#because im the only person who lived them

[starsambrosia]

I remember sitting in the ocean and letting them swarm me for hours

My heart aches so bad for the sea if i think about it my heart issues kick up so bad it can cause heart attacks

[Tw dark themes / spiral]

And i live in the midwest

I dont kill myself because i dont think about it, at least, ive wondered if thats why.

I miss home

I miss my friends

My real friends (fish)

I hate it here and i want to die

Theres only one person here who makes it bareable, and sometimes even nice

But i think ive had it

I cant hide from the sea anymore

Id rather just be suicidal and enjoy what i xan from afar than dwprive myself of it my entire life.

I wanted to sail, i still do, i doubt ill ever see the ocean though honestly.

Genuinely.

Its been too long, its hardly even a memory anymore

I want to die

I want it to end

I want to go home.

I have no hope ill get there, it feels entirely useless, im just holding onto another pipe dream and i feel stupid for it honestly.

Really fucking stupid.

Im never getting home

Living mirrors illuminate the water 🪩

[homeofhousechickens]

Arctic Eggs and CHICKENS ramble

There is a ton of themes and stuff and different interpretations going on in this game but Im going to just talk about the chickens an the stuff i noticed.

To start off, the chickens are modeled after a red sex link production hens a type of hen bred for egg production at the cost of their lifespan. Battery hens rarely make it past their second birthday. Im not sure if the devs chose this breed on purpose or if it was just what a generic chicken looked like in their mind. Maybe they chose this breed because a white chicken would be washed out in the arctic environment.

The game starts with the player looking at the chickens in the cages and it brings up a lot of questions. Why are there so many chickens? Why are we the player character here? After you walk through this poultry prison you are tasked with the job of a poultry prepper meaning you cook eggs. It doesn't matter how many eggs you drop there is always more to fall into your pan. Its interesting to me that there is a surplus of chickens and eggs but their is apparently a food shortage going on in the game.

I think the player character has much more in common with the battery hens then they realize. It doesn't matter though you are greeted with the first line in the game, "Can you fry eggs ontop of Mount Everest?" It seems like and irrelevant question and in a way it is.

This game is quick to show you that you have very little freedom, same with the people you are cooking for. A lot of people are hungry and its not really for food is it? You cook cigs, bullets, beer, sardine cans and cockroaches. Eggs are not the only thing on the menu.

As you play the game multiple people tell you they are caring for the chickens but they are worried about what happens to them when they get taken away. Many seem quite distraught that they aren't being told what is happening to them especially since eating poultry has been banned (but not eggs). Some people still think about eating the chickens but are quickly disgusted by it soon after. One person even said they all "taste like tomatos now"

We can almost see this worry about caring for something and having it be taken away paralleled to the robot prisoners and their cockroaches, one of them weeping over the roaches you cooked for them like they were their own children. We can assume people also get taken away in this game, we see the prisons and the discarded brain in the garbage after all. Maybe this isnt about losing the chickens or the roaches? Maybe the poeple raising the chickens wish to know if they are being eaten?

There is no privacy in this game, people squat over toilets full of feces in front of everyone and the prisoners do the same as the guards watch. It reminds me of the conditions of a chicken battery cage, cramped and full of feces. These people are living very similar lives to the chickens with little freedom to choose how they live.

After feeding the necessary amount of people you go and meet the Saint of Six Stomachs, the supposed ruler/dictator of this place. He is an amalgam of organs and.. chickens? To me It is implied 3 of his stomachs are hens. You see these trapped chickens right before you see his face. Perhaps this is why chickens are banned because the Saint is made up of chickens, maybe this is where the chickens who are taken away go. This part of the Saint's anatomy fascinates me. You go and cook the hens 6 eggs.

Afterwards you are met with the Saint's head eerily making eye contact from their glass container. After cooking his egg he asks "Can you fry eggs ontop of Mount Everest?" He says he never thought about it since it was irrelevant to him. He is right about that, how would someone in his situation even think about doing that, like you and the chickens he is trapped. Just like to the player character it is a nonsense question that is irrelevant.

The credits roll after you grasp the saints hand, you pilot some kind of fighter plane to a mountain where you have a serious crash landing. As you and your friend look over the wreckage (where you may have died in tbh) you ignore your objective of frying eggs since you abandoned your pan at the Saint's and climb the mountain finding a chicken out of her cage perched on a rock. Maybe the chicken is here because you need an egg or maybe she is here because she made the choice to be. It is quite likely the player character will die on the mountain or is already dead.

The game ends after you slowly reach out and pet the chicken.

This game is absurd and challenging. The surreal vibes can kind of make it easy to not take it seriously especially with all the silly dialog but there is something very special about this game and what it is saying. I think it really "gets" chickens as a symbol as well and it was nice to see a game really use them for its story.

[freaky-deaky-cookies]

Hi can I make a request I totally understand if you don’t want to write about this. I wasn’t sure if you take angst request like this so im sorry if I’ve sent this and you dont take requests like this. My request is for bg3 companions with a tav who is kind of a shell of a person. Like a demon could take their soul and they would fine with because they see no use for it. They just sort of go through life and are just waiting for their death. This is due to their tragic backstory that I won’t go into detail about but there is themes of repeated sa involved (you don’t have to mention this if you don’t feel comfortable) this request is based off of my oc which I hold very close to my heart and really just looking for some comfort right now. Like I said tho if this isn’t something you are comfortable with I completely understand.

BG3 Companions x Tav who is an empty shell (Comfort HCs)

Gale

Gale is a lot more perceptive than he appears to be

He notices the void of sadness behind Tav’s eyes

If Gale felt a genuine concern for Tav, he would ask to speak to them in private

When he approached them, he would not demand attention. Instead, he’d sit quietly beside them, offering only the weight of his presence. He wouldn’t try to fix them, but simply be there, sharing the silent knowledge that sometimes, just being was enough.

Wyll

Wyll would approach the situation quietly and calmly

He wants to ensure Tav knows that he – and the others – are a safe place for them to feel whatever they need to 

Offers a listening ear and only comments if asked

“I know what it feels like to think you’ve lost it all,” he’d begin, his gaze gentle. “But I want you to know something. You don’t have to carry this alone. You have people here who care. And that’s worth something, even when it feels like it isn’t.”

Astarion

He understands, he really and truly does

He himself has been there hell, he is still trying to dig his own way out of the void

Astarion was not a man accustomed to offering comfort. He was far more at ease with sharp words and cynical humor than with gentle reassurances. But with Tav, it was different. When he saw the emptiness in their eyes, he felt an instinct he couldn’t ignore—a tenderness that surprised him, even though he would never admit it aloud.

“You know," he’d start, his voice unusually soft, "you’re not as invisible as you think. I see you. I know what it feels like to be hollow—nothing left but the shell of a person. But you’re still here. Still standing. And that counts for something."

Lae’zel

Comfort is not her strong suit, like at all

While she may not take the most gentle approach, she respect Tav like no other and does not with to bring them any unwanted harm

She didn’t have the words to soothe the soul, but she had something she could give: strength. Her voice would be sharp, but it was clear she was trying to reach through to them, to remind them of the warrior they had the potential to be.

She wouldn’t coddle Tav, but her presence would be one of unwavering support.

Halsin

(I believe he would be the best to go to when faced with anything troubling)

His own heart breaks at the sight of someone he holds dear in so much pain

While Tav does not show it, he knows them well enough to see through that facade

“You are not beyond healing, Tav,” he’d say, his voice like the rustle of leaves in the wind. “It may not be quick, and it may not be easy, but you can grow from this. And I’ll be here to help you, however long it takes.”

Shadowheart

Shadowheart understood loss in a way that few could. Having sacrificed so much in the name of her faith, she had learned the deep ache of feeling lost and broken, even as she clung to hope. When she saw Tav, something in her recognized the emptiness—the hollow look in their eyes that mirrored the darkness she had once lived in.

Shadowheart would not push Tav to speak, but she would stay close.

Jaheira

Jaheira wouldn’t offer empty platitudes or tell them to ‘snap out of it.’ Instead, her words would be measured, rooted in the kind of wisdom that comes only with age and experience.

Jaheira wouldn’t rush toward Tav or overwhelm them with too many words. Instead, she’d give them space but remain near enough to show she was there, a steady presence in the quiet of the camp. Her approach would be measured, as she always was, and her tone would be gentle, but there would be no hiding the firmness of her resolve.

Mithara

When she saw Tav—someone who had already resigned themselves to the idea of being worthless, someone who had already given up on their own soul—it hit Minthara harder than she would admit. It was a reminder of the darkness she had lived in and the toll it took.

“I won’t pretend I have the answers. And I won’t ask you to simply believe in something when you don’t,” Minthara would say, her voice tinged with the knowledge of her own mistakes. “But I can tell you this: You don’t have to walk through it alone. If you want me to stay, I will. If you want silence, I can give you that too. I am here.”

She would stay by their side, offering her presence more than anything. It wasn’t a grand gesture, and it wasn’t about trying to force Tav to snap out of it or seek some grand redemption.

Karlach

"Hey," she’d say, sitting down beside Tav and offering her broad, calloused hand. "You’re not in this alone, alright? I’ve been to places where I didn’t think I’d make it through. But I did. And I don’t care how long it takes. You’re going to make it too. You don’t have to be alone in this. Not while I’m around."

Her words would be warm, her fire like a shield around them. She’d hold Tav’s hand and, even if they didn’t respond, she wouldn’t leave. Her presence was a quiet promise that they didn’t need to do this by themselves.

[missingininaction]

alright, friends, i might say something you don't like but i think it's important. not just to defend a character, but because i think this is literally making people's experience and relationship with this game worse.

give jimmy like two seconds to exist.

by hating jimmy so much you refuse to even say his name, and judge real, living people for liking him, you are cheapening your experience by boiling down the main character to the most ~yuckiest~ moments. and, by not making a seperate space for hating on him, you are drowning out the voices of people who actually have nuanced things to say about his character. you know, the skilled writers and artists that feed the fandom? limitation is what kills fandoms, you have to know that.

is jimmy a good person? no. is he a good captain/companion/worker? Absolutely Not! he crumbles like dust under any pressure and he immediately shifts blame off of himself, he is an actively harmful individual and it's right to be upset by his actions. i literally had to stop myself from saying "man FUCK jimmy." multiple times because i didn't want to spoil how terrible he got to my friends when i showed the game to them.

but you have to understand; people are more than their actions. thats part of the entire point of the game. thats why its so abstract. you are meant to think about the nuances of their situation.

we can agree that anya was way more as a woman than what happened to her and what she did as a result of it, right? that despite her best efforts, she was a victim of circumstance, and she deserves to be understood and analyzed fully?

then why, seeing a fictional man who has done immoral things, are you so disgusted you won't even draw, write or discuss him outside of hate? what is that doing for you, to ignore literally the main character of the game because of his actions?

now, this is not to say people can't hate jimmy. i understand it! as someone who has been a victim of s/a and abuse, i understand if you hate him and are even triggered by him to the point of avoiding mention of him. (but...why are you in this fandom? ((not aggressive im genuinely asking)))

you can feel however you want about any character, my goal is not to control people. but i thought it was common knowledge to not hatepost about someone in their tag? over actual insight into his character and, you know, the main themes of the game?

jimmy is a man who has struggled his whole life. both him and curly confirm that in the game. he's unable to control his emotional outbursts, and he likely had no idea what to expect from being in fucking SPACE for over a year with people he probably didn't even know before that trip. and pony express and their corporate safety corner cutting certainly didnt help, did it?

for one reason or another, he most likely was never actually taught how to manage his emotions. that's just how it is sometimes, growing up as a man. and it would make sense if he was forced to deal with everything himself, no? he always complains, but he still says he'll handle it. because that's what he's always had to do. and this is just the start of what i could say about what made him the way that he is.

he's a victim too, not only of his own actions.

surprise surprise, people who do awful things can also be victims.

honestly, this entire situation baffles me. how are you going to avoid one of the main characters of the game, let alone the one you play as ninety percent of the time? mind you, curly is also guilty, and i am happy to see at least some people giving him space for nuance. because he is also a victim!!! why is it so impossible to see jimmy as nuanced, when literally every other character also has incredible depth to them??

you're tarnishing and spitting on the beautiful writing of this game just because one character is too icky for you to feel comfortable thinking about for too long. it's horror, you absolute morons. it's supposed to make you uncomfortable.

if you hate jimmy, i dont blame you. but please, please, make your own space for it. be kind to people who want to explore jimmy and the darker themes, and like him for what his character represents. this is a video game fandom, not a witch hunt. and please, learn some fandom etiquette while you're at it, okay? okay. thank you

also just say his name. its not a slur youre not gonna go to hell if you say jimmy. like this isn't as important but still it just feels like a microcosm of this whole thing.

[nerd-party]

ill try to answer them all:

genevieve, and I like it!

Yep! I can't draw but I do acting and singing

Yes unfortunately

be on stage as a job

Will Campos waved at me once

not right now, my legs are too fucked

being overlooked: seen but ignored for someone else who is just as good/worse than me

Barret Wilbert weed

I can sing, do card tricks, and I can walk incredibly quietly (ninja style)

absolutely fucking not, just TRY waking me up before 10am at the weekend

Only for bf/gfs but I am down for a nickname

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHA YES

I don't watch shows so I'll list one show and movies: good omens, red white and royal blue, the princes bride

not really lol

Me and my friends from all across my friend groups sitting in an oak tree eighty feet high, smoking weed and passing round a bottle of wine that never emptied. We watched the snow fall and the sun rise and it was literally perfect.

nope

nope again

nope x3

unfortunately I am a social butterfly but I wish I could just be on my own sometimes fr

yep! Never used to be but I guess I'm popular now

bite my nails

I always forget I have mascara on so I rub my eyes and I look stupid- I feel open to attack.

Jon if it's a boy, Elisa if it's a girl, and backup name of Ollie/Yasmin/Jasmine

dont have one but DAMN Andrew Garfield fine

music

Dogs but I do love cats

Literally tumbles my only social. I guess ao3?

@valkzzheart

brother, sister, mum, dad. Pretty standard shit

chocolate 🤤

Yep!

YES I LOVE ROLLERCOASTERS

yep, quite well

I have a. DETAILED PLAN. if y'all want me to tell it exactly lmk and I'll divulge my master plan.

yes, a few

Yep!

Pink/blue!

England!!! TOP BINS MATE OAYYYY

Any musical theatre artist!! Or Conan Gray

yes!! It's a big dream of mine but I don't wanna be super famous

Yes I love dresses but I wish it was warmer where I live so I can wear them more

popular from wicked / astronomy by Conan Gray

talking about it in person yes (especially with parents) online no, actually doing it would be a no

like 12?

Yes I do it all the time, Im in a shooting club

Nope!!

i love horror!!

According to my friends yes and I think I'm good too

one time I got really mad at my parents because I was sent away from the dinner table in my old home so I went upstairs and flushed a whole toilet roll down the bog

pretty exhausted

Yes I was actually

i never used to be able to dance but I can now

Biting my nails again

Yes!! I bleached it just so I could dye it

Blue

ferret

Onstage once yeah but it wasn't my fault (mic cut out, I got made fun of)

Yes!

lots!

My main friend group is GAE 🏳️‍🌈

drama

None

sometimes? It varies

pet sematary (1989) FANTASTIC

Not on TV but in podcasting: Normally 'Ly Oak-Swallows-Garcia-Li-Wilson-Marlowe-Swift-The-Unworthy is just like me fr

need to be at the top and extreme competitiveness I force myself not to think about, plus my extreme feelings about fairness

hiking the mountains and going around the world to beautiful places

If I would never die I would start committing crimes

singing aloud onstage and around the house to practice

who I became friends with would change ASAP and my class too

yes absolutely

Late October

My room with all my DND stuff

Did my singing competition auditions!!

an astrophysicist

A stable career and a consistent home life

I usually speak up, I don't think I have a moment like this

I have to get better at everything.

I feel like that already with how many extracurriculars I'm doing bruh 😭

seeing the sights bro

Houses for me and my friends/family, stable education funds for me, my friends, my kids, my family and all our kids. Keep people safe from bankruptcy

The past, instantly. Live in the 80s and 70s forever

a love of acting and helping others

same one from earlier- hanging with the boys committing crimes!!

The woods would be nice but if get bored. The city

Nope. There's no afterlife. It just ends.

my year 6 teacher was the GOAT

playing Lego with my friend from nursery, Aoife.

Einstein so I can get his last words

I don't really know yet. I've laughed so hard I've cried but it's not the same

that some people are gonna think others are better than you and you just have to deal with that. Favoritism is everywhere and fairness is irrelevant.

Nothing.

kill some people probably /hj

run away/defy authority unfortunately

yes, because no matter what people say, looks matter especially early in life. If youre pretty at school you aren't bullied and people like you. I want to give my kid the best chance. (not saying this is a good thing, I hate this but it's the truth)

idk just kinda happened one day

impending doom and my immense hopelessness and just. General sense of emptiness and failure.

exist.

hey that wasnt 100 you skipped 2!!

100 Questions!

Thought these might be fun? Ask me some and I’ll try(I can’t promise) to get something up for you later! these questions aren’t my own

1. What’s your middle name, and do you like it? 2. are you artistic? 3. Have you had your first kiss? 4. What is your life goal? 5. Do you have any expieriences with a famous person? 6. Do you play any sports? 7. What’s your worst fear? 8. Who’s your biggest inspiration? 9. Do you have any cool talents? 10. are you a morning person? 11. How do you feel about pet names? 12. Do you like to read? 13. Name a list of shows that have changed your life. 14. Do you care about your follower count? 15. What’s the best dream you’ve had? 16. Have you ever kissed someone of your same gender? 17. Do you have any pets? 18. Are you religious? 19. Are you a people person? 20. Are you considered popular? 21. What is one of your bad habits? 22. What’s something that makes you feel vulnerable 23. What would you name your children? 24. Who’s your celebrity crush? 25. What’s your best subject? 26. Dogs or cats? 27. most used social media besides tumblr? 28. best friends name 29. who does your main family consist of 30. Chocolate or sugar 31. have you ever been on a date? 32. Do you like rollercosters? 33. Can you swim? 34. What would you do in the event of an apocolypse? 35. Have you struggled with any kind of mental disorder 36. Are your parents together? 37. What’s your favourite colour? 38. What country are you from/do you live in? 39. Favourite singer? 40. Do you see yourself being famous some day? 41. Do you like dresses? 42. Favourite song right now? 43. Does talking about sex make you uncomfortable? 44. How old were you when you first got your period? 45. Have you ever shot a gun? 46. Have you ever done yoga? 47. Are you a horror girl? 48. Are you good at giving advice? 49. Tell us a story about your childhood. 50. How are you doing today? 51. Were you a cute kid? 52. Can you dance? 53. Is there anything you do that you can’t remember ever not doing? 54. Have you ever dyed your hair? 55. What colour are your eyes? 56. What’s your favourite animal? 57. Have you ever made a huge fool of yourself? 58. Do you have a good relationship with your parents? 59. Do you have good friends? 60. Are you close with anyone of the lgbtq+ group? 61. What’s your favourite class? 62. List all the tv shows you are watching. 63. Are you organized? 64. What was the last movie you saw? Opinion? 67. Which tv character do you relate to most? 68. What are some things that stand between you and complete happiness? 69. If you received enough money to never need to work again, what would you spend your time doing? 70. What would you change about your life if you knew you would never die? 71. What would you do differently if you knew that no one was judging you? 72. If you could start over, what would you do differently? 73. Would you break the law to save a loved one? 74. When was the last time you travelled somewhere new? 75. When you think of your home, what immediately comes to mind? 76. What have you done to pursue your dreams lately? How about today? 77. What did you want to be when you were a kid? 78. If you dropped everything to pursue your dreams, what would you be risking? 79.When did you not speak up, when you know you really should have? 80. Describe the next five years of your life, and your plans, in a single sentence 81. What would happen if you never wasted another minute of your life, what would that look like? 82. If you could live forever, how would you spend eternity? 83. How would you spend a billion dollars? 84. If you could time travel, would you go to the past or the future? 85. What motivates you to succeed? 86. What dream that you’ve had has resonated with you the most? 87. Would you rather live in the city or the woods? Why? 88. Do you believe in life after death 89. What teacher inspired you the most? How did they? 90. What’s your fondest childhood memory? 91. If you could have dinner with any one person, living or dead, who would they be and why? 92. What would you have to see to cry tears of joy? 93. What is the hardest lesson you had to learn in life? 94. What do you think happens after we die? 95. What would you do if you would be invisible? 96. What’s something you can’t do no matter how hard you try? 97. Would you want to choose the sex and appearance of your offspring? 98. How did your first crush develop? 99. Is there a feeling you are trying to ignore? What is it? 100. Do you live or do you just exist?

[kittynugg]

heyyyy guess what i write sometimes too

words: 3,821 im really rusty with writing so uhh read up idk

Stanford Pines had always been a loner.

The stone-cold, action movie hero type of man who never needed anything from anybody. Certainly not companionship.

It was dark. Eleven-thirty, an hour after his niece and nephew had finally stopped bugging him. The boy, who had introduced himself as “Dopper”, “Roderick”, and “Dipper”, had asked him enough questions to make his head spin and English stop making sense to him. And he enjoyed answering questions! 

The jury was still out on his name.. All of those seemed cruel to name a child, especially “Roderick”. What he did know for sure was that his nephew was rather sharp for his age. Hence the gratuitous questions.

Mabel, whose name he knew from the girl repeatedly introducing herself in what almost seemed to be a sugar-fueled record skip, asked more about rather childish things like his favorite color (red) and animal (plaidypus). Then, of course, Stanley shooed them away come ten-thirty so they could go to bed and he could have a moment of peace.

Several hours of peace.

Thank the stars.

He decided to spend these hours awake so as to savor them. Also because he couldn't seem to get to sleep, but that wasn't the focus of his reasoning. The nonstop questions, the footsteps pounding on the floor above him and voices shriek-laughing, it was miserable. And Stan had done his best to keep them away from him! It was preferable, yet almost offensive.. Like he was some kind of monster they needed to be protected from.

“As far as I'm concerned, they're the only family I have left.” Fine. Maybe he was a monster. But he was a monster with a job to finish; dismantling the portal. He’d spent the hour since the kids had gone to bed at work, and a well-deserved break was in order.

And so he found himself in the kitchen. Pitch darkness was broken by the refrigerator light as he opened it up and sifted through it. He moved a box of Pitt Cola aside to find a rather captivating prize in the back of the fridge, a six-pack of beer with a sticky-note reading “STAN’S B SODA DO NOT TOUCH” attached to the cardboard handle of the carrier.

Now, Ford was never quite fond of alcohol, but it had been thirty years since he’d tasted Earth alcohol. A mix of curiosity, temptation and the desire to stick it to his brother that person living upstairs won over the simple thought of “I don’t really like this stuff.”

Also he didn’t want to think about why he couldn’t sleep and stress was a bitch.

A six-fingered hand carefully removed the sticky note, and he took out a pen to write on it. 

“Very convincing, Knucklehead. -Stanford Pines” was written in neat cursive. He took a bottle of “soda” from the pack and stuck the square of yellow paper back onto it. With the beer in-hand and his journal tucked away in his coat for writing, he realized he would need a private place to unwind. The basement was stuffy. Clearly Stan hadn’t taken care of the ventilation system. Another one of his messes he would have to clean up. 

The ideal place would have fresh, cool air, and no “family” to bother him. Unlike that person living upstairs, he didn’t have family. He’d left that behind years ago. There simply wasn’t room for family in his life, not with the dark path he trekked. Destiny wanted him alone and so alone he was.

He dramatically looked to the window as he tried to sip from his closed beer bottle, then glared at it as if it’d dampened his melodramatic display on purpose. But then his eyes darted back up to the window. Fresh air, check. It was outside in the woods. No family, check. Everyone was asleep anyway. 

Bingo! He would sit outside for a while! With a pinch of luck, Stan hadn’t removed the ladder leading up to the roof. A beer and journaling in the great outdoors. That was just what he needed tonight.

A short walk into the, ugh, gift shop led him to where the ladder used to reside, now obscured by a blue curtain but still there. The bottle was stored in his coat (it had the perfect little pocket for it, he normally stored a gun in it) so he could climb the ladder with both hands.

He opened up the hatch in the ceiling to poke his head out and look around, and once he was sure nothing was there to watch him he pulled himself up and through. Aged roof tiles nearly slipped out from under his feet as he stepped onto them. Stan’s laziness was going to kill him someday, he swore to god.

Or.. Whatever was up there, he thought as he looked to the stars.

There was a nice, flat edge he could sit on above one of the attic windows. And when he glanced up there, he even saw a chair and cooler! Absolutely not the doing of that person- Stan, too wordy, because Stan was deathly afraid of heights. And the large one (Zeus?) seemed to listen to whatever he said. The only person left to be the culprit had to have been the teenage girl working the counter, Mabel and his nephew were out of the question. Too short and weak to bring anything up there.

Wendy, on the other hand, was the daughter of “Boyish Dan” Corduroy, and he’d seen that man in the gift shops. No longer boyish, and no longer non threatening. He could snap a person in half like a toothpick and then use them as a toothpick. Logically, his children would inherit that strength. 

He climbed onto the edge and parked himself up on the chair. A relaxed sigh broke the near-silence of the night, only crickets and the rustling of wind through trees serving to serenade him.

Until he heard the pitter-patter of footsteps. Light ones, and they made muted clicks against the floor below the open hatch. He recognized the sound as Mabel’s slippers. So he wasn’t surprised when he saw her head poke up to look around. Surprised that she was awake, maybe, but not surprised that it was her.

When they locked eyes for a second Ford quickly looked away, figuring that eye contact would make her come closer and knowing that he didn't want that, then opened up his beer.

Ignore it and it might go away.

Unfortunately for his me-time she did not. Instead, she climbed up herself, smiling at him as if it wasn't far past her bedtime. She didn't even look tired. A sip was taken from the brown glass bottle, he figured he would need it even more now- oh that tasted disgusting.

“Grunkle Ford!” The girl skipped up to him with practiced ease. Not a single tile shifted under her feet, which prompted him to wonder how she did it. He didn’t get the chance to ask before she flung herself beside him onto the lawn chair. It nearly tipped over with the force, causing him to flinch and shoot a subtle glare at her anything-but-subtle.. self.

She looked at him with a pair of wide, innocent eyes. “You come up here, too?” Asked Mabel with a glance down at his beer. The way her brows furrowed indicated that she knew what it was, and why he might be drinking it alone in the middle of the night. So what if he was a little stressed? “Wendy comes up here to get out of doing stuff at work..” Her eyes flicked back up to his face with the addition.

He took a drink, then got off of the chair so she could fully sit. Maybe she’d put a damper on his night but she didn’t deserve to be cramped on the edge of the chair or on the roof tiles. And maybe he didn’t want to be cramped on a chair with her. Human contact (or any contact with a living being that didn’t involve violence) had become– Was always very foreign to him. Standing with one arm folded behind his back and the other holding his bottle, he spoke.

“I did take her for the aloof type.” Like all teenagers, Wendy was uncaring and scared him with her insincere compliments and new age “computing phone”. He could name a single teenager who he wasn’t afraid of and that teenager had grown up to be a waste. “I don’t usually come up here, no, but I would before your other Uncle came along.”

The discouraged look that flashed behind her eyes wasn’t unnoticed by Ford, despite how quickly it was replaced with determination. A determination that made him nervous. “You mean Grunkle Stan.” With insistence masked by harmlessness she smiled up at him. Like the correction wasn’t at all hostile.

“..Right. Stanley,” relented Stanford before sitting on the roof tiles to be a little closer to her level. She didn’t seem satisfied by that, and gestured expectantly for him to continue. What? What else was he supposed to say? “What, what’s this?” He mimicked the movements of her hands with an arched eyebrow.

Apparently that was the wrong answer, he assumed, watching as her eyes narrowed at him. “And who is Stan?”

“..Your.. Great Uncle? We went over this seconds ago.” He’d have to run some tests later, he was concerned for her memory. 

Luckily, she elaborated, “who is he to you?” Ah. She could have just said that was what she wanted. He didn’t even think about his answer before it slipped from his mouth. “My twin brother.”

“That’s right!” Mabel jumped up with a beam, yelping at the chair nearly toppling over. Acting on reflex he placed a hand on her shoulder to steady her. Once she was stable again, he moved away and resumed his original position, hands subtly and habitually hidden behind his back.

“Be careful,” he scolded, “a fall from that height is enough to break bones.” ..Said the one drinking alcohol, which stunted one’s coordination. Maybe he was being a hypocrite. Nevertheless his statement was still valid, he was much better equipped to fall off of a roof than her. 

A sheepishly muttered apology from her sent a pang of.. Was that guilt? Yes, he felt guilty for scolding her. If these kids were going to be living under his roof for a while, he supposed he’d have to get used to scolding them in a way that didn’t cause fear or shame. That never worked on Stan when they were young.

It must have been why he ended up so.. Unruly, into adulthood. Because he lacked the proper discipline. 

No use dwelling on it, he needed to find out what Mabel was doing up. Sleep was crucial to a growing child and by the looks of it neither of the children had been getting enough. “What are you doing awake? It’s an hour past your bedtime.” 

His eyes barely caught a mischievous smirk plastered on the girl’s face before she turned her head. Then she looked back at him with that same ‘I’m an angel and would never do anything wrong!’ face, but this time with a hint of.. Sorrow?

“Grunkle Ford.. Do you ever feel, um..” The vulnerable tone she spoke in hit him right in the hardwired paternal instincts. ”Sad?” As she continued it seemed almost like another little sparkle appeared in those eyes of hers, which didn’t help 

Naturally, in spite of his.. Awkwardness around children, or humans in general, he hoped to curb this sadness. What to say, though? According to his research females were at higher risk of experiencing depressive symptoms than males. With any luck this “sadness” she spoke of wouldn’t be related to that. She was getting to the age where he’d started experiencing.. Mental troubles of the like.

“Occasionally,” he decided upon answering, “but sadness is an emotion everyone exper-”

She interrupted him. “That isn’t really what I mean.” Hm. That wasn’t looking good for the depression theory. “I mean, like.. Lost? And kinda alone?”

He pretended to consider her question, though immediately knowing the answer. Did he feel lost? Yes. Give him time, he’d find himself. Did he feel alone? Yes, but it was better that way. His life was too dangerous to share with another person.

So he answered, “well, yes. But you have your brother by your side. You aren’t alone at all.” Always a confusing feeling. Loneliness despite being surrounded by people. Oddly enough, he didn’t seem to feel that now. “Have you been feeling that way?” 

“I know I’ve got Dipper,” ah, so that was his name, “but do you have anyone? I heard you and Stan talking. You don’t sound really happy.” Her brows knitted together as she seemed to scrutinize his expression, an expression that had gone just as thoughtful as hers. A little offended, frankly.

This wasn’t about him. Since when was this about him?

He was perfectly happy, for her information. Dusty old college textbooks, paranormal creatures and the fungi growing in the basement that made him woozy were enough company for him.

“I have the cycloptopus, it’s..” words trailing off, he remembered that the cycloptopus wasn’t a good conversationalist and liked escaping its jar to try and eat his flesh. It was actually kind of a jerk if you asked him. 

Mabel finished his sentence for him, “a weird creepy monster that doesn’t count?”A little amused grin worked its way into her features. “You need a person! Then you won’t feel alone anymore!”

He opened his mouth to speak but she cut him off in a reprimanding tone. “A human person. Like.. Someone you’ve known for a really long time!” She made a circular gesture with her hands, seeming to expect him to get a point she was trying to make. “Someone you’ve known since, I don’t knooooow.. The womb..?”

“I don’t follow,” admitted Ford with hunched shoulders. Since the womb.. Who had he known “since the womb”? 

As it would turn out, that was not the response she was looking for, made evident by the palm she slapped to her forehead. The smile remained on her face but felt.. Customer service-like. Forced. “Someone you know really well. Or, at least, you did.. You’ve gotta know who I’m talking about.”

“I.. I really don’t, Mabe-” and then it hit him! “..You want me to reconcile with Stanley because you think I’m lonely.” That called for a nice, big drink of his beer. What a laughable request! Stan ruined his life and she wanted him to walk up to him and treat him like a person!? After he sold his soul to this “Mystery Shack” nonsense, Ford wasn’t sure if he could still call himself a person. But Mabel seemed almost excited at his correct assumption.

She chirped, “yeah! You said I have Dipper, but you don’t have anyone right now.” An empathetic gaze was directed up at him. “Wouldn’t it be a little better if you and Stan stopped being all stupid with each other?” Being called stupid hurt his (extremely) delicate ego. “..You know you’re kind of a dum-dum. And it just makes me kinda sad.” She despairingly looked at her feet.

Ooh, there were those paternal instincts again. Something about the glum look in her eyes implored him to just.. Fix it. He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t annoying. With a sigh, he looked at his bottle, then poured it out over the edge. The bottle was set on the roof beside him when it was void of the bitter liquid he’d been drinking. Beer was awful, anyway.

“..Maybe I’m being a little rash, sweetie,” that slipped out, but caused Mabel’s expression to light up just a little. “Sweetie”. Ignore it. You aren’t getting attached to them, they’ll be gone in Autumn. “But you can’t expect me to just forgive Stanley.” For all he’d done? Hah! He’d have to be insane to even think about it.

She laughed softly at him, like it was silly he’d even say that. “Not yet, Grunkle Ford! I get mad at Dipper sometimes, too.” Tiny hands rose to fidget with her hair. “And it’s really hard to get over that. I think if Dipper ruined my dreams, then pushed me into some crazy-bonkers nightmare dimension I’d be mad at him for, like, a bazillion years!” Her shoulders arched in a shrug. “But we always say we’re sorry and hug it out after we’re done being big ‘ol grumps about it.”

A “big ‘ol grump”. She was calling him a “big ‘ol grump”.

“And then we’re happy again! Being all mad at Dipper is the worst, you can’t like being mad at Stan all the time.” It wasn’t something he explicitly enjoyed, no, but it was necessary. 

..Send him to the Theraprism, damnit, he’d finally lost it.

Ford ran a stressed, slightly uncoordinated hand through his hair. Certainly the alcohol was influencing this, but.. “Okay, you make a good point. I admit, I’m.. Not ready to reconcile with him. But when I am, I will.” He smiled faintly at her.

“Are you sure you’re gonna?” Mabel raised an eyebrow and squinted at him. “..I’m putting on my skepticals.” Then she made circles around her eyes with her fingers. He’d be damned, they did make her seem rather skeptical. 

So, he used an age-old technique that would surely convince her. “..Pinky-promise,” he crouched to her level, extending his extra finger. “This one’s a full finger more sincere.” A warm chuckle sealed the deal.

Or, well, Mabel’s giggle and pinky wrapped around his did.

“Pinky-promise.”

Ford tugged his sweater sleeves down and took a breath. It’d been four days since Weirdmageddon and one since Stan finally remembered him, finally remembered at least some of the good times and.. The worst of the bad. 

Since the moment Mabel’s “scrapbook therapy” sessions began to focus on him he’d been apologizing, but they’d all been met with confusion. “Yeah, uh..  I don’t even know what you did.” Now that Stan knew who he was he figured now would be a good time to make good on that pinky-promise. 

“Stanley?” He piped up, head poking into the living room. The television blared with the latest “The Duchess Approves” movie (which was probably made in the Jurassic era) and Stan was parked up on the armchair watching it.

Without even looking up, Stan greeted, “hey, Ford.” Surprisingly, the lack of attention and aloofness in his voice were comforting. He didn’t have to think about who the man in front of him was, he wasn’t tentative, he seemed to just know Ford as his brother.

The folding chair beside him attracted Stanford like a moth to a flame. He invited himself to sit on it and turned to Stan, then idly turned to watch the movie with him.

“You are insufferable, Lionel!” Boomed the Duchess, slipping the diamond wedding ring off of her finger. “If you only want me for riches I suggest you sell this.” She flicked the ring across the table without even looking up at the count’s shocked expression.

As she stood, she adjusted her hat and sharply turned to leave. “Good day.”

“But- But Duchess, you must reconsider!” Count Lionel stood to give chase–

And that was about when the movie lost his attention. It was so dry, the script must have taken ten minutes to write! He looked at Stan; completely engrossed in the crappy movie. “So..” he cleared his throat a couple of times to get his twin’s attention. When he grumpily turned to him, he spoke. “I understand that you’re very absorbed in your movie,” muttered Ford apologetically, “but I’d like to talk about the past forty-or-so years.”

“Eh.” A hand was waved at him. “After the movie.”

He didn’t think he had a choice, so he miserably looked back at the television.

The next ten minutes were painful. But, well, it was only ten minutes and he’d certainly been tortured with worse and for longer. Four days ago. His hands subconsciously moved to rub his arms at the thought. A relieved sigh escaped him as the movie finally ended, and Stan gave him his attention.

“Good movie, right?” He nudged his shoulder. “Ah, past forty years or whatever, let’s talk.” An arm was slung over the armrest, Stan making himself comfortable.

Ford gave a muttered, lied comment about the movie being “okay” and rested his hands in his lap. “I figured I should.. Give a formal apology. For..” He subtly consulted the written topic on his palm. ‘BEING MEAN AND BAD’ was written in pink gel pen by Mabel minutes before he entered the living room. 

That did not help.

“..being a bad brother.” He’d been horrible, really, he was supposed to protect Stan as his older brother (every minute counts with twins) but instead he went and ruined his life. “I don’t know how I could ever make it up to you, or repay you for bringing me back, I–”

He was silenced by a barked laugh from Stanley. “Repay me? Jeez, you think I’m some kinda loan shark?” A snort slipped past his defenses with the laughter, not without a grumbled ‘ew’. 

Ford, of course, figured that was exactly how it was, so he slowly nodded.

“..Moses– I don’t want shit from you. You being alive’s enough for me.” His words weren’t without a glance around to ensure that there weren’t any kids around. Then he shifted to wrap an arm around Ford’s shoulders and tug him into a little side-hug. 

That was a feeling Stanford missed, so he leaned into it. He couldn’t help a mumbled protest to Stan’s acceptance, “but I ruined your life. Twice! No, three times now.” The project, the portal, and the memory erasure during Weirdmageddon. Thinking about them all in quick succession gave him a churning feeling in his stomach that he hated. 

And yet, Stan shrugged it off. “And? I ruined your life too. You ask me, I should be the one sayin’ sorry.” Oh, please. Ford almost laughed at that. Giving everything he had was enough of an apology for the rest of his twin’s life. He just hoped he could share that life with him.

“No, Stanley.. I honestly feel my life’s been improved significantly. Dipper and Mabel have been delightful, not to mention you–” Once again he was rudely interrupted, this time with a rough pat on the head.

“See what I mean? I’m glad you’re here too. That’s all I want.” His eyes flicked back to the TV as the credits for some other awful period drama came on. “Ooh, this is a good one.”

As the screen slowly stole Stan’s attention from Ford, he thought about his words. Just being there? That was all Stan wanted?

..He could do that.

[thebisexualwreckoning]

Assorted thoughts on culture, generational trauma, racism, queerness and where they intersect for me

My family is from Bangladesh. Or they used to be. All of my great-grandparents were born there. At least 3 of my grandparents were born there as well. My mother travelled there on the back of trucks transporting hay. The town, practically the village, my father grew up in, is in Bangladesh.

There's this story my mother tells me. When I was around three years old, we were in a Bengali restaurant in New York and I was so happy to meet fellow Bengalis that I immediately started to speak Sylheti. They gave us a discount for that. called me Khuki and told my parents how nice it was to speak in the language of their home with someone once again.

Another time, another restaurant. This one is in London. I'm not three anymore. I don't speak Sylheti anymore either. They say I forgot because I had no one to speak it with. I don't even speak proper Bangla. It's now Bengali with a dash of Hindi. This time when we enter the restaurant, I don't approach the servers. They approach us and say how nice it is to find a fellow Bengali in the wild. We complain about how we're tired of white people food. My mother wishes she had macher jhol. The servers tell her to wait and bring out a plate of their own dinner. She cries as she eats it. Tears of joy and solidarity.

I'm twelve years old and for the first time, I decide to relearn my culture. I join a summer class, pencil in hand, ready to learn how to read and write all over again. I want to read my mother's magazines, the Feluda comics that she read out loud to me as a child. It paid off, but not in the way I expected, my mother fighting with my father, grabbing hold of my hand two days later as we boarded the aeroplane back to her father's house.

I'm 13 years old, on anti-depressants that I forgot to take some days, neurodivergence diagnosed, and learning more about myself each and every day. I come out as bisexual to my mom but do not tell her about my genderfluidity. Afraid of what she'll think when the daughter she always desired turns out to not be her daughter at all. We call my brother in Canada. He tells us about the people who shout slurs at him in the metro. We do not tell him that we are afraid that someday the slurs will turn into bullet wounds.

I'm fourteen years old, and my father's come to visit. It's his birthday so we travel to his parents' house. more than 4 hours away from ours. They greet us with barbed wire words on my grades, my brother's weight, my mother's inability to be a good wife. We smile through it all. I wonder how they can be so cruel. The people who cared for me when I was a child. The woman who named me now my worst enemy.

I'm fifteen years old now. My Bangla is clearer. Sharp vowels and clear consonants. It will never be rounded syllables of my childhood ever again. I learn of the Bengal partition in school. Learn how people killed each other in the name of freedom. I want to scream, "Amra shobai ek." We are all the same. We share the same culture, the same language but in different dialects, the same history. Stop killing, please. I'm tired of the violence and hatred, I say. This war started before I was born, will it continue after I'm dead as well?

I gathered the courage to google LGBTQ+ laws in Bangladesh today. And I realised something. I love my culture. I love my roots. I love this language, my ancestors, and every family member, even though sometimes I feel like there are too many to count. But I do not love what they have made of it. I saw the words splashed across the newspaper headlines, Anti - Queer laws still in place, Being gay is punishable with a life sentence in prison, a gay man is stoned to death in public and no one does anything to stop it. I do not cry. I've been doing nothing but crying for too long now.

Instead, I'm writing this. I'm writing this to tell everyone that it isn't over. I'm writing this to tell everyone that if I'd been born 413 km to the west exactly, I wouldn't be alive to write this post right now. I'm writing this because I am tired of our stories going untold, buried under layers of propaganda and zealotry. I'm writing this because people think my being Hindu, my being Indian, my being Bengali means that I cannot be queer.

Well sorry to prove you wrong. Because I'm still here. And I'm still kicking. And as long as I'm alive, I'm not going to stop. Neither will the thousands of others like me, telling their stories in a thousand different ways, fighting for their people in a thousand different ways.

So this one is for those still kicking.

We're Here

We're Queer

And we're ready to fucking fight.

[inkskinned]

it is all chaos and entropy. the thing is that the chaos and entropy make it beautiful and lovely.

yes, it's true that nature and the universe are uncaring and unspecific, and that is terrifying. i have lived through some of the unfairness - i got born like this, with my body caving into itself, with this ironic love of dance when i sometimes can't stand up for longer than 15 minutes. i am a poet with hands that are slowly shutting down - i can't hold a pen some days. recently i found a dead bird on our front porch. she had no visible injuries. she had just died, the way things die sometimes.

it is also true that nature and the universe are uncaring and unspecific, and that is wonderful. the sheer happenstance that makes rain turn into a rainbow. the impossible coincidence of finding your best friend. i have made so many mistakes and i have let myself down and i have harmed other people by accident. nature moves anyway. on the worst day of my life she delivers me an orange juice sunset, as if she is saying try again tomorrow.

how vast and unknowing the universe! how small we are! isn't that lovely. the universe has given us flowers and harp strings and the shape of clouds. how massive our lives are in comparison to a grasshopper. the world so bright, still undiscovered. even after 30 years of being on this earth, i learned about a new type of animal today: the dhole.

chance echoing in my life like a harmony between two people talking. do you think you and i, living in different worlds but connected through the internet - do you think we've ever seen the same butterfly? they migrate thousands of miles. it's possible, right?

how beautiful the ways we fill the vastness of space. i love that when large amounts of people are applauding in a room, they all start clapping at the same time. i love that the ocean reminds us of our mother's heartbeat. i love that out of all the colors, chlorophyll chose green. i love the coincidences. i love the places where science says i don't know, but it just happens.

"the universe doesn't care about you!" oh, i know. that's okay. i care about the universe. i will put my big stupid heart out into it and watch the universe feast on it. it is not painful. it is strange - the more love you pour into the unfeeling world, the more it feels the world loves you in return. i know it's confirmation bias. i think i'm okay if my proof of kindness is just my own body and my own spirit.

i buried the bird from our porch deep in the woods. that same day, an old friend reaches out to me and says i miss you. wherever you go, no matter how bad it gets - you try to do good.

[anonymocha]

finally coming out as a dyke in 2023 is realizing i dont need to pretend to simp that Guy just because everyone else in my friend group does

[butchlifeguard]

swimming <3

just add water, katie ledecky / tumblr / me / "how swimming helped an ocd writer quieten their mind," oprah daily / "how does swimming help shape my body?" plunge san diego / "simone manuel has already won," the ringer / pinterest / tumblr / aristotle and dante discver the secrets of the universe, benjamin alire sáenz / instagram / the swimmer, john cheever / me

[autisticaradiamegido]

day 226

team charge got me feeling emotions

[tumblweeds-omegaverse]

random omegaverse thought:

There must be people who experience specific instinct things with indifference or boredom.

Procreative cycle coming up? "Crap, I've got plans this weekend...stupid skip weeks."

Caught an intriguing scent while walking? "But I need to get to work! Shut up brain."

Had a snap response to a distressed sound? "Who was it?! ...right, it's my day off, I can go back to sleep."

Somebody growled at them? "Kid, I'm not a rival, that's my sibling."

Super cozy cuddle session happening nearby? "I'm gonna pass tonight guys, no social battery left, maybe next time."

Group of friends heading out to flirt and check out other singles? "I'm coming with you but only to make sure you all get home safe."

Setting where fated mates or soul bonds or permanent marks are a thing? "Meh. I don't really want one or care if I ever get one."

People in the actual omegaverse would get as bored of their stuff, as we do of ours, you know? It could be interesting to see that kind of vibe in fics. Biological demands faced with all the excitement of paying bills or doing laundry or tying your shoes.

Even if that kind of energy might not drive a plot, it could be interesting to have as a contrast to the people who do have big feelings about them - good or bad.

There's the friends who can't wait til they have a pack of their own, and the one friend who isn't against it but couldn't care less. There's the group in the office who are all about scent compatibility tests and figuring out one's best match and what sprays most highlight it, and the coworker who has no intentions on putting that much effort in. There are parents who hover and protect their offspring by scenting them multiple times a day, and others who don't see what the fuss is as long as it's done in the morning.

...also: packs with introverts who show care by giving each other space. So often, closeness is depicted through physical touch and tactile affection, but comfortable silence is meaningful too. Knowing people are near, but not having to interact until you're ready. Sitting in the same room doing different things, knowing that all it takes is a "hey, look at this" to share what you're up to. People understanding and accepting each other's differing or fluctuating needs for how and when to recharge. Seeing somebody reaching out or sharing space, beyond what's their norm, as a signal of the fact that they care.

[dayurno]

hiii dayurno could you tell me more about raven!jeremy? it's such a new idea sounds very interesting!!!

hiii of course! buckle up. long story and also a collab with ao3 kevjean :3

well first of all let me say that in this au jeremy is not part of the perfect court or in fact even close to it at all. he’s a sub striker with a high jersey number who did not see much playtime during his career as a raven and was on the lower end of the raven spectrum skill-wise. this is important to tell you because the fic doesn’t start with jeremy in the ravens, it starts with him dealing with the aftermath of the nest getting dissolved and losing every bit of his hopes and dreams after sacrificing everything in his life to make it in eau—it starts with kevin salvaging the last dregs of jeremy’s college career by recruiting him for the foxes for his last year, even though jeremy, as an ex raven, hates him (and jean) for what they’ve done both to riko and to their team

ok good. so set the scene. jeremy is miserable. the ravens already didn’t like kevin and jean to begin with, isolated as they were from the perfect court. now jeremy lost not only his team but the lifestyle surrounding it, the ideology of the ravens, his partner, and his career prospects. he doesn’t have the eau raven title anymore and he can’t use it to get himself in the line of sight of most pro team recruiters. he gave up a family (that didn’t love him much, but still) and a trustfund for this. kevin day leaves the nest, jean moreau follows soon after, and their king kills himself. Do you understand how much jeremy hates them? kevin and jean were perfect court, were untouchable, didn’t even know or care to learn his name as a sub striker with not much under his belt—and then they left and destroyed everything jeremy had worked so hard for without even thinking about him. without remembering him at all, in fact.

he hates them!!!!!!!! desperately. With a passion. getting recruited for the foxes and by kevin day on top of it all is humiliating, but it’s the last chance he has. jeremy arrives in palmetto an angry hateful mess made ten times worse by kevin’s constant criticism of him, unaccustomed with normal life and without a partner for the first time in four years. he’s volatile and destructive and he has nothing to live for. exy is the only thing he wants and it doesn’t want him back. :) kevin steps in and takes jeremy’s game from him much like he did with neil, both out of desperation because the foxes are a mess now with the addition of their freshmen, and because, while jeremy isn’t really anything to write home about in terms of skill, he’s far more ambitious and disciplined than the average fox. jeremy hates kevin but can’t afford to reject his help. thus begins the most convoluted raven partnership to ever exist

jeremy hates kevin and has a non-negligible wish to harm him whichever way he can, but he’s also a raven that escaped the nest all on his own. he latches onto kevin immediately, the two of them becoming partners in the raven sense of the world while clashing Often and Intensely with each other both on and off court. their relationship gets more and more volatile the more jeremy goes out of his way to get under kevin’s skin, resentful and so angry at what the perfect court’s done to him, while kevin sinks his feet in and pushes jeremy way past his limits in his training. basically they are a match made in hell :) lots of hatefucking and jealousy and violence and the one murder attempt ensue as the foxes try to navigate this destructive, hopeless version of jeremy that wants to die and take down as much as he can in the process, up to and including kevin day. they’re together every second of the day and jeremy hates him for everything kevin took from the ravens, but he also depends on kevin’s training and presence to feel like a person again. it’s a really big mess basically that is eventually made worse (and better) by kevin and jeremy starting to sleep together to get the adrenaline out raven-style. and that’s all without jean coming along, which he will eventually

[plulp]

hey guys. remy design

[rebornofstars]

nobody fucking touch me rn i went to see tf one in the cinema and im shaking. they actually made a good transformers movie. what the fuck

[storywestistrash]

i am actually so tired of the way westerners treat eastern europeans