#am i joking? am i serious? who could say...

[delumineight]

i’m in tears 4000 reblogs… this is tumblr i would be so embarrassed of that i don’t even tell anyone in real life that i use this app. that aside im gonna skip that second paragraph because everything else is going to answer that. i’m assuming you’ve been here a while so i know changing your opinion won’t work too well, but you’re looking at this all so one dimensionally.

first off, that happens in year six. there is no “year seven.” and i am glad that you’re bringing up hermione’s faults because usually it’s all about ron! i just don’t think you’re familiar with Being In Love and to be honest i don’t care if hermione beats up on ron. he doesn’t either!!! am i supposed to hate women hit men? no. why would i? that’s praxis. when hermione jokes about it in the next book, he laughs. and if she did it then, he definitely would have deserved it if we’re going to be honest. ron probably likes her for any of the following and perhaps more: she is funny believe it or not, her vindication, the fact that she rides so hard for him and harry, how she cares about him, how she’s kind enough to want to kill some random chickens for them on the horcrux hunt, how insanely passionate she is about everything, and probably so much more that i don’t care to list or think of.

when harry’s away they could be doing anything. hogwarts is a big school. they canonically go to the library a few times, play wizards chess as you’ve mentioned, and do some homework/studying (much to ron’s dismay, i’ll admit). the book is told from harry’s perspective. we aren’t supposed to know what ron and hermione are doing 24/7 and that’s part of it all. this is where you use something called your imagination. they’re prefects together. which means that they spent hours walking around the school alone together. probably just chatting about whatever or even in silence, which can sometimes be so much more intimate than a chat.

ron’s opinion on house-elves doesn’t just change randomly throughout deathly hallows. the two elves in this book are insanely important to the plot, defeating voldemort, and the trio’s survival if you’ve forgot. kreature tells them about the locket and the story of how it originally was removed from the cave. dobby dies for them and saves hermione from being raped by greyback. the reason for the kiss is so big because it does in fact show that ron is growing up and changing, because they are children for the entire series minus a few months during deathly hallows.

and are you serious about this one? why didn’t they tell harry? dude, they didn’t tell each other for seven years and he was, i dunno, the center of a fucking war by the time they realised that they liked each other for real??? like, again, seriously?

they have “no development” in the epilogue because you’ve skipped 19 years and it’s like six pages long and not about them. it’s about harry’s gay son who is scared of being a slytherin, not ron or hermione or rose or hugo. they’re just little figurines in the background of harry’s small dilemma with his son that only have a few lines of small talk with their best friend/in law.

also, acting like ron and hermione’s relationship was out of no where just proves that you probably haven’t read the first two or three books in a while. some venture to say that seed was planted during the first book when ron sarcastically calls hermione “a lovely, sweet tempered girl” or the wingardium leviosa scene or when he beats her at wizard’s chess and it’s the first thing she’s ever lost at. jkr herself said once that they were meant to be a bit “love at first sight”-y (they’re 11 so i’m not 100% a fan of that) but if you can’t see it when he nearly jumps draco malfoy in chamber of secrets for wishing hermione dead or when he keeps looking sadly at her empty seat while she’s petrified you’re being purposefully dense.

if you’d like to try some more arguments please go ahead, but make them harder. this was entirely too easy and elementary. i could’ve given these same answers when i was thirteen.

“I used to ship Harry and Hermione together but that was back when I was 12 years old. Now, I’ve grown up and realized that Ron and Hermione make much more sense together and are good together” is a sure-fire way to tell me you didn’t “grow up”.

[heart4caitlin]

kk arnold fluff when reader and kk go on there first date then go live afterwards

KISS HER YOU FOOL / kk arnold

Kamorea Arnold x fem!reader

Synopsis: in ask!!

WC: 707

NOT PROOFREAD !!!

KK had been nervous all day, she'd finally been able to take you out on a date.

She glanced in the mirror for the hundredth time before nodding to herself, "Ridiculous, it's jus Y/n? Why am I so nervous?"

It wasn't just Y/n. It was Y/n, the woman she's been begging to go out with for two weeks now. The woman who she stares at during class or at games, not being able to help herself.

KK took a deep breath and looked over at her phone when it pinged, a text from you:

hey! I'm here but you take your time!

She smiled to herself as she grabbed her keys and headed out the door.

The two of you decided at a small diner–cozy with red booths, black and white tiled floor, and a jukebox in the corner of the place.

KK held the door open as you walked in, a smile being brought onto your face at the decorations they had. "Hm, this is cute, Kamorea." You smiled brightly, glancing a look over to her as she stared at you.

"I tried! I've been here before with the team, thought you would like them. They have really good milkshakes." KK replied, grinning as her cheeks went warm. The two of you ended up ordering burgers and a milkshake--a classic.

"This is way better than I expected." You said as you sip on the milkshake.

"I told you they were good!'

As you ate, your conversation flowed effortlessly. Talking about how KK was working on three-point shots and how you had zero coordination when it came to sports, along with KK laughing and saying how "you can't be that bad!"

The check ended up coming soon after, you going to reach for it but KK was faster.

"Oh come on, I was gonna pay!" You had frowned while she smiled.

"Yeah well I invited you on the date so... You can pay next time." KK replied, holding the check in her hand while reaching for her card.

"Hm, next time then?" You joked, grinning over at her.

Y'all arrived back at KK's place, going in to sit on the couch as music played in the background. "You know," You started to say, looking over to KK with a smirk, people are gonna go crazy when they find out we went out on a date."

"Oh I know they would, can imagine all the edits they would make."

"Wonder what songs they would use," You replied, a grin appearing on your face as you reached over for your phone and going to tiktok.

"Oh god, I didn't think you were serious!" Before KK could grab the phone you had already clicked the Go Live button.

"Hi guys!!' You said cheerfully and waving towards the camera, multiples comments flowing in already. KK let out a groan, covering her face with her hands and complaining that "you're the worst."

"Say hi to the fans, KK!" You nudged her with your elbow and turned the camera to her. She dropped her hands and waved towards the camera, "Hi guys!' And the comments went wild.

username1: KK ARNOLD AND Y/N L/N??

username2: OMG

username3: she looks so done with you y/n

"See, they love us!" You smiled towards KK, both of you visible in the camera now.

"Well, Y/n," Kk began, turning back to the camera and picking it up. "As much as we would love to talk to yall, I'm not speaking the rest of our night on live, after the perfect date we just had." The comments immediately turning chaotic.

username4: FIRST DATE???

username5: oh DROP the details

username6: my favorite couple already

After a few more minutes of being live KK cut the live off, turning towards you with a smile. "So did you have fun on our first date?"

You smiled back, your cheeks warming up, "I had an amazing first date with you."

"Good, 'cause they'll be more." She whispered as she leaned in closer to you, pressing her lips against yours. Your hand making it's way to KK"s cheek as her hand rested on the back of your neck, pulling you closer as she deepened the kiss.

A/n: ummm so it totally did NOT take me since august to write this shut up!!

please reblog and comment !!

[fideidefenswhore]

soulmate-ism ❤️

[thepersonperson]

Sukuna is Peak Gap Moe. I’ll never be over this. This bastard talks tough, eats people, and kills like a woodchipper and yet…he is a poetic little sap. Getting mad over an improper haikus, the misidentification of flowers…and confessing his feelings to Gojo Satoru under several layers of wordplay no one except those well-versed in ancient Japanese would catch.

I've been over this in greater detail in Sukuna's Negative Rizz, but @tangsakura added more context in the replies to that post, making Sukuna's use of 凡夫 (bonpu) for Gojo even gayer.

In summary, 凡夫 (bonpu) can be translated as painfully ordinary or unenlightened. But in the individual kanji readings, 凡 is mediocre and 夫 is husband. You could read this as Sukuna calling Gojo his mediocre husband. And that's just the modern readings! The ancient readings...

So you can read this line from Sukuna as the following:

“You were born in an era without me and hailed as 'The Strongest'

1) And yet you turned out to be…painfully ordinary.”

2) And yet you turned out to be…unenlightened.”

3) And yet you turned out to be…a mediocre husband/wife/spouse.”

4) And yet you turned out to be…the ordinary one who could stand by my side.”

Sukuna seems to be saying these things all at once. (It’s no different than the Megumi Activities wordplay he uses with Enchain. Alt. link if the Twitter dies.) Gojo apparently makes him feel very conflicted. He’s boring, he can do better, he shouldn’t even call himself the Honored One, he’s his equal, they’re married. The irony here is that no one except Sukuna can understand this.

[squatch-and-stretch]

Chapter 5

“We… we need a plan,” Stanford says after a while, once they’ve all pulled apart from their group huddle.

“Well,” Fiddleford says, standing up. “Here’s step one; I gotta get you boys all fixed up.”

“What?” Stanford glances at Stanley, then furrows his brows at Fiddleford. “I’m fine.”

“Your eye’s bleeding, hun.”

“That happens,” Stanford says, blinking a few times before angrily swiping at his face with the heel of his hand. “Just an unfortunate side effect of…”

“Let me get ya cleaned up, at least,” Fiddleford says gently once it was clear he didn’t intend to continue.

He moves over to the fridge and retrieves a bottle of water. He’d prefer to use the filtered water from outside, but after the night’s events, he was hesitant to let them out of his sight. He's hesitant to let himself out of their sight, afraid that without their eyes on him, without a direct plan of action, he’ll fall apart.

He's fine, Fiddleford tells himself as he retrieves a clean cloth from the nearby countertop. There's no blood on the counter where Stanford hit his head.

“Does your head hurt any?” Fiddleford asks, twisting the lid off the water and using it to wet the cloth.

“It’s felt better, but I don’t think I have a concussion, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Fiddleford says, flashing the light in his eyes again. His pupils dilate as expected, and are still as round as they should be. “Who’s the president?”

“Ronald Reagan, that bastard,” Stanford says quickly, clearly, and with audible contempt.

“Good,” Fiddleford reassures, reaching out to card his fingers through the hair around his temple. His hair is greasy and a bit sweaty, but not bloodied. “I didn’t break your cheek or anything?”

“You’re not that strong, Fiddleford,” Stanford says with a tired smile. “Bill just has bad balance.”

“And thank goodness for that,” Fiddleford says, gently ruffling his hair before pulling away to retrieve the wet cloth he left on the counter.

“I can handle this,” Stanford says, catching Fiddleford’s hand before it can reach his face. “Just… take care of Stanley?”

“I will,” Fiddleford agrees, reluctantly handing off the cloth.

“And, Fiddleford…?”

“Hm?”

“I… I really am sorry. For everything.”

Fiddleford sighs, turning away.

“I know you are, Ford.”

He retrieves another rag from the counter, and then has to dig through the cabinets for a bottle of antiseptic. He’ll admit, his organizational system could use some work, but he finds it eventually. He even keeps bandages in the same place, which he retrieves as well.

Fiddleford had taken a few bottles from the remains of what had once been a convenience store, figuring through context clues that it was some substance used to clean wounds. It stung like a motherfucker, but it had kept his arm from rotting off entirely.

Fiddleford soaks the cloth, and turns to Stanley, who has been watching the proceedings in polite silence from his place on the couch the whole time. He stiffens a bit once Fiddleford’s full attention is upon him.

“Take off your shirt,” Fiddleford instructs.

“Woah, Fidds, I didn’t know you were freaky like that,” Stanley jokes, but his smarmy smile is a bit strained. “You heard the guy, Sixer, you’d better clear out.”

“He is not propositioning you, you knucklehead,” Stanford snaps.

“Right, I’m sure he’d much rather fiddle Ford,” Stan’s grin widens. “Heyo! Haha!”

“What! What are you even—“ Stanford’s face flushes.

“Stanley,” Fiddleford cuts in firmly. “Stop goofing around, this is serious.”

“Yeesh, Fidds,” Stanley says, deflating. “I've had worse, I’ll be fine.”

“Just let me do this for ya, Stanley,” Fiddleford insists. “Infections can get real nasty, and I don’ know what I’d do with myself if I’d let ya get one under my care.”

The ‘let me take care of you for my sake, not your own’ was a tried and true method for Stanford, and it seemed to work on Stanley as well. He sags a little, letting out a belabored sigh before delicately taking his shirt off. It was a slow and visibly painful process as sweat stuck it to his skin and he tried to avoid jostling his shoulder, but it came off eventually.

Even in the dim light, Fiddleford could make out a multitude of scars across Stanley’s abdomen. Combined with the ones he’d already seen on his face and arms, they told a story of a life hard lived. Fiddleford knew that Stanley had been kicked out at seventeen– Stanford, as it turns out, was a very sad and very talkative drunk— but Stanford had always assumed his twin was doing fine for himself, so Fiddleford assumed the same.

Clearly, that wasn’t the case, but it also wasn’t the point.

“Sit down against the armrest, will ya?”

In a surprising display of obedience, Stanley folds his arms protectively around his middle and does so without complaint. One hand cups itself firmly over a jagged scar just above his hip, blocking it from view a little too late.

Fiddleford stations himself behind Stanley, taking in the wound. He recognizes the symbol burned into his shoulder, of course, had almost burnt himself against it a few times, but he’s not about to ask how it ended up branded so deeply into his shoulder of all things. Besides, that's hardly his biggest concern right now.

Whatever scabbing might have been present had been torn away by Stanford’s nails, leaving the wound open and agitated. There’s red scratch marks carving their way up his shoulder, but Fiddleford’s more worried about the reddened, swollen skin all around it; the beginning of cellulitis, Fiddleford reckons. Luckily, it only covers a small area, and the foul odor just comes from Stanley’s stained clothes, as far as he can tell.

It’s not too late. Ideally, Stanley would be taking some antibiotics orally, and maybe some painkillers too, but things haven’t been ideal in a long while.

“Alright buddy, keep your mouth closed, this is gonna hurt,” Fiddleford warns.

“Yeah yeah, I’ll be fine, nerd,” Stanley says, waving a hand dismissively. “Nothing I haven’t felt before.”

“You worry me, Stanley,” Fiddleford notes. He wants to steady Stanley with a hand on his shoulder, but he doesn’t have a hand to spare. “Here goes…”

He starts at the top of his shoulder, wiping at the scratch marks Stanford’s nails left. They aren’t deep enough to draw blood, but they’ve broken skin enough to hurt as Fiddleford wipes them down. Stanley hisses through his teeth, but remains in place.

That is, until Fiddleford drags the cloth lower, down to the actual body of the burn. Stanley’s entire body jerks violently away, and Fiddleford himself flinches back from the sudden movement.

“Fuck!” Stanley grits out, folding forward over his legs, hands clenched into tight fists. “Son of a bitch, Fidds, what do they put in that stuff?”

“I don’ rightly know,” Fiddleford confesses apologetically. “All I know is that it does the trick, if you actually let me use it.”

“Easier said than done,” Stanley grumbles, eyeing Fiddleford over his shoulder. The hurt, the mistrust in his eyes stings a bit, but Fiddleford pushes it aside.

“I know, I know,” Fiddleford soothes, “maybe… Stanford, darlin’, could you hold Stanley still?”

Stanford looks over, eyes wide. His face is clean now, and he’d retrieved his glasses from the back of the couch at some point.

“Um,” Stanford sputters. “I… yes, I can do that.”

It’s clear to Fiddleford that he very much does not want to do so, but he obediently moves over to sit in front of Stanley. Awkwardly, he places one hand on Stanley’s uninjured shoulder and presses the other to his sternum. His gaze lingers on a scar near his armpit, just beside where Stanford placed his hand. It’s a burnt puncture wound, a bullet wound, worryingly close to his lungs. It takes him a moment to tear his eyes away to look up at Stanley’s face.

“I— is this okay?” Stanford asks, his tone uncharacteristically uncertain.

Stanley just rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t complain. Fiddleford gives Stanford what he hopes is a reassuring smile when he glances up at him.

“Ready?” Fiddleford asks softly. Stanford nods, while Stanley lets out a grunt of acknowledgment.

Fiddleford returns the cloth to Stanley’s shoulder. Stanley keens painfully, slamming his head down on Stanford’s shoulder as he grits his teeth and fists his hands into his shirt. Fiddleford winces, but wills his hand to remain steady as he forces himself to continue.

“Sorry, sorry,” Stanford mumbles frantically. Fiddleford understands the sentiment. Stanley just whimpers in response, shaking his head.

“Almost done, Stanley, hang in there,” Fiddleford murmurs soothingly.

He scrubs away at the last section of his wound, makes sure there’s no visible debris stuck within the burnt flesh, and then finally, mercifully, pulls away.

“Done, that’s it, I’m done, y’all right?” Fiddleford says, as steadily as he can.

He moves as far away as he can on instinct, nearly tripping over the tangle of blankets that make up Stanley’s bed before he slams his back into the counter. Stanford is staring at him, brows furrowed, but he can’t read his expression beyond ‘displeased’. Stanley doesn’t respond, just slumping weakly against his brother.

“I’ll— here.” Fiddleford drops the cloth in favor of the roll of bandages he’d retrieved earlier.

He's so reluctant to get close to the twins again that he contemplates just tossing it in the direction of the couch, but eventually he settles for getting just close enough to place it against the arm rest before backing away.

“You can take it from here, right, Stanford? Won’t be much help bandaging with only one hand, so I’m just gonna—“ Fiddleford jabs a finger towards the door behind him, “work on my prosthetic, or somethin’. Try ‘n’ figure out what to do next. I’ll see y'all in the morning, right? Maybe get some rest, if you can.”

All this is said as Fiddleford shakily backs out of the room. Neither of them say a word as Fiddleford exits the break room and slams the door behind him.

(Un)happy Reunion

Ford Pines & Stan Pines & Fiddleford McGucket | 3,143 words | Mystery Trio Through the Multiverse AU

Fiddleford reunites with Stanford and meets Stanley after 6 months alone in a post-apocalyptic city in some other dimension.

Chapter 1

see notes for future chapters!

If Fiddleford had to describe this world he’s spent the past 6 months in in a single word, he’d probably choose terrible. Other descriptors such as strange, horrible, post-apocalyptic, and dangerous also come to mind. Lately, though, he’s been putting a lot of thought into the word lonely.

There were intelligent species here, once. It’s clear in the almost-familiar design of this destroyed city, in the tattered books written in a language Fiddleford can’t make any sense of, in every little item he comes across. He even has an idea of what they looked like— he’s seen their art, their pictures, their mangled bodies— and Fiddleford has to wonder if Bill understood the cruel irony of sending him to a world that was once inhabited by pig people.

He wonders, sometimes, if he could have found a way to communicate with them, if any of them were left. Would his throat have been able to form the words of their language, or theirs his? Would they have tried to help him? Just being around another living creature that didn’t try to kill him on sight would be pretty nice right now.

Unfortunately, that’s never been what this planet has in store for him, and when he hears something move nearby, he knows it’s a threat.

It must be in the next alleyway, and it’s fairly big— most of the monsters Bill left here are. Fiddleford goes still, staring in the direction of the alleyway and listening for any other sign of movement. It’s quiet for a moment, until Fiddleford hears a loud crash and what sounds like hushed murmuring. So many things have sounded like human voices lately that he doesn’t put any stock into it, just dips into the nearest alleyway in an attempt to escape whatever is making that noise before it even knows he’s here.

It’s an attempt that fails immediately, as he crashes into a pile of shredded metal like an idiot. It slices through the worn fabric of his pants, but as far as he can tell it doesn’t reach skin. It does, however, make a very loud noise, and the not-voices go quiet.

“Son of a gun,” he allows himself to hiss, and he takes off down the alleyway without any further regard to the sound he’s making.

Something steps out in front of him, blocking his way. It’s taller than the previous inhabitants of this planet, but smaller than most of the monsters he’s encountered. It’s built a lot like a person, and not a particularly imposing one at that, so Fiddleford doesn’t slow his roll for a moment. He fishes a knife out of the tattered pocket of his lab coat, and slams his shoulder into the beast.

It cries out, still sounding a heck of a lot like a person as it hits the ground, breaking Fiddleford’s fall. He presses the knife to what should be its throat, and is almost surprised to find smooth, human-looking skin beneath his blade. It’s a familiar shade, even, and Fiddleford can’t help but let his eyes wander further up to its face—

“Stanford?” Fiddleford spits, downright baffled to see his big brown eyes looking up at him.

Stanford opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, Fiddleford is being hauled off of him. Something has grabbed the back of his scarf and pulled it tight, tight enough that Fiddleford gags against the construction, tight enough that he’s reminded of Bill’s hand around him, crushing the breath from his lungs, and suddenly he’s being slammed against the brick wall of the alleyway and crushed between Bill’s uncaring fingers and—

“Stanley!”

That’s Stanford’s voice, he’d recognize it anywhere, but how is he here?

“Who the fuck—“

A voice, closer than Stanford’s, unfamiliar but definitely not Bill. It’s a person that’s holding him, and even if he’s struggling to breathe against the arm pressed to his throat, he can deal with a person.

Fiddleford kicks out, slamming his knee between the legs of his assailant.

“Son of a—!” he shouts, but he lets go of Fiddleford to stumble back.

“Stop! Stanley, this is Fiddleford! He’s the reason we’re here!” Stanford says, inserting himself between the two of them. “Well, he’s the reason I wanted to be here. You’re the reason you’re here and we don’t know how to get back.”

Yep, that insufferable holier-than-thou tone is definitely Stanford.

“I’m the reason you’re here?” Fiddleford chokes, rubbing his throat as he tries to regain his bearings. “It’s your fault I’m here!”

“I know that!” Stanford says, turning to Fiddleford.

Stanford looks about the same as he left him, beyond the dark circles under his eyes. Fiddleford knows the same can’t be said about himself.

“Listen, Fiddleford, I—“

“Save it, Stanford,” Fiddleford snaps, shaking his head as he turns towards the other man in the alleyway. “You must be Stanley?”

When Fiddleford first heard about Stanford’s twin, he imagined a carbon copy of his then-roommate. Stanley is not that. They’re nearly identical in the shapes of their faces, the texture and shade of their hair, the slope and color of their eyes, but the similarities end there. Put simply, Stanley looks like shit, with long, tangled hair, an unshaven face, and dark circles to rival Stanford’s, all wrapped up in a ratty jacket over an even rattier shirt. Even the way he holds himself is worrying, the way he’s hunched in on himself like a coiled spring, turned to the side like he’s keeping something just out of sight, eyes weary, teeth grit.

“Yeah, that’s me,” Stanley grumbles, and he draws himself even tighter. Even in conversation he’s locked on the defensive, and with the brief glimpse of an interaction between him and Stanford, Fiddleford can’t say he blames him.

“Nice ta meet ya, Stanley. I’d offer to shake your hand, but mine seems to be missin’,” Fiddleford greets. “Well, not missin’ exactly, I know where it is, but it ain’t doin’ me much good inside the stomach of some rottin’ monster.”

“Your arm!” Stanford exclaims belatedly.

He grabs for Fiddleford’s shoulder, but Fiddleford quickly smacks his hand away, a shudder running through his body at the phantom sensation of someone grabbing at what remains of his arm. He steps away, eyeing Ford wearily, almost expecting him to try again.

He doesn’t. He brings his hand back, tucking it to his chest for just a moment, hurt in his eyes. After a moment, he clears his throat, straightens up, and tucks his hands behind his back.

“I take it that’s a new development?” Stanley says, watching Fiddleford carefully. The matching scrutinizing gazes of both twins sets Fiddleford even further on edge.

“I would never have allowed such grievous injury to come to him under my care!” Stanford huffs, glaring at Stanley.

Fiddleford barks out a laugh, shaking his head.

“And who’s god-forsaken vanity project brought me here, Stanford?”

“Easy, Fiddlesticks,” Stanley cuts in before Stanford can respond. “None of us are happy to be here, but he—“

Fiddleford raises his hand. “Shut yer yap.”

“Okay, rude—“

“I mean it, don’t ya hear that?” Fiddleford hisses. It’s barely audible, not like Stanford and Stanley’s rustling in a nearby alleyway. Something is moving through the main streets.

“I don’t hear shit, except some hillbilly interrupting me wh—“

“I hear it,” Stanford says, and Stanley throws his arms up in frustration.

Click-click, drag, click-click, click-click. Three functional limbs, one dragging along, moving at a gradual, unhurried pace. The time between each step suggests a step length of perhaps a meter. It’s large, too large for Fiddleford to deal with without his arm, but likely small enough to fit into this alleyway. Stanley seems pretty tough, and Stanford had somehow held his own for 6 years in Gravity Falls despite its many dangers, but he wasn’t about to trust either of them in a fight against whatever unknown beast was approaching.

“It’s coming from—“ Stanford whispers, and despite the low volume, Fiddleford cringes at the sound.

“I know,” Fiddleford snips quietly, “follow me.”

Fiddleford doesn’t bother to check if either of them listened— Stanford reacts well to confidence, and with any luck, Stanley would as well— before he’s slinking out of the alleyway, carefully watching his step this time.

“Come on, dumbass,” Stanley hisses, and Fiddleford spares them a glance. Both have moved to follow, but Stanford is hesitating, looking behind him even as Stanley grabs his arm and pulls him along behind him.

“I just want a look—“ Stanford mumbles, shaking Stanley’s hand off.

“This ain’t Gravity Falls, Stanford, an’ I won’t hesitate to leave you ‘n’ your brother for mincemeat if you don’t hurry yer asses up!”

Stanford immediately turns towards Fiddleford, eyes wide, mouth parted in shock. Fiddleford glares at him, lets him truly believe he means it (Fiddleford knows he wouldn’t leave Stanford or his brother, damn him) before he turns back around and continues on the way. This time, Stanford and Stanley follow without any further prompting, though Fiddleford hears what sounds like an amused snort from Stanley at Stanford’s sudden obedience.

[razzle-zazzle]

Ok but what happens next 😭😭😭 how do the show and movie ninja interact I NEED THEIR SHENANIGANS /lh

Okay okay so. basically. the movie ninja are temporarily stuck in showverse, so the show ninja just kind of (slightly awkwardly bc they weren't expecting this AT ALL) take them in for the time being while looking for a way to send them back. we get to see the similarities and differences between the show and movie ninja, we get to see both groups reacting to each others' lore/lives ("you all still go to school? ew" "you all live together like a permanent sleepover? so cool!").

But also. When Ghost possessed Movie Cole. Movie Cole got a whole bunch of Show Cole's memories. They're all jumbled up and discombobulated, though, so for all that M!Cole knows more about his counterpart than any of the other ninja it's usually expressed in Sudden Realizations as the disconnected pieces click into place. Meanwhile, Show Cole kind of has Ghost and Corpse' memories, kind of, and Ghost was pretty much present the entire time he was in movieverse even if he couldn't be seen or heard for most of it (and did have a few episodes where he couldn't see or hear either), so Show Cole also has a weird amount of insight to his counterpart that he doesn't really actively realize he has. This leads to great interactions such as:

S!Cole: i mean, i kind of remember? it's in bits and pieces S!Cole: your history essay was awful btw M!Cole: what would you know, you literally— M!Cole: wait M!Cole: YOU DROPPED OUT OF MARTY OPPENHEIMER'S?! S!Cole: i still know half-assing when i see it! M!Cole: MARTY. OPPENHEIMER'S!!! M!Cole to S!Cole:

and

S!Jay: soooo are those memories making any sense yet? M!Cole: no S!Jay, thinking about the love triangle: oh thank fsm M!Cole: you two fight a lot, huh? S!Cole: i dunno what you're talking about, we're best friends S!Jay, opening the fridge: yep! we're—COLE DID YOU TAKE MY FUCKING PUDDING CUP AGAIN S!Cole: the best of friends 😌😊🌸✨

and

M!Cole, to S!Kai: so what's "human pinata" supposed to be M!Kai: the WHAT S!Kai: ...some things are better left forgotten S!Cole, from across the bounty: HE WAS AN ENTERTAINER AT KIDS PARTIES A FEW YEARS BACK M!Cole: oh M!Kai: oh? OH???? M!Kai:

There's more that I can't recall off the top of my head rn, too. But yeah once the slightly morbid twist is resolved Cleaved gets back to regular crossover shenanigans and impromptu cross-dimensional group therapy. Of course, there's also that fact that M!Cole's indentity was revealed back home, but surely that's not going to cause any problems when they finally figure out how to reliably travel through realms...

right?

[scrawnytreedemon]

While I intend this blog to remain a largely news-free space due to the constant hellstate of the world, let me be clear that I stand in full support of both the Palestinian and Jewish peoples who are currently experiencing relentless hate and suffering in these horrid times.

I am disgusted at the number of people, especially "progressives" on this website who have used this situation to spread both Islamophobia and Antisemitism. This goes double if you dared to reblog those "punch nazis/fascists <3" and "[x] are welcome here!" posts while in the next breath spreading dangerous fucking narratives that kill people.

So many people in online political spaces evidently see this as nothing more than a case of picking "sides", when ultimately what matters is supporting the oppressed against fascist governments and militias, wherever they are.

Common people will always have more alike with each other than their leaders. This is not a novel concept. Your activism should always be motivated by love and compassion first, and hatred second. If you use your beliefs as an excuse to find an acceptable target to vent your hatred towards regardless of the actual material outcome, you are no fucking activist.

You're a bigot.

[boxwinebaddie]

Hi Uncle Neen! HYH! It sucks to see you struggling cuz you are a big inspiration of mine :( but you said you did your makeup the other day. Can we seeeeeeeeee maybe?

d'awwww ksahdlkdss, you are so sweet, nonnie! thank you so so soooo much, baby! xx i really needed this. i hope i heal ( i will...i have to, i am too much of an asshole to let god win, fuck him ) and i hope you heal from whatever harms you as well! you can do it! mWAH!~

-- also brb crying ;-; <3333 whenever y'all tell me i inspire you, it seriously makes me want to cry; you mean SO much to me, so to mean so much to you; it's Everything to me, my love. thank you for believing in me, know i believe infinitely in YOU and will keep fighting the good fight, living authentically and modelling pos behavior on this blog bc i take being a role model very seriously. :')

BUT ANYWAYS! sakhdlasd oh my god aaAaaAAAaa please!!! YOU ARE SO CUTE, THIS IS SO CUTE OF YOU, hELP AAAAA!!!!!! but yes, of course, of course. considering i am super bacteria nina right now and had to resign from my ( admittedly ) trash job and am no longer, at this moment, an education girlie ( besides on here, ofc, educating you on my two gay sons in love ), i can freely exist and post pictures of myself again! thank you for for giving me a safe place to do that. <3

i'll elaborate on what 'safe' means to me down below, but just for context i took this...sigh...last week, when i was told i would 'all better', just trying to feel like myself again after a month of being unmadeup and unfitted and ugly and troll-like and on death fucking row and fucking miserable as hell, i had my new hair appointment lined up, was about ready to take life by the balls again...and that shit BLUE BALLED ME SO HARD AND SAID *ravenstan vc* JK, BABY!

okay, sorry i have some really bad scarring and wounding up there by my neck so i had to cover her up but...there she is! the she beast!

as for posting pictures of myself just...please...PLEASE BE KIND. and i wish i meant that as a joke, i mean it very, VERY seriously. i am at a point right now, where i look my very fucking worst, i am weaker than i have ever been in my life, there are abrasions all over my body, which per the results of my culture ( i was right...several fucking times and no one would listen to me ) my body is trying to kill me and right now...it is Winning. ( i'm not gonna lose tho, dw, i am a nasty bitch from hell and i refuse to die this ugly, i fucking won't; choke )

tldr; I AM VERY VERY VERY SENSITIVE ABOUT HOW I LOOK. I DO NOT FEEL PRETTY, I AM LIKE ONE BAD COMMENT AWAY FROM TEARING THE SKIN OFF MY FACE AND I AM TELLING YOU GUYS I CANNOT DO THAT, I CANT CREATE ANY TEARING ON MY BODY OR THE BACTERIA WILL TUNNEL AND ITS HARD ENOUGH AS A BITCH WITH DERMATILOMANIA.

PLEASE BE NICE TO ME.

i know we shoot the shit on here and are funny and clown eachother, you guys are my family; it's what families do, but my boundary is that you can say i am pretty and be objectively kind or Please do not send me anything At ALL about how i look; i CANNOT take it rn. i know were just joking, but please, please, PLEASE Do NOT compare me to any ugly creatures, make me feel weird about any part of my face, tell me i look blurry, say anything is too big or too small…

please don’t meme on me abt my appearance...Ever.

it’s a very sensitive spot for me and makes me v anxious.

all this to say, i love you; thank you for being my home.

HYH.

-uncle nina, single ravesey mother and human petri dish

[plasticross]

john do me a favor and remind people that i do just talk like this even when i was not evil. please and thank you.

[simple-and-cozy-life]

Can't wait to be a mom someday

[maddy-ferguson]

talking to new people again is making me realize that (this is gonna sound dramatic) i haven't lived in five years but what i have done is watch a lot of movies and read a bunch of books and believe it or not that actually makes me an interesting conversationalist in some ways (?)

[scionshtola]

man h*rmes really just. did not have the tools to help m*teion properly process all that despair. and how could he! no one else had them (the flowers were always white!). but he cared about her. and he wanted her to go out and learn how to deal with despair and more (in the course of your long journey you will learn from those you meet. learn to walk and run and so much more). and it’s just so sad to me. if he knew how to handle his own despair, if he knew that everyone had to find their own reason for living, he wouldn’t have needed to send her out in the first place.

[katierosefun]

i am definitely procrastinating on my studies right now (hello, finals) and no one asked for this, but. okay, as someone who’s now just a gasp away from finishing her first year of law school, the way i can confidently say that yes, make friends at law school/professional school in general. but also the way i want to slam over everyone’s heads that like. also. it is quite literally necessary to stay in touch with and invest even more deeply in your friendships outside of professional school because hello did you know that those people are going to be the ones that remind you that you have an actual personality

[zaggyzoo]

tried writing in the gc b i'm literally desperate but i am already frustrated

[welcometoteyvat]

. windblume

[yelloworangesoda]

i wish i was taller