#YES IM STILL UPSET

[tildeathiwillwrite]

Anyone else hate when people don't take you seriously?

[basi-boy]

wo genau waren die ganzen leute von den anti-afd demos gestern eigentlich

[trashyspaceprxnce]

On account of the 2023 Tony’s allowing Alex Newell and Michael Arden to get their revenge im excited for the revival of The Lightning Thief in 2024 that will sweep every category

[jgnico]

Toji, after shooting a 14yo in the head. "Good job everybody 😊🥰😇😋☺️"

[ugartecoco]

not even going on to score a third in extra time just to concede an equaliser in the last minute? amateurs

[kalforhelp]

sometimes i say something funny and think im a goddamn genius and im so proud of myself and then, without fail, the first person to respond thinks im being serious (and therefore an idiot for saying whatever it was i said)

[laziarteest]

Nobody talk to me about Sonic Prime, I’m so salty

[hahahalfwit]

I HATE MIRROR MIRROR IM GOIGN TO FROW UP

[ardate]

Every Boromir hater makes my enormous love for him grow stronger. Sorry you couldn't understand him, I get him tho and we're holding hands and the whole of Gondor is laughing at you

[pumpkingsoupy]

when bumblebee said flyboy to starscream. starbee fans rejoice breakbee has been defeated (i am truly sorry to the breakbee shippers but it's just funny to see it that way)

[yuwuta]

yuuta exhibits such previously abandoned, recently adopted dog behavior. incredibly anxious all the time, even though nobody’s out to get him or leave him behind. waits for you to return home or from school or from work excitedly, just to see you when you walk through the door. follows you around senselessly, hovering in your space just for the sake of companionship. initiates affection in prodding ways—starts off next to you, then a hand on your thigh, then deems it safe to lay all the way down, then slowly pushes his head into your lap. gets up whenever you need to get up, and resumes his position as soon as you’re ready. brings you gifts as a sign that he’s thinking of you, and maybe because he likes the affection it brings out in you, maybe because he likes the gentle affirming touches of a hand in his hair or a pinch to his cheek. rests his head on your stomach or his chin on your shoulder when he’s sleepy, stays there, immobile, and will not move unless absolutely necessary. sometimes he gets surprised when he hears you calling for him, there’s a moment of disbelief as he thinks “me? really? you need me?” but it’s very quickly overshadowed by this compulsive need to show up, to please, to do anything for you, which is why he always answers when you call. he doesn’t realize that he has puppygod eyes, especially when he’s excited or confused, but he does and it’s incredible endearing. very reluctant to share your space or attention after a while, considers that to be sacred and he won’t risk being let go or lost again, so as a safety precaution, he keeps himself right by you, waits for you always. 

[haveihitanerve]

Who Wants To Live Forever

Sam didn't know why he waited. No, that wasn't true. He knew. He knew quite well why he waited. He didn't want to. No, that wasn't quite true either. He would wait for her. He’d wait for her forever. He hoped she never came. Not because he didn't want to see her, but because he wanted to truly see her again when they reunited. He didn't want to her to come see him alive. He didn't want her to ever have to set foot here again. But she came. Of course she came. Because she was Celaena Sardothien. And she loved him. 

He knew the second she breached the gate. He knew and knew and knew. He had suspected for a while now. Had had it confirmed by Wesley. But now… She walked confidently, but Sam could see the underlying nerves, the grief that weighed her every step. He wanted to take it all away… but he knew he couldn't. The green… it was telling, if the eyes and hair weren't enough. Sam had suspected even when he was alive, but it was her secret to tell, even now. She walked for him, straight footed and sure, bending to pick up tiny rocks every so often, and Sam couldn't hold back his sob at the life in every step. It poured from her, life, love, she wasn't just surviving anymore. She was alive. 

When she reached him, Sam couldn't stop himself. He reached for her. She didn't feel it, of course, but that hardly mattered to him, not as he finally, after so long, got to look at her beautiful blue eyes. As he got to twirl some of that intoxicating, beautiful blond hair between his fingers. He sent a breeze to ruffle her hair, smiling at that oh so familiar face. But it had changed. Was older. More hardened. Sam hated that. Hated that he hadn't been there for her. She stood before his grave stone for a few silent seconds, just looking at it. “I know its not up to your level,” He offered with a grin, winking at her. “But I think Wesley did a good job. I like it.” He tried, as much as he was able in this strange realmed form, to push all his love toward her. To let her feel, one last time, that he loved her. That he knew her. That he accepted her. 

She opened her hand and picked out three of the prettiest pebbles, placing them carefully at the apex of the stone. Sam felt his heart throb in pain at the gesture. Two for the years he had been taken from her. One for the year they'd been together. Then she sat, pressing her forehead against the rock, her body curling against it. Sam knew it was selfish, and crude, but he folded himself into the rock, leaning back against her as much as he was able since he couldn't actually touch her. 

They sat there, together, for a while. Sam just cherished her being so near again. He didn't know quite when she started talking, but suddenly a story was unraveling before him, her story.

“Once upon a time,” he whispered. “in a land long since burned to ash, there lived a young princess who loved her kingdom . . . very much.”

He had… he hadn't known, then, when she had said it… Sam pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“I miss you.” She said. “I know love, I know. I miss you too.” He smiled sadly. “Every day, I miss you.” Sam shook his head, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Its alright my love. You’re going to be alright.” One day, he didn't add. But one day, if he had to force the gods themselves, she would be okay.

“And I wonder what you would have made of all this. Made of me.” “I love you.” Sam answered simply. “You are… so brave, my little dove, you are so brave. But you need to be brave for just a while longer. Just a little longer.” tears choked his words, but she couldn't hear them anyway.

“I think- I think you would have been a wonderful King.” Sobs choked him, but he didn't move away. “I think they would have liked you more than me, actually.” A broken laugh tumbled out of her and Sam reached for her cheek, brushing at the tears there. “You are such a wonderful Queen, my love. Such a wonderful Queen. And your people? They’re going to love you. They already do.”

Celaena inhaled shakily, or maybe it was Aelin, but Sam didn't care, not as long as she was here, not so long as she was still herself.

“I never told you- how I felt.” Sam no longer fought his tears. “But I loved you, and I think a part of me might always love you.” “I'd be honored.” Sam breathed, stroking her hair as her eyes closed in an attempt to remain composed.

“Maybe you were my mate, and I never knew it.” At that, Sam finally laughed. “Oh baby, you know that's not true. He’s your mate. You know it too. You just don't want to admit it yet. And that's okay.” He smiled. “He’ll wait for you. And you’ll wait for him. I know you will. And the two of you are going to rattle the stars.”

“Maybe I’ll see you in the Afterworld and then I’ll know for sure. But until then… until then I’ll miss you, and I’ll wish you were here.” Sam smiled. “I’ll be waiting. You can count on that.” She did not apologize, and Sam did not expect her to. He did not want her to. 

She stood, and Sam remained seated. Watched as she dried her tears, lifted her face to the sun. 

He had sensed the male the second he had stepped into the graveyard. Celaena noticed him too, turning. “He was-” “I know who he was to you.” The male returned quietly. Quickly. Saving her from having to explain. To go through the pain she had just settled again. The male held out a hand. Not for her hand, Sam noted with a smile, but for a stone. He watched, silent, as something on Celaena's face shuddered, as he placed the small, smooth, stone onto the gravestone next to hers.

“You’re going to kill Arobynn tonight, aren't you?” the male asked, with an insightfulness Sam appreciated.

“After the dinner. When he’s gone to bed. I’m going back to the Keep to end it.” Sam’s heart broke for her, for what she was doing for him, but he knew she would do it whether or not he said he needed it. And besides, it was as much for her as it was for him.

“And the Amulet of Orynth?” Sam knew, vaguely, what they discussed, but he was more concerned about her. “An Endgame, but also a distraction.” She looked out across the Avery, sunlight dancing in her hair.

“You’re ready to do it?” The male asked, with a gentle and supportiveness that sealed the deal for Sam. Celaena looked back at him, at the stone, and at the patch of grave where his body rested, and Sam swore she was looking right at him as she spoke.

“I have no choice but to be ready.” 

They left, then, together. The male so close to her that they almost tripped, but Sam was glad for his closeness. For his support. And he sat there, on his grave, watching Celaena Sardothien walk away. The way he always had. The way he always would. Sam smiled. “Rattle the stars for me, my love.”

[coachbeards]

I think something that bothers me about how the writers handled Rebecca’s actions was that,,, not only were there no mentions of it afterwards save for like two jokes…but nobody was upset with her after she apologized. everyone moved on? The people who knew, anyways. There weren’t any consequences for her, really. higgins, julie, ted, keeley, they all moved on and acted like it wasn’t a big deal. whereas Jamie’s entire three season arc is consumed by his s1 actions. he had to fight tooth and nail to get back into the team’s good graces, to prove himself to the coaches and keeley and everyone. Even in s3, the coaches are shown to not value his growth and keep thinking of jamie “prick” tartt instead of seeing him as someone capable of being better and different. idk. It just bothers me that in a show about forgiveness and being better, rebecca only had to apologize and everything was forgiven, while Jamie literally could not Not be defined by how he was

[quamaii]

Max when the contraption he built specifically for Jimmy to throw knives at Duncan is used by Jimmy to throw knives at Duncan:

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

oooo it's been a while since the last snippet :]c it's another fantasy au one where I'm! Putting! Barnaby! Through It!

a minor warnings: implied/referenced major character death <3

 No one eats dinner, and Frank won’t stop tapping his spoon against his bowl. Tok tok tok it goes, over and over again.

Poppy made a simple stew from their provisions, but only Eddie and Sally make an attempt at tasting it. Their halfhearted ‘it’s good’s don’t pierce the pressure weighing down on them all. Barnaby swears he can taste it, thick and cloying. 

Already he keeps catching himself looking for Wally. Where is- he starts to think, and then he remembers the moment Wally fell with a spear piercing his chest, and the grief rises so fast it nearly drowns him in a heartbeat. Barnaby can’t bring himself to try and hide it behind anything but a stony mask. In any other situation he might try to put some levity into the group. Cheer up the sad and empty faces staring into their meals. 

He wouldn’t be able to think of a single lighthearted thing even if he wanted to. He doesn’t.

Tok tok tok-

Shuffling from Howdy’s tent has everyone glancing over at it, and Frank’s spoon stills. Howdy briefly woke up while Poppy was cooking. All he did was sit up, look at everyone, then pitch to the side and vomit. They got him into a tent before he passed out again, mumbling something about puppets. Frank made a comment about how Howdy was supposed to be a bit out of it, not at fae-drunk levels of hazy. Eddie had muttered back a dejected apology, and after that the camp was silent until Poppy’s announcement that dinner was ready. The spoon continues tapping when the shuffling stills.

Tok tok tok-

Since Eddie and Sally saying that dinner is good, there hasn’t been a noise beyond the occasional sniffle. It’s a good thing Julie isn’t trying her stew - it must be disgustingly salty from all the tears dripping into it. 

Tok tok tok-

Barnaby sighs through his nose and puts his bowl down, sick of looking at everyone’s misery. He would say that he’s going to go sleep, but he has a feeling that none of them are getting a wink tonight. 

Tok tok-

Before he can stand, Frank blurts, “We shouldn’t have attacked it. It was a mistake.”

“Please don’t,” Julie begs.

“There’s no need to rub salt in the wound,” Sally says firmly, her stew starting to sizzle from the rising heat in her hands.

“Not right now, Frank,” Eddie mutters. 

Frank visibly bristles, and he launches to his feet. “I refuse to pretend not to have seen what I did! The truth is a terrible thing, but someone needs to say it. Wally lied to us.”

“Frank…” Barnaby warns.

“We shouldn’t have attacked the demon,” Frank barrels on, ignoring him, “because there was no need to. It didn’t eat Wally until the end because the demon is his patron. Wally was never a wizard at all, he was a warlock-”

Barnaby lunges with a deep bark that echoes against the trees. The crickets symphony falls silent. Frank trips backwards over his seat, staring up with wide eyes as Barnaby stalks around the fire, growling. Eddie and Sally slowly stand, inching between him and Frank. 

Barnaby stops, snout bunched and canines bared. He jabs a claw at Frank. “Don’t you ever say that again. Ever.”

Frank’s mouth flaps uselessly for a moment. When he speaks, it comes out as a whisper, “I’m-”

“If you end that with right instead of sorry, I’ll make damn sure that you are.”

Frank wisely keeps his mouth shut. The crickets continue chirping.

Barnaby glares at him until Frank looks away. Barnaby straightens his vest with a sharp tug and strides away from the fire, towards his and- his tent. Just his, now. Murmuring breaks out at his back. He yanks the flap open, grabs his pipe and herb pouch, and heads towards the forest. He pauses only to listen by Howdy’s tent, waiting to hear proof of life before continuing on.

Once he can’t see the firelight anymore, Barnaby chooses a random tree and sits heavily in front of it. Rough bark digs into his back through his vest. A night bird hoots overhead. Crickets continue to make their music, but Barnaby wishes they would shut up for good. 

Light from the full moon pours through the branches to provide just enough light to see by. Barnaby holds up his pipe and quickly puts it to the side to take off a grimy glove. The heart-pad and blue fur underneath contrasts vibrantly with the dust-grayed rest of him. After a moment he removes the other glove, wincing as the leather drags over his injured knuckles. He turns his paw over and scowls at the dirty black edges of the red-raw scrapes. He should have punched harder. He hopes it scars, even though he knows it won’t.

The gloves themselves are scuffed up, but not beyond use. Barnaby folds them into his pocket and gets to work lighting his pipe. He packs it and instinctively opens his mouth to ask Wally to light it for him. The words die on his tongue as he turns only to see dark forest. Empty woods save for the tiny blue lights of night wisps floating on the breeze. 

Barnaby stares into the darkness with yawning dread. He keeps looking. How long will it take him to stop? How long until Wally’s face starts to smudge in his memories, until his voice is gone and Barnaby doesn’t even remember what his smile looked like? How long until Barnaby only thinks of him in passing? 

He doesn’t want to reach that point. He desperately does. 

Will it hurt more or less? Does it matter? He wants it to ache until he dies.

Barnaby frantically fishes his sparkrune out of the herb pouch - only there for emergencies, when Wally or Sally isn’t there to light it for him. It will wear down to a nub within the month. He strikes his thumb claw against it, and sparks fly expertly into the bowl of his pipe. It takes a moment to catch. Barnaby lifts the bit to his lips and takes a drag before enough smoke forms for a lungful. 

Maybe he should have grabbed the stronger stuff. If he breathes enough of it, maybe he’d be able to see Wally. 

But Barnaby doesn’t get up in the end. He sits against the base of a tree and hugs himself, the pipe’s intermittent glow betraying the shine in his eyes.

[jennycalendar]

been just going through this entire endgame stage letting an officer of the flaming fist chase us because when i took the reputation hit and killed him khalid said gorion wouldnt be proud of me. so obviously this is clearly the only other option. to be in constant combat while still running through all the necessary dialogue options to finish the game. we brought him into sorcerous sundries and he is in fact still trying to kill us while we buy potions. i want to see how far this man is going to chase us