#i think this is the worst its ever been before

[andhumanslovedstories]

I am not closely following the election results tonight, but I am occasionally seeing flashes of them out of the corner of my eye. The most obvious sign that things aren’t going well right now is the complete lack of celebrating on my dash. I know what tumblr looks like when it’s happy. Maybe I’ll go to bed tonight and see something different in the morning. I hope to god that is the case. But I’m thinking about the way I’m thinking right now, and I want to get some stuff down before the future kicks in.

In 2016 I was in a period of my life I affectionately refer to as as my fuckup era. I wasn’t even fucking up really. More just chilling out and falling short of the vague expectations I’d had about what I was supposed to be doing after I graduated college. While my friends from college rented apartments in the city and got jobs that didn’t supply you with a uniform shirt, I lived at home and worked as a barista at a fancy movie theater. That’s a real job you can do for almost five years. I didn’t have a clue what the back half of my twenties should look like. The only long term plan I had in my life was moving out west with my best friend, and my plan for finding a job once I was out there was basically to cross my fingers and hope.

Those days weren’t bad on the whole, but it felt like I was not actually living a life so much as I was goofing off in the waiting room. Sometimes that felt embarrassing, sometimes it felt fun, and sometimes it felt like I was completely pointless to the world.

On 2016’s Election Day, I went to bed early. After watching the votes come in, I needed the night to be over. I woke in a world that felt different than it had been the night before—not just in the actuality of who would be president but down to its foundations. I realized for the first time how much hope I’d had in human nature because now I didn’t feel it anymore. It’s almost silly when I think about it—so many horrible things had already happened that year, people had done horrible things as long as there have been people, and I didn’t think I was naive to that—but something clicked into place that morning.

It felt the same way my world had changed a year earlier, in 2015 during my last semester of college. My college victory lap felt like a prolonged downward spiral. Very early in the morning on a Monday, after pulling an all-nighter and overwhelmed by self-loathing that I could not just motivate myself to work on a paper that had been my only thought all weekend, I self-harmed for the first time in a way that was impossible to pretend it was anything else. Earlier that weekend, I’d tried staving off the urges drawing or writing on my arm, something that did (and does) usually work. I’d written this quote in silver sharpie on my forearm: “Good is not a thing you are. It's a thing you do.”

I picked that quote from the Ms. Marvel comics and liked the words so much, I thought that I wouldn’t be willing to purposefully mess it up by hurting myself there. Didn’t work. They just made me feel more ashamed of myself as I did it.

That was the worst I had ever felt. Then, on the Friday of that week, a friend of mine was senselessly, brutally murdered.

It doesn’t feel now like there was ever a time before her death. My memoir class is now where I wrote about her. My favorite professor is now the one who held me as I cried. My final thesis, the culmination of my history degree, never got finished and certainly never got polished. I turned it what I had and got an A minus. Sometimes I think of rereading that paper to see if that’s the grade it actually deserved. We hadn’t been the closest friends, but my name was still on the email admin sent to professors, listing students who might be emotionally affected by this tragic event. Grace’s murder hangs over every memory I have with her and everything she ever touched. It feels like its own type of obliteration to leave her reduced to her death.

Grace wanted to be a lawyer because she believed in justice and also liked arguing. She could be rude when she wasn’t interested in what you were saying. When you caught her attention, you felt like the most fascinating person in the room. She was so proud of being Jewish. I watched her become proud of being gay. She was so universally friendly that it took me a year to realize that she actually liked specifically me. She had a somewhat silly laugh and an astonishingly luminous smile.

I thought less of the world and the people in it because of how she died. Trump’s election in 2016 felt like that.

After he won, I left stasis. From November through December, I thought harder about my future than I ever had before. Who did I want to be? What did I most value? What did I think was worth protecting? What work wouldn’t kill me to do? At one point, in presumably a fit of madness, I thought, “what if I got into politics.” Epiphany eventually hit me. By the time of Trump’s inauguration, I was already enrolled at community college, getting my pre-reqs for nursing school.

Now it’s election night again, eight years later. I live on the west coast with my best friend, in a house that we bought together. I work as a nurse in a hospital in a city where there are homeless encampments off every highway and someone begging for change on every corner. Meanwhile, there’s Palestine. Meanwhile there’s Sudan. Meanwhile refugees drown in the sea and border patrol shoots jugs of water. Even hurricanes have human cruelty now.

I don’t think people are inherently good or the universe inherently kind. But I am very good at tricking myself into thinking it for a little while, and when I do, I can remember the a specific feeling from Friday of my senior year, from that morning in November— how fucking hard the disappointment hit me because I had expected people to be better than this. It makes me want to be better than that.

I believe, and hope that I always will, that we can make a better world. I don’t know what it looks like, but I think I will see it in my lifetime. Those of us who can believe such things owe a bit of that naïveté to the world—not to excuse atrocities or think them impossible but to believe that we can stop them at all. You have to have a couple people sprinkled around who are genuinely shocked when people do bad things. It’s not that the pessimists are wrong, but you need the occasional counterbalance. I want to be a reasonable cynic’s pleasant surprise.

Every shift, I interact with people at their lowest and worst. I see the direct pipeline from pain to anger to violence, and how fragile that pipeline can be. So many situations can be changed by things as small as a warm blanket or a kind word. Violence can be quite easy to avert. Crises can be quite simply to resolve. Even when I know that whatever I do that shift will not change the circumstances of a person’s life, I think that what I do that shift still matters.

I’m lying in bed, writing this post instead of looking at the news. I wonder how tonight will change me. Been thinking about what I’ll do if Trump wins. Been thinking about how whatever I think I need to do under Trump will still need to be done if Harris clutches out a victory. I guess this is a pessimist’s optimism: to a degree the election doesn’t matter. Good is not a thing you are. It is a thing you do. Our better world will always take a lot of work.

But please god please, why can’t it be just a little easier to do it?

[puppiekit]

I'm not sure if this has been said before but one aspect to Warriors I literally cannot wrap my head around is that there is STILL a rule against medicine cats starting their own families, when the series has repeatedly and VERY explicitly established this rule as a BAD thing. There's just this weird disconnect between the narrative and the writing that I cannot wrap my head around.

The writers have never given us a story in which this rule has helped anybody or prevented any issue. Yet again and again they've only used this rule to establish "Literally has only ruined families and caused pain and heartbreak to our beloved characters." Yet for some reason they act like the clans still NEED this rule or...? Or what? They'll need help with their kits or something???

Like, not only does the rule have no actual benefit to the clans - as we have NEVER seen an instance in which a medicine cat having a family (under normal, socially accepted circumstance!) would seriously hurt others - but it is a rule formed from complete and utter idiocy to begin with! Not even a good reason! Like they could have given us a million different canonical stories behind why the rule exists, and they actually decided on something as stupid as.... Single teen mother with ADHD receives 0 help with her 4 kids by her entire community and cannot handle the stress....... LMFAOOO

They ACTUALLY expected us, the audience, to accept this as a valid reasoning for restricting the lives of literally every future medicine cat ever, and not an unfortunate individual circumstance. And THAT goes without even addressing the fact that Moth Flight literally just had the worst clanmates ever. The clans would never neglect to support any cat in helping to raise their kits, they are groups who rely on working together for god's sake. We literally have cats who do nothing EXCEPT help with that. And I think the writers KNOW this, so they quiet literally gave Moth Flight - specifically - the most unsupportive, idiotic clanmates ever just to excuse it. Like its actually lunacy

[stanskissing]

Ford being like "You are getting out of my house. Tonight" and Stan arguing because he needs to stay at least until the kids are gone and he asks what he's supposed to do and Ford's just very quietly like "What about what you did in highschool?" and Mabel listens through the door while Stan gets fucked against a wall lmao

keep these comng hhguys. polease. im having so many totally legal and not innapropriere thoutghts right noew. also i had to steal that thumb off of google cjz i couldnt draw it and it makes it so much funnier

it was the same night that ford came back, previous arguement aover ford kicking stn out was only a handful of hours before, and they were already back at the throats in the kitchen. it was like idfk two am or some shit and they had ran into eachother in the kitchen and stans anger boiled over and he kinda blew up on ford and ford gets so fucking mad because he still holds so much resentment towards stan and idk stan says some shit about how none of this was stans fault to begin with and ford gets so fucking mad because how dare stan say something like that when he hsas no idea what ford went through with bill and he gets so fuckin mad he shoves stan back by his shoulders and snarls that stan is leaving. tonight. and stan gets Equally as mad becausse first of all how dare ford push him and also is he fucking stupid ford cant take care of those fucking kids and also what is stan supposed to do? he's an old man now, he's spent the last thirty years of his life doing nothing but trying to save ford and now he's yelling at ford and fords backed him against the wall gripping his biceps tight and and then ford mutters, just do what you did in highschool. and stan is floored, because what the fuck. no way ford brought that up. but also. holy fuck? that was so fucking hot? and theres a silence between them, chests panting from their yelling and they stared at eachother and for a moment ford thinks fuck. i shouldnt have said that.

but then stan's hands are on him, all over him, and he's kissing him and fuck ford snaps he pushes him back into the wall again and stans head bumps on the wood and lets out a groan and ford uses that to force his tongue into stans mouth and his hands come up to bury in stan's hair and his fists tug roughly and stan moans and jesus fuck they both missed this so much, not that either would admit it. ,,ford spins stan around, crashing himagainst the hard wall as his hand reaches around to yank his pants open and shove them down his mid thighs, his free hand is pressed against the side of stan's head, shoving his cheek intot he wall as his glasses are knocked off his face nd clatter on the floor, the two of them too caught up in eacother to even notice. the room was filled with huffs and puffs and groans and moans as ford shucked his own pants down and pushed into stan, both of them ignoring any need of foreplay because just needed. needed to be inside of stan anf to fuck all 30 years of pent up emotion into the man under him. he slips into stan with ease and he growls at the idea of stan being so loose because of other men (bros just old dude leabe him alobe) he fuckedinot him harder, leaning forward to press his chest to stan's back, biting at his righth shoulder, leaving marks littering the scar there, seeing the marking made his heart hurt but also licked his ego seeing a branding that ford did on his brother that hecould never get rid of. its just plain animalistic hatefuck in the middle of the night in the kitche, ford spitting insults and degrafing words in stans ear, telling him how the only thing he;s ever been good at is this, this is all ford will ever need from him. stan fights back, telling him to piss of and his dick isnt even that good, both brothers biting insults at eachother as they fuck like rabbits

right around the corner, pressed against the wall next to the door way was poor mabel who happened to come down for water at the Worst Timing Ever. her hand was clamped over her mouth as not to be heard as she listened to her grunkles growl and pant like dogs with wide eyes as the wet sounds of sex filled her little ears, one hand pressed against the heat of her undies with the goal for water long, long forgotten

thank you for sending me this anon. hope i did it justice. absolute fire prompt. sorry if i mixed uo their names anytime in this i wrote like half of this during a dizzy spell (prime bee content zone) imm gonaan go take the fattest bee nap ever (stare at the wal and driool for 20 minutes)

part 1! part 2!

[fortheloveoffanfic]

The Profound Pleasure of Little Things

Hozier x reader

Author's note: Basically the thought was, "ohh, what if there was a real moment that inspired Wasteland!baby."

Summary: Andrew and Y/n spend an afternoon at the beach.

Warnings - poorly written fluff, I guess.

"I think if the world ended right now, I'd be alright with that.”

After spending the past fifteen minutes or so bearing witness to her magnificence. Ireland's solem grey sky meeting the frigid, green water and acting as a cool toned backdrop to the brightness of her beauty. The way those deep, blue jeans hug her curves, the woolen burgundy coat, draped over a band tee, that follows the contour of her frame and her hair tumbling over her shoulders as she stands a few feet off the edge, gaze cast out towards the horizon; as if the world below them had been thought up just for her.

As Y/n turns to face him, the wind whips her hair forward, and he smiles when she hastily brushes away from her eyes. “What?” She chortles, but there's an air of disbelief in the word and she tilts her head a little to the side, “why?”

Licking his lips, Andrew pushes off the boulder he's been perched on, one converse-clad foot planted on the ground while the other stayed propped on a smaller rock jutting from the lush grass. “Because,” he stuffs his hands into the side pockets of the denim jacket he's thrown over his red flannel, “I've seen you, standing here and that's gotta be the best thing that's ever happened to me.”

Y/n rolls her eyes; he's awfully romantic when he doesn't mean to be – and mind-bogglingly terrible at it when he actively tries. Just that morning he'd clumsily danced them into the kitchen table after daring more than their usual sway. But now, after a long afternoon drive and an impromptu hike up a hill that overlooks the sea, he's stringing together the sort of lines that make her cheeks go warm and stirs a flutter in her chest. “You're being dramatic,” she teases, relinquishing her hand when he reaches for it. Their fingers lace with ease; it's something they're so used to doing that Y/n rarely thinks much of it anymore. It's such a small, mundane thing and his hands have become so familiar to her that they almost feel like her own – and like she'd miss her own hand if it were gone forever, she'd miss his too.

He is a part of her; as vital as a limb, or the thing beating in her chest.

“Hardly,” his thumb ghosts the soft skin over her knuckles, and his eyes soften when they meet hers. It still startles him that she's his, and standing there with the smell of salt, autumn and her perfume flooding his senses, Andrew fears he might be dreaming, “you look…..” Like a painting, something that one could only wish to be privileged enough to see, let alone touch, “exquisite.”

Y/n giggles before glancing down at herself. She knows she must look plain at best, and a wind-tousled mess at worst. Even if she isn't the self-deprecating type, it's tough to believe that she looks like anything special without makeup, her hair free-styled by the breeze and her face nipped by the chill. The coat that she's owned for nearly a decade and a faded t-shirt probably isn't helping her case either. “Are you trying to get laid on this hilltop?” She asks conspiringly.

Snaking his free arm around her waist, Andrew simultaneously pulls Y/n closer and throws his head back in laughter. Lifting her gaze to drink him in, Y/n’s smile softens; she loves the way he looks when he laughs like that. Entirely carefree, as if he mightn’t have anything in the world to worry about, its a laugh she sees most off when he’s been home for a while and he isn’t concerned about deadlines and appearances, or when they have friends over and he’s had a bit too much to drink. Or when she says something that is a little absurd, but not quite funny, and he somehow finds the world of humor in it.

“Well, I wouldn’t be opposed,” his fingers curl into her waist. Then, when the shaking of his shoulders settle, he lowers his eyes to meet hers. It always baffles him how she could not know – not completely – what she does to him. Because if she did, Y/n wouldn’t doubt his credibility for a second when he says that she’s beautiful – and utterly in awe of everything that she is. “But I really do think that you look lovely darling,” he adds softly, freeing his hand from hers to gently cup her face, “if you saw what I did, you’d understand. If you could see yourself through my eyes…….thought of yourself with my mind, you would get to know the most breathtaking person I've ever met.”

Licking her lips, Y/n lays her hands on his chest, thumb grazing the sliver of skin left exposed by the undone top button of his shirt. “How do you do that?” She muses quietly, gazing up at him.

Andrew's thumb roves the apple of her cheek and she leans into his touch, “Do what?” He lowers his head a little, so their foreheads are that much closer to touching.

“Come up with…..stuff,” she hates the word in the context, “like that.”

“Well, it would just so happen, that I have the best muse,” because every beautiful thing he can think of is tangled up with the thought of her. He can’t see flowers without wondering how they’d look if they were laced in her hair, or held in her hands, he sees art and wonders if she’d like it too and when he’s faced with a day like this one – where everything seems to be in perfect measure – all Andrew wants to do is share it with her.

“I am just so in love with you,” he rasps, the sudden drop in his voice sending a shiver up her spine, “that it touches every part me, everything I do has a bit of you in it,” as if all the old parts of himself have been shed, giving way to something new, improved in a way that only be because of her presence.

The more Andrew thinks about the clearer one certainty becomes; in a way, the world has already ended. It happened the second he fell in love with her. Everything as he knew it was changed forever – reduced to a wasteland, and out from the ashes she came.

Lifting one of her hands, Y/n caresses his temple with the pad of her thumb. “What a beautiful mind you have,” she muses, gaze matching his. Y/n always faults him for having a way with his words, usually when he doesn't even mean to, but Andrew doesn't think she ever pays enough mind to what she's saying. “Who needs the rest of the world when they have this?”

His thumb continues stroking her cheek in that languid, gentle fashion and Andrew’s gaze softens so much that he thinks he must be melting under her touch. He must be putty in her hands – so easy to mold however she pleases, because the only thing he wants more than being with her is being exactly what Y/n needs.

May he always be a necessity, may her life be just a touch emptier without him, so she’ll keep him around.

“Who needs it, darling?” Who needs it when the best of it smiles when she looks at me? He’s just about to press his lips to hers in a kiss he’s been aching to steal since the moment she turned to look at him, when a wave – way down below – breaks so violently that a few droplets hit their faces, causing Y/n to shift her gaze towards the expanse of glacial teal.

“We should walk down to the beach,” she suggests suddenly, eyes alight with the wonder of someone yearning for the thrill of adventure. In an instant, Y/n is backing out of his embrace – like a dream just past his immediate reach. She takes his hand though, lacing her smaller, finer fingers with his and practically tugs him along, urging him towards the mouth of the stoney, sloped pathway that leads to the beach.

“Yeah, sure-” Andrew doesn’t even get to reply before he’s stumbling along, blindly following her. He isn’t even sure if she actually knows the way – he’s never taken her there, but Y/n is quick-witted enough to figure things out without anyone’s help. As he watches her trot ahead with purpose, feet clad in Chuck Taylor's stomping on the feathery grass as she moves ahead, Andrew keeps his gaze fixed on her. The way she holds her head up, as if she doesn’t need a map – or even him – to show her the way. The way the wind blows her hair and her delicate fingers work to keep them away from her eyes. She’s moving so quickly that its hard to take it all in, and Andrew finds himself wanting to ask her to slow down, so he can soak up the way she looks against the blur of the trees.

Sometimes, he wants to tell her – beg her – to just be a bit more still. Because while he adores watching her move, drinking in every miniscule action that is so specific to her, Andrew breathes for the moments where there isn’t the slightest quiver in her form. When his view of her is entirely unhampered by the demands of life; she doesn’t have to get up to answer her phone, or check on the laundry downstairs – when she’s just lounging in bed with her glasses propped on the bridge of her nose and a book held up in front of her face, when she’s sitting on the back patio while nursing an afternoon tea, watching the birds entertain each other.

When Y/n is standing before him, surrounded by a tapestry of greens and blues and other specks of colour that pale in her wake, like something he should never be so privileged to bare witness to.

His thoughts are interrupted when she stumbles on a rock and instinctively deserts her hand in favor of reaching for her hips. “Slow down,” he chuckles, reeling her close to his chest, one arm wrapping around her middle as they continue downward.

“But I wanna see the beach,” she protests with a giggle as his lips find her cheek. Reaching past herself, she lays her hand on his neck, holding his face close to hers for a few seconds longer.

“And you will,” Andrew mumbles, mouth still pressed up to her face, “but lets……enjoy the getting there too.”

“I think you’re enjoying it a little too much,” Y/n admonishes humorously when Andrew squeezes her to him.

“Impossible,” he bends his head to nuzzle the side of her face, “I actually think you’re not enjoying this enough.”

“Yeah?” She leans into his embrace, hand falling onto his forearm as she finally relents to stopping for a moment. She can hear the sounds of the sea a bit more clearly now, and the air is saltier than it had been when they were up on the hill. Through the foliage, Y/n spots bits of jewel toned ripples, a tell-tale sign that they aren’t too far off, and she’s actively holding herself back from urging him ahead. She does have a habit of rushing things, sometimes the need to just keep moving is almost overwhelming; she’s so focused on getting somewhere that she forgets the journey is half the experience.

Andrew, she often finds, is entirely the opposite. It's a quality she admires in him; his ability to revel in simple joys, the way he’s able to steady himself enough to thoroughly take everything in. While she’s eager to brush past everything in her way to get to her finish line, he’s perfectly fine with strolling through the trees, stopping ever so often to take pictures of things that interest him, or rattle off a random fact that he learned in a nature documentary.

“Yes,” Andrew hisses, kissing the corner of her lips, “just relax a little.”

“I’m very relaxed,” Y/n scoffed defensively, “we just have different definitions of that word.”

Andrew laughs loudly, finally letting her go and allowing her to take his hand again, “I’m not even sure that word is in your dictionary,” he chortles as she tows him along. Y/n doesn’t respond, he doesn’t even know if she hears him, because as the words leave his mouth, they reach the edge of the woods which opens up to the small beach. The sand is soft under his shoes, and the sting of salty air is sharp. “Happy now?” He teases when she lets his hand go in favor of going a few paces ahead.

“I was always happy,” Y/n corrects, “but now I'm…..satisfied.”

“If satisfaction is what you were looking for, I could've helped with that up there,” he nudges his head towards the top of the hill they’d been standing on about fifteen minutes earlier.

Y/n rolls her eyes as she turns to look at him, “oh shut up,” she giggles.

“Just sayin’,” he hums, moving to stand beside her, arm going around her shoulders. Immediately, Y/n tilts her head so its touching his side.

As she keeps her eyes trained forward, Y/n hums, “its so beautiful.”

Andrew returns the sound, albeit just a bit softer as he turns his head to look down at her, nestled against him. Its hard to describe just how much he enjoys the feeling of her tucked against him, its one of those simple pleasures that he never fails to appreciate; the way her form fits perfectly with his, like they were made to just click together. It's such a small thing; the comfort that comes with holding someone who wouldn’t trade the feeling of your arms around them for anything else in the world, and he can never seem to get enough of it. He lives for the way throwing his arm around her shoulder has become as natural to him as breathing, and how instinctive it is when she leans against him.

“Don’t you think so?” Y/n glances up at him, a smile dusting her cheeks when their eyes meet. There's always a little tingle that prods at her heart when she finds him looking at her, like the beat of butterfly wings against the petal of a flower.

Licking his lips, he glances forward at the ocean stretched out before then, and the near vacant beach that spreads out for at least a mile on either side.

He must’ve seen this beach near a hundred times by now. Andrew is well aquainted with the way the waves break against the collection of jagged rocks piled against once side of the shore, foam washing the salt-worn gray and seeping into the crevices. The crunch of pebbles and broken seashells under his boot isn’t foreign to him, and he knows all too well how frigid those waters can be around this time of the year. He’s seen the beauty of the place, he swears he’s done his best to appreciate it too, but there’s something different about holding her as the water pulls the sand seaward and salty sprinkles dust their lips. It feels like he’s seeing for the first time all over again.

And he loves it – all of it. The way it feels like a film has been peeled off his eyes, the thrill of enjoying the simplest things so much more than he ever has because he's sharing the moment with her.

“Yeah,” he looks at her again, lowering his head to touch the tips of their noses, “its beautiful, baby.”

[vossn]

I don’t blame you, 16-year old me, for deciding that you weren’t strong enough to handle it. That you traded the bathroom floor for gentle numbness and decided to seek yourself in other things and people than inside your body. Some days, I am not sure if I am strong enough either.

[roseworth]

Wait ok I'm not knowledgeable on anything Wilson family. Slade drugs Rose???

yeah <///3 before tt03 they had met like once ever (and it went poorly) so to get rose on his side slade injected her with a super soldier serum

in #0.5 he kidnaps her after buying a hit on her (many such cases) and goes "cmon rose we can be a family lets be a family <3333" and she agrees (because shes angry and slade is the one handing her a weapon to kill the man that killed her mother)

then theyre on the same side for a while! the first time we hear about the serum (and iirc only time its specifically mentioned while shes being drugged) is in #12 (BART 🥺)

we also see some flashbacks in fresh hell of slade giving her the serum too

anyways then she joins the team and everything is alright (lie). this is the first confirmation that she was being drugged, plus also showing that shes staying on the team just bc shes afraid slade will get her again :(

in any story that takes place from 2003-2006 that includes rose & slade (bg #63-64, nightwing #112-115, etc), rose is being drugged :(

basically the writers needed an explanation for why she would choose to work with slade and wanted an excuse for why she would be able to join the titans later on and honestly? rare johns banger. this plotline fucks to me. completely defines rose's relationship with slade and gives her a concrete reason to hate him but also have very complicated feelings about her place in his life ouuughhhh

but in conclusion slade sucks so heres some panels of rose beating him up

[rosenfey]

things that are hard to find: writing advice that isn't condescending.

[moe-broey]

While the World's Slowest Slowburn makes the most logical sense, between Kiran and Alfonse. In my heart. Moe manages to find a way to get in an overly handsy way too intimate WAY too soon I just got my ass ghosted or perhaps dumped situationship with Alfonse. In a demisexuality and trust issues honoring way. ALL under Moe's assumption, that "Well he's Not gonna get attached to me so It's Fine."

[donttouchtheneednoggle]

having a good day is so wild like what do you MEAN I'm not miserable and unmotivated and crushingly apathetic and absolutely exhausted brain fog just want to sleep???

[guinevereslancelot]

decided to leave my job and i'm gonna fr gonna cryyyyy

[eryanlainfa]

My brain at 2 am : what if... au where Var died and Aiden is the one carrying the journey through the trials in an attempt to appease their grief

Me : ... stop that

My brain : so V takes his mother's place in the narrative and the name of the series just becomes a reminder of his absence

Me : ...

My brain : anyway. Here's a "We'll be fine" animatic except it's Aiden and Yong singing :)

Me, crying : omg-

[vaugarde]

in general i think im really tired of kirby antagonists that are like “ohhhh this is the main antagonist- actually they’re just being possessed and they’re not actually responsible for their actions at all”

[cryptids]

ok sorry to rant out of nowhere but why is tender is the flesh on every book youtuber's top 10 (or whatever) best horror books ever list 😭 it was so bad, I couldn't even finish it bc it was so uninteresting... like I would get it if a few people loved it bc people's tastes are always gonna vary, but the fact that its SO popular just baffles me like am I missing something or am I crazy or what lmao??? and one of the best books EVER?????

[stanskissing]

Dipper would Not be Normal after that (he wasn't normal before but stillllll) he's seeing Stan cooking eggs in that fucking apron and wonders if Ford ever bent Stan over the counter (if he could bend Stan over the counter if Ford could bend him over the counter-)

Stan and Ford are starting to think Dipper might be creeping after the other but not themself because they're stupid ❤️

i cant find the fuckingf post this is referring to and im too lazy to do a deep dive i post too much i wanna link it. someone find it for me. BUTbasciallt it was dip pervin on his grunkles getting it on w eachohter and creamin his shorts over it.

EDIT: I FOUND IT

ANON I APOLOGIZE THIS TOOK ME FOREVER (a couple days) TO GET TO I LOV EYUO IMSORRY PLEASEGORIV ME I WAN TYOU DOSBAD, . ok GO!

dipper would be so fucking awkward after all that. he would not be able to look either of his grunkles in the eye because Ohmygodhesawthemfuckingadndohgmgygh and he'd jst be a mess all the time dude. hes sucha loser. and when he sees them together ? he's gone. no thoughts in his head but what he saw they could be doing the most innocent thing sitting on oppposite sides of the couch and that stupid tween is still thinking about them fuckign ITS ALL HE CAN THINK ABOUT OK

hed start like obsessing over it, where else have they fucked?? clearly they aren't shy about it doin it with the kids home, which doesn't make dipper Incredibly hard. he gets so anxious going anywhere in the shackk because he convinces himself that theyre got it on on Every surface in the house and hes like No . i cant touch that . the voices . like i said its so much worse when he sees them together which is Every SIngle day. especially in the mornings when they're being all domestic in the kitchen when the kids are eatin breakfast and aww yay brothers being brothers WRONG dipper is reading into every interaction and overthinking everything

when dip catches ford holding the back of stans neck ever so briefly he chokes on his cereal becauseWoah . thats the sameway he bent stan over when he first sawthemandohgod allhe can think about is stan bent over n moaning like a whore while ford plows into him and oh god dipper has the worst boner of his life while earing breakfast aroud his entirefamily and then the thoght flashses in his mind that it couldve been him bent over the counter and ford wouldve hafd to lift him up and off the ground to even do that because dipper was just so much smaller and jesus fuck that t hought alone makes dipper excuse himself from his half eaten cereal before he cums in his pants just sitting there

he cant stop oggling either of the men, constantly watching either of them behin d the corner of a wall even if it was just stan sittin in his chair watching tv. and he's gotten caught multiple times by whoever he wasn't currently stalking, asking what he;s doing just standinf there and if he's ok and dipper woulf squeek out some half-baked response and then scurry away to anywhere else. stan and ford would eventually bring it up to eachother ;ike hey.. i think dipper is having some hormonal issues... and then they'd spiderman meme point at eachother like no i thoguth hewas cree[ping on you !!!! and then theyd tease the fuck out of dipper and be all gross n mushy n pervy infront of him on person :p

sowy this took forever looks around nervously

[seafoam-taide]

You know I thought for awhile that I was just a rare type of person who sure, liked people well enough but was okay being alone didn't necessarily need anyone and NO. NO. NO. OH MY GOD . YOU GIANT DUMBASS. NO HAHAHA NOOO NOPE

[arolesbianism]

Anyways incorporating new saint hcs into my semi au Sliver lore means that now saint gets to continuously experience ascending Sliver forever 👍