#like a pathetic fan kid

[thatlesbiancrow]

aside from my very obvious lack of care for og Lori, i think the similarities and differences in one of my current OCs and the one i stole her name from is a bit funny

stuff i preferred as a sophomore vs what i like now

[aroaceleovaldez]

im gonna start a support group for Jason fans everybody line up im sorry about your poor little woof woof. you’re so right. he is pathetic and incredibly cool. i hope his identity crisis is going well for him. or terribly. whichever you prefer.

[lithi]

Was trying to like. Imagine how a step-mother Penelope/step-daughter Athanasia AU would work. Claude would either never know about Penelope’s affair (or at least does not suspect about the pregnancy. Somehow) or would be so blinded by grief after Diana’s death that he would just pathetically accept Penelope back.

Obviously she could not pass Jennette as Claude’s so ..?? She would probably huh. Keep her as her forever dirty little secret or eventual pawn to use (maybe she is passed off as countess rosalia’s daughter?).

Her relationship with Athanasia would depend a lot on whether Athy is still reincarnated or not but I guess Penelope would either roll with Claude’s mistreatment of her (and probably have him disinherit her because she is, after all, his low-born bastard) or play the kind step-mother for politics (and the rest would also depend on whether or not they do have children together later on. maybe Anastasius using her as his black magic baby machine fucked her body up). Just imagine. The drama

Anyways this is what inspired the brainworms lol

[allegg]

Getting obsessed with these fucks again was not on my 2024 bingo card

[gralixe]

One Piece has so much gall giving so much screen time to characters I truly do not give a fuck about

[kyeterna]

I had rewatched durarara a couple of months ago after like never finishing the second season when it first came out (I have always had a really hard time keeping up with ongoing shows) and assigned memes to some characters, here's the result.

[akiraofthefour]

I've read this novel three times. The story has, of course, remained the same since 1959, but the persons with my name who read it in 1968 and 1998, at eighteen and forty-eight, are not the same as the one who came to the novel most recently at the age of fifty-five. All three of us have been altered by it, according to our gifts at the time.

Mary Doria Russell, introduction to the 2006 edition of A Canticle For Leibowitz by Walter M. Miller, Jr.

[access-point]

Me trying to write Triss Merigold without making her seem like a wet cat looking for shelter

[red-dyed-sarumane]

always feel a little weird bc ik demi's used more as a modifier than as a solo label but the second half of the label is so non important to me trying to assign one never feels right. its either bi or pan functionally but it is what it is

[locria-writes]

new trashman? new? trashman? trashman? new trashman? new? new ? trashman?? who? who?? what? what ? daddy kink daddy kink

[fangomango]

I love her sm

Prettyprettypretty

[sweet-beezus]

Cringe but free, meet Kay the Sparkledog!

[computerpeople]

whenever i want to think of a charactyer but vant think of canon things to think about with them i just think about how my other blorbos would interact with them

[nukenai]

The Jenny Nicholson fans finally shut up and stopped calling me a liar about my own vacation bc they believe a rich YouTuber over anyone else lmao god bless 👏

[mrdrhenwardhykle]

I'm just going to ramble in the tags don't mind me

[xiaq]

I remember the first pride I ever attended: seventeen, half terrified, half bolstered by reckless bravery. In the parking lot, I painted my eyes in pink-purple-blue using the review mirror. On the walk to the parade route, I purchased a flag with cash and tied it around my neck like a cape.

I remember crawling up onto a metal electrical box on a street corner--violently hot against my bare skin in the Texas sun. I remember the heat didn't matter once the parade started, once I caught a handful of thrown beads, a crown, a fan. Someone passed me a bottle of bubbles and I blew them out over the crowd as not one, not two, but three church floats bedecked in crosses and rainbows marched past. I remember feeling like I could breathe for the first time maybe ever. But I also remember walking back to my car at the end. Giving away my crown, my fan, and my flag to two kids in a wagon, trying not to let my pathetic envy show as I met the eyes of their smiling parents. I cleaned the paint off my face in the same parking lot I applied it.

I kept the necklace--cheap and plastic and dangerous. I kept it for the first fifteen minutes of my drive until my anxiety demanded I pull into a gas station and throw it away.

I went to work: a four hour shift I'd said was eight. It was one of the few times I ever lied to my parents unless you counted the pervasive, quiet, lie of omission that lasted another decade.

Today, I got ready for another pride with my husband. I wore my denim vest with its collection of queer enamel pins. We walked together from our house to the parade route. At the end, we walked back together in a crowd of other pride-goers.

I texted my parents pictures without fear.

And this time, I took my beads home.