#honestly shed a tear

[aetherkidatheart]

Ana telling Mariana she's in love with her and that whole fight/rejection scene was painful enough but then to have the microphone ON for everyone else to hear?

[derryallergy]

i just saw a reddie fanfic tagged "written by chatgpt"...i thought we were better than this

[storgicdealer]

after hours

(+doodles!)

ballista: hey guys wheres agent they promised to get us corndogs after our shift O(–(

anyways. vicagent brainrot be upon ye

they make me feel your honor

victim and chosen would kin lake infinity train. probably

[a-lilypad]

jegulus microfic | a sunny morning | 354 words

just some pure fluff i started writing months ago when summer started and i completely forgot about

Regulus’ door slammed open with a bang, shocking him awake. He peeked out from under the covers, squinting one eye open and a look of groggy confusion only to jump again with the realisation that his boyfriend's bright and smiling face was right in front of his. Soft puffs of air brushing against his sleep-streaked cheeks.

“Jamie what’re you doin’” Regulus slurred, his voice thick as he rubbed the crust out of his eyes. James was crouched next to his bed, practically vibrating with barely concealed excitement. His joy was palpable, infectious, and Regulus couldn’t stop the corners of his mouth from turning up into a soft smile.

“Reggie it’s warm outside! It’s sunny!”

Humming softly and pushing himself up into a sitting position, Regulus blinked softly at James. “Wow,” he mumbled with an unimpressed expression, before stifling a yawn with his hand, “What does that have to do with me? It’s too early to be that lively.” He was clearly trying to look serious (although in the opinion of James Potter, who was always right, he just looked cute) and James pressed his lips together to make sure he didn’t let any giggles out. He did not succeed, earning himself a scowl from his tired (and beautiful) boyfriend.

“It means we get to do something fun! Go on a walk, have a picnic, a footie match, the opportunities are endless!” James gushed, speaking a mile a minute. Immediately, a horrified expression overtook Regulus’ face and he began shuffling backwards, pulling the covers with him and stretching them over his head. A dumbfounded whisper of ‘footie match? who does he think I am’ leaving the blanket cocoon.

A valiant attempt at hiding, James thought, though not enough to stop him, who immediately pulled the sheets off the bed and held them behind his back with a chuckle. Regulus hissed at the sudden attack of cold, curling up tightly and still in the process of shuffling away, though now also shooting a glare towards James. Yeesh. If looks could kill he’d have at least a million gravestones, but every single one would be worth it.

[clegfly]

Just finished rebellion!!! Hahahahahaha I’m SO normal right now!!!

[pineconepaw]

rewatching bfdi 1 I miss him so bad

[asclexe]

good omens s2 finale im not sad im just disappointed

[rainyinjanuary]

just finished sex education s4 and am crying profusely in the club (the eric effiong character arc of it all got to me ok???)

[rillabrooke]

Old Friends

“Old friends, memory brushes the same years Silently sharing the same fears” Inspired by Paul Simon’s song

For @informedimaginingartreblogs

~⚜~

A park bench sits on the edge of a stone path in Central Park. On the bench sits an old man, his chin tucked into his pure white beard and his eyes downcast, a heavy overcoat draped over his shoulder. A newspaper, folded idly next to him, shivers in the breeze, threatening to fly away. Waning sunlight peeks through waving leaves, casting faint shadows beneath his feet. He lifts his eyes to watch the city dust dance in the evening glow.

The world moves all around him, not giving him one glance. He sees songbirds flutter from tree to tree; as little children beg their parents for sweet treats from the ice cream stand; as pedicab drivers call to each other in thick accents; as young couples walk through the park holding hands, oblivious to all else. Everything is so young and full of life—even the ancient trees surrounding his park bench sway like saplings in the wind.

He remembers walking through the park down the same stone path, arms intertwined with his love’s. Now, sitting on the rickety park bench, listening to afternoon traffic on the other side of the trees, watching life unfold all around, he feels very old.

~⚜~

The little boy surveyed his birthday gifts: a figurine who’d sit in the attic collecting dust; a book he’d never read; a basketball he’d never play with… He smiled at his classmates with gratitude then turned to the last present on the pile, a small box wrapped in red paper. He didn’t recognize the name on the tag, but he assumed the gift giver was the boy with shaggy brown hair and hazel eyes who was bouncing up and down in anticipation.

He slowly unwrapped the present, careful not to rip the paper. His classmates leaned forward and jostled him away to peer inside. They ooh-ed and ah-ed, and the little boy’s excitement grew. Maybe, just maybe… He didn’t want to get his hopes up. He reached for the box—a brand new Nikon camera, the one he’d always dreamed of.

He met eyes with the gift giver.

“You like it, pal?” the other boy asked, grinning wide, revealing a missing front tooth. “Your mom said you wanted it. It’s the right one, right?”

He nodded and clasped the camera to his chest.

After all the boys were gone, the little boy carried his beloved camera to his room and set it on the shelf. Maybe someday he’d use it, but for now, it’d sit on a pedestal next to the shaggy-haired boy who gave it to him.

From then on, he was that boy’s shadow. Whatever he did, the young boy did as well. The young boy tried out for basketball—even though he was terrible at it—just because his newfound friend made the team. He ate dinner at his friend’s house more than he ate at his own. His friend’s father called him “son” as if he was one of the family.

In high school, their classes and interests split, but they still spent every free moment together. Nothing could tear them apart, not even his best friend’s long basketball practices, not even his parents’ divorce, and especially not his best friend’s girlfriends. He knew that no matter what, they’d still spend the weekend pouring over Polaroids and Andy Griffith.

He never felt happier, more at home, than when he was side-by-side with his best friend.

~⚜~

The young man gazed at the white wreaths hanging from the double doors, willing himself to feel an ounce of happiness for his best friend. It was Ernie’s big day, and he would not ruin it with selfish intent. He forced his lips into a small smile as the doors opened wide.

Walking into the sanctuary to the serenade of an organ, he felt very small. Tall wooden columns reached up to a high wooden ceiling and met at arched wooden beams. The wood cross, draped in Advent purple, stared down at the congregation. How many trees died for this? he wondered absently as he walked down the aisle, all eyes on him. His face glowed pink in the morning light, tinted by the stained glass windows on the side of the sanctuary. The pews, also bathed in colorful light, were filled to the brim with family and friends.

On the altar at the front of the sanctuary rested a blanket of white roses, celebrating new beginnings for his best friend. However, to the young man, it looked like a casket spray, commemorating the death of an era, the end of life as he knew it.

The groom followed close behind, standing to the young man’s right. Shoulder to shoulder, they felt like old comrades again. This may be the last time we stand like this, he thought as the organ struck up the wedding march and the bride stepped through the double doors. His best friend gasped at his bride’s splendorous beauty.

The young man shook the thoughts out of his head. No, he’d be happy because his best friend was happy—beyond happy—delighted, elated, overjoyed. For one more hour, he’d pretend he wasn’t breaking inside from the loneliness already seeping in.

~⚜~

During the next few years, the young man only saw his best friend on weekends or for a quick lunch, but it meant all the world to him. He had some semblance of their companionship before the wedding. Still, they began to drift apart as his best friend got busier and busier with his family, soon to be three.

“Cordelia thinks we need a new house,” said his best friend over a turkey sandwich, “and she’s right, of course. Our spare bedroom is on the other side of the house, and Cordelia wouldn’t dream of leaving the baby in there. I’ve repaired the window three times, but there’s still a draft.”

The young man nodded as if he understood.

“There’s this charming house—one story, three bedrooms—which would be perfect,” his best friend continued. “Just enough room for growth, right? I think I’ll make an offer. What’d you think, ol’ pal? The only downside is it’s an hour away. We wouldn’t see much of each other.”

It sounds perfectly awful, thought the young man, but he kept quiet. He pretended to approve, even when his best friend invited him over for dinner at the new house. His eyes appreciated the neatly trimmed hedges lining the driveway and the marigolds soon to bloom, but his heart thought it was the ugliest house he’d ever seen.

“Isn’t it perfect, ol’ pal?” his best friend greeted him, slapping him on the back. “I couldn’t believe the price. Did I tell you about the fiasco we went through to get it? I’m sure I did.”

The young man shook his head.

His best friend frowned. “Hm, I could’ve sworn… I’ll tell you all about it later, then. Here, let me give you a tour.”

His best friend pulled him into the ranch house as he babbled on. “Cordelia insists on painting the living room blue,” he said, leading him into the room, “and I have no right to complain. It is a disgusting shade of green, and none of our furniture matches. You heard I inherited my grandfather’s furniture? I’m sure I’ve told you. No? I think they look straight out of the Civil War era—they must be ancient—but Cordelia insists vintage is in right now. And if she’s happy, then I’m happy.”

Cordelia, Cordelia, Cordelia, he thought miserably.

His best friend’s wife walked into the room, carrying a box of trinkets. Her golden hair shined like a halo around her head. Her rounded stomach peeped through the fabric of her flowery blouse. She looked radiant. The young man hated the sight of her.

“It’s good to see you again,” she told him. Then she turned to her husband. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but could you help me carry a box upstairs, darling? I want to start on the closet.”

“Of course, my sweet.”

The young man grimaced.

“I hope you don’t mind,” his best friend said to him. “I’ll only be a minute. Make yourself at home.”

I’ve never felt farther from home, thought the young man, and I don’t think I’ll feel at home here ever again.

~⚜~

Before the sun appeared over the horizon, the man ran down the trail, his dog dashing ahead of him. The brisk morning air distracted him from the pain in his lungs and his legs and—most importantly—his heart. Soon, the sunrise would only bring sorrow. He wouldn’t meet the day hand-in-hand with the love of his life. Even now, the sunlight streaming through the leaves was meaningless compared to the withered form of his better half lying on a hospital bed miles away. He collapsed at the end of the trail and buried his face in his dog’s soft coat.

The man composed himself by early afternoon, but his emotions didn't stay in check for long. As soon as he stepped into the reserved hospital room and saw his withered wife lying asleep amongst white sheets, his heart shattered into a million pieces. He tiptoed across the room to a chair by the bed. He paused to glance at the whiteboard on the wall, checking her recent vitals and medications. The man’s eyes skimmed over the dozens of photographs lining the board, pictures he took over their 26 years of marriage, their shared life summarized in four-by-six cards. He let out a heavy breath and turned back towards the bed.

The chair squeaked as he sat down, and she opened her eyes. “My dear,” she breathed. She reached out a limp hand for him.

Tears sprang to the man’s eyes. He grasped her hand like a lifeline.

“I’m okay,” she answered his unasked question, the same question he’d asked every day for months. Her voice was soft and weak, but she gave him a brave smile.

“Tomorrow will be better,” she promised. She squeezed his hand comfortingly as if he was the one lying on the hospital bed. “I’m feeling much better now that you’re here.”

“Tomorrow must be better,” he said.

~⚜~

The last relation stepped out of the sanctuary—finally—and left the man alone. For the first time in three decades, he was truly alone. The man stood by the great stained glass windows and cast his eyes over the newly-fallen snow. “A fantastical fairyland of flurries”, she called it in a painless moment, but in his eyes, it was a cemetery of hopes and dreams.

She was gone, taking his heart with her. How could he ever feel again? How could he look at the blanket of white and praise its beauty, just as she did weeks earlier, gazing out the window from her bed? Now he saw the landscape for what it was—deadly.

His shoulders hunched as he rested his forehead against the cold glass. A tear rolled down his cheek, the first tear he shed since she left. The numbness was beginning to wear off, and the pain in his heart was agonizing.

His grief was interrupted by the clearing of someone’s throat. He quickly brushed his coat sleeve over his eyes and turned around.

A man stood a few feet away, his blazer twisted in his hands. His brown hair was mussed from running his fingers through it, and his hazel eyes seemed tired. He approached the widow hesitantly.

He murmured, “I came as soon as I heard.”

His face was familiar as if from a dream, but when he spoke—a flood of long-forgotten memories washed past his eyes. “How are you holding up?” said the familiar man with the voice of his old friend.

The man shook his head.

“I won’t pretend to understand how you feel,” said the familiar man, “but I know—I know…” His smile wavered, froze, then fell.

In the dim light of the sanctuary, neither said a word but comforted each other in their unspoken pain.

~⚜~

The old man on the park bench looks up as his newspaper takes to the wind, the sports section separating from the front page and flying away. It doesn’t get far before an older gentleman steps on the runaway page.

He hands the paper back to the old man. “Your paper, I believe,” he says, a twinkle in his eye.

The old man thanks him softly and tucks the newspaper into his overcoat.

“May I sit?” asks the gentlemen.

“By all means,” says the old man. “I was saving you a spot.”

“Thanks much, ol’ pal.”

Together, the old friends watch the sun set behind the city skyline, sharing the silence of times past.

[average-book-enjoyer]

the i love you song 25th annual putnam county spelling bee… save me… save me i love you song

i’m so sorryy i’m a fake fan i don’t actually know the plot but the music eats…

the crunchy-ass harmonies at the end PLEEEAASE.

wait. i wondered why 25th annual putnam county spelling bee reminded me of falsettos. it’s that sonofabitch. the composer.

WILLIAM FINN. WHEN I CATCH YOUR ASS. WHEN I CATCH YOU WILL.

the contrast of the punchy, percussive piano and the sweeping winds?? the timpani roll at the end…and the french horn at the beginnign? PLEASE. when i catch you ricky. ricky when i catch you. i could write ESSAYS on this song alone

THE MOVEMENT IN THE MALE LINE HRHGGHHRGHH i am ripping william finn apart with my teeth

PAUSE. wait let me cook. hold on. (i don’t know what i’m talking about actually)

So the piano gets more frantic when they start singing “I love you”. Maybe there’s more movement in the male harmonies because her dad is more physically present in her life but still not emotionally available?? hold on.

Olive’s frantic pleading in the “mama, mama, mama” lines contrasted with the slower, calmer bits between… it feels like she’s trying to be put-together for her parents but she’s yearning and begging for just any parental figure.

Listen. This song is chock-full of CONTRAST.

this should’ve stayed in the drafts but i might try to make this make sense in the morning once i’m back on my meds

[roki-roki-roll]

I think we need more AUs in the HFTH community. I need to escape the pain of recent episode.

[cyrafoam]

you ever sketch something and immediately fall in love with it- and regret everything because the next stage is lineart, and you know it will never be the same as the sketch. No matter how hard you try. it will never. be. the same.

I DONT WANT TO DRAW ANYMORE.

[probablygayattorneys]

Layton Mystery Tanteisha definitely isn't a perfect piece of media, but there are two things in particular that it did that I love endlessly and that's the two I giffed above. The left one is from episode 9 and the right one is from episode 49.

What I really love here is that it shows physical affection between two men and it also shows a grown man crying, and neither of these are turned into a punchline or commented on negatively. Layton and Luke's masculinity is not called into question because they hug or because Layton cries. Both of these scenes are a bit emotionally charged and it would be understandable if they broke the tension by adding a joke and if they were to, that would be the easy target, but they don't, and I love that about it.

[cle-levanter]

i’m grieving channie’s room like it’s the death of one of my family members

[yellowelectroslime]

i am going to cry my fucking balls out.

i cried so much i can physically feel my body dehydrating with every tear that comes out of my eyes.

[addoves]

staring directly at my incoming homework assignment as i draw luke instead