 😎

[oflolth]

" how sweet and good a servant to lolth you must be, nathbryn. loyal, unquestioning - like a dog. a yapping, foolish little dog at that. it is unfortunate that loyal dogs so often go mad in their service - it does, however, make them all too easy to put down. "

the spoon nathbryn is currently using stills halfway between bowl and mouth. it isn't so much that she's unused to insults at mealtimes - though the loftiness of her claim to nobility is a shade more contested than that of some present company - but travelling with vampires and sharrans and gith, sharp-toothed or not, has apparently dulled the reflexes she'd assumed she had waiting in the wings.

nathbryn somehow registers the blasphemy last - this seems, at first, a personal attack, though how could there be a distinction? an attack on lolth is just as much an attack on nathbryn. and in a way, that it is blasphemy is mercy, for there can be a defence - nathbryn sinks her nails into the resounding righteousness and swears never to let it go. the heretic will be silenced, and when that day comes, nathbryn will watch her hands as they carry out lolth's will, and she will feel nothing.

nathbryn's reply is delivered in a tone as lofty as it is brittle. " you would know, wouldn't you? " her lips take on a cruel curve - a poor imitation of a smile, though it suits this occasion well. " i think you living proof, minthara, that a dog which strays is put down far more readily. " she nearly declares the matter over with that, and perhaps if she'd been able, she would have stalked off, or gone back to eating. to insult minthara does not seem enough, though. and so nathbryn's are untethered only for a moment before they seek minthara again. when they raise, so too does her voice - let the others hear. nathbryn is, in this moment, too proud for dulcet tones. " do not mistake me - i am hers, and as i am hers, so she may dispose of me. if i am to be driven mad, so be it. if i am to be put down, so be it. she brought me to you; do not forget where you would be otherwise. "

[fishgut]

.

[great-and-small]

My grandfather and my godfather (a beloved neighbor and dear family friend) had a long standing bet- for one dollar- about who would die first. Both of them being slightly pessimistic (in the funny way), they both insisted that they themselves would be the first to die. Any time my grandfather had a health scare, he’d gleefully call up my godfather to boast that he’d be passing “any day now” and he was sure to win the bet. It was a big family joke and they were always amiably sparring and comparing notes about who was in worse shape, medically speaking.

When my grandfather was in hospice care dying of liver cancer, my godfather was quite ill also. It took him great effort to make the journey to see his dying friend. As he came into the room, supported by a family member, he shuffled to my grandpa’s bedside and silently handed him a dollar bill. He was ceding his loss of the bet, as they both knew who was going first. My grandpa had been in quite bad shape for a while and was no longer able to speak but let me tell you he snatched that dollar with unexpected strength and literally laughed aloud. He knew exactly what the gesture meant and he couldn’t help but find the humor within the grief. It was the last time any of us heard my grandpa laugh, as he passed shortly after.

When I talk about my appreciation for “dark humor” I’m not so much thinking about edgy jokes, but rather the human instinct to somehow, impossibly, both find and appreciate the absurdity that is so often folded into the profound grief of life and death. When I tell this story I think it kind of perturbs people sometimes, but it’s honestly one of my favorite memories about two men I really deeply admired. I could never hope for anything more than for my loved ones to remember me laughing until the very end, and taking joy in a little joke as one of my final acts.

[jesusinstilettos]

I’m about to save you thousands of dollars in therapy by teaching you what I learned paying thousands of dollars for therapy:

It may sound woo woo but it’s an important skill capitalism and hyper individualism have robbed us of as human beings.

Learn to process your emotions. It will improve your mental health and quality of life. Emotions serve a biological purpose, they aren’t just things that happen for no reason.

1. Pause and notice you’re having a big feeling or reaching for a distraction to maybe avoid a feeling. Notice what triggered the feeling or need for a distraction without judgement. Just note that it’s there. Don’t label it as good or bad.

2. Find it in your body. Where do you feel it? Your chest? Your head? Your stomach? Does it feel like a weight everywhere? Does it feel like you’re vibrating? Does it feel like you’re numb all over?

3. Name the feeling. Look up an emotion chart if you need to. Find the feeling that resonates the most with what you’re feeling. Is it disappointment? Heartbreak? Anxiety? Anger? Humiliation?

4. Validate the feeling. Sometimes feelings misfire or are disproportionately big, but they’re still valid. You don’t have to justify what you’re feeling, it’s just valid. Tell yourself “yeah it makes sense that you feel that right now.” Or something as simple as “I hear you.” For example: If I get really big feelings of humiliation when I lose at a game of chess, the feeling may not be necessary, but it is valid and makes sense if I grew up with parents who berated me every time I did something wrong. So I could say “Yeah I understand why we are feeling that way given how we were treated growing up. That’s valid.”

5. Do something with your body that’s not a mental distraction from the feeling. Something where you can still think. Go on a walk. Do something with your hands like art or crochet or baking. Journal. Clean a room. Figure out what works best for you.

6. Repeat, it takes practice but is a skill you can learn :)

[christadeguchi]

(✿◕‿◕) die (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)

[personaglitch]

"Self insert characters are cringe"

Bro I'm trying to survive capitalism with maladaptive daydreaming. Leave me alone.

[puckspoetry]

POV: you wake up from a mouse bite induced coma

[alibonbonn]

Once again, I'm in trouble with my only friend She is papering the windowpanes She is putting on a smile Living in a glasshouse

[nonebinary-leftbeef]

DEVASTATING the lyric you've been mishearing is better than the real one

[onioneyez]

He's very easily peer pressured

(Edit: I meant by the goats)

Prints!

[edmeom]

low quality jjk trio i know you needed

part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13, part 14, part 15, part 16, part 17, part 18, part 19, part 20

[starsofang]

Simon didn’t like to hold you. He liked to be held.

At first, you didn’t understand why he’d turn his back to you in bed without saying anything. You thought you’d done something to him, or maybe he was in a bad mood. You couldn’t be any more wrong.

Simon Riley, an absolute brute of a soldier, was silently asking for you to be the big spoon. You nearly didn’t believe it when he finally brought it to your attention.

He was too embarrassed to ask you, so he’d resort to flipping on to his side and wait. And wait. Until he realized you didn’t catch the memo, even after many hopeless attempts.

In his mind, he thought being the big spoon would somehow convince you he wasn’t manly enough, as if his title in the service or his pure stature wasn’t proof enough of his masculinity.

To him, being held was a blanket of security. Where he’d always have to watch his back out on the field, both literally and metaphorically, he didn’t have to keep an eye out at all times with you. It was a chance for him to find solace in a person, and when he explained this to you, he was surprised to find you so willing.

And oh, when it happened, Simon nearly kicked himself for holding back on verbalizing it for so long.

The warmth of your arms when they wrapped around him from behind, your face buried between his shoulder blades, legs tangled in his, he thought that this was what inner peace felt like.

He was silly to think you’d ever be the one to judge him for what most deemed ‘unmasculine’. In all of his broad glory, he felt safe the moment you held him, like a child does when they feel a mother’s embrace except it was from someone he loved dearest to his heart.

And you? You found that being the big spoon was rather enjoyable when the man you’re holding was so damn comfortable to snuggle up to. It was a win-win for you both.

You just wished he wasn’t an idiot that left you wondering all those hopeless nights until the truth came out.