#or at least if they do have them be fun enough that it's fine

[mommasunshines]

Having a magical girl as a little sister was incredibly fun, terrifyingly stressful, frustratingly dirty and bloodboilingly inconvenient, all at once and usually switching between these four like a circling pendulum.

The first time my little sister came home with a weird pocket watch and a talking cat, I wanted to freak out, but she simply went to her room, threw up into her trash can four times in a row and then spent the next half hour talking about this cat that came to choose her to save the world from monsters. And that was how this weird routine began.

Since then, at least twice a week, my sister as come home smelling like an explosion, usually with bits of rubble still on her if she couldn't be bothered to transform back.

Having a magical girl in your family leads to a lot of scrubbing floors and to a lot of cooking, they burn calories like crazy.

This new routine was fine for me, I got to cheer her on, worry about her all the time when there was a monster fight, and even if I had to scold her more than once to transform back to get rid of the guts before coming home, I was mostly just glad when she came home.

Then a few months in, we discovered a caveat to her powers.

While she could kill monsters easily with her wand, it had no effect on humans. So even though she could level a sky scraper sized dinosaur with ice breath, she could not defend herself if a weird cultist summoning said dino wanted to grab her. She got away that time with an emergency teleport, but it was a shocking revelation.

Here she was, the most powerful 16 year old on the planet and she couldn't hurt a simple man.

Of course we tried to keep it a secret, if everyone knew she was powerless against people there would be folks left right and center traying to kidnap her or control her or anything like that, but rarely do plans work the way you imagine them. And eventually the secret got out.

Which brings us to now, with me standing in front of a warehouse, an hour after dinner was served. Orion had a tracker on my sister, so at least the talking cat is useful for something.

With some effort I raise the sledgehammer and knock down the door, looking around the warehouse. I ain't the strongest, but carrying an exhauseted 16 year old to bed every other day gives you a little bulk at least.

With the sledgehammer abandoned, I walk into the warehouse and pull out my frying pan, not even flinching as someone rushes at me. My sister has tried to surprise me too often, three hits with the frying pan and the man is on the floor.

Soon enough I am standing in the room where my sister is kept, holding a bloody cast iron pan and damascus steel kitchen knife. The knife will have to be sharpened after this, but I don't care. It finds its sheath in the throat of the man that had tied my sister up here, and as his body falls to the floor I sigh.

"How?" is all that Lea asks me when I undo the ropes and pulls the knife out of the man's throat.

"Looks like the no kill rule only applies to you." I grab her and pull her up, making my way out past the corpses I left in my wake, feeling just as cranky as I did when I first came here. "Now come on, our Moussaka has gone cold and my boyfriend is coming over in an hour, he is supposed to finally meet you today."

Magical girls kill monsters all the time, but they're not allowed to kill humans. But you're not a magical girl; you're her older brother.

[elodieunderglass]

There's a post going 'round about how it's important to let brains be bored every now and again and one of the suggestions is to take a bath without putting music on. So I did (though there were candles; I'm not a barbarian) and my bored brain came up with the scenario of Killie being dumped precipitously into a Formula 1 driver's seat. His team owners jovially insist cars are just like horses, really; Killie, hissing and spitting like a feral cat, that they're not even fecking close.

And *then* Bored Brain was rotating Charles and I thought about how evasive he was about himself. Not unlike Chilchuck, in fact, and isn't it funny that Chuck is a nickname for Charles? And isn't it even funnier that Killian Charles isn't that far from Chilchuck? But wait, Killian is a misanthropic stubborn cuss and Charles can talk the talk but he's evasive and please tell me that you did all that on purpose.

I am pretty sure I spend too much time on Tumblr.

Next time I'm putting music on.

(In reference to Killie the jockey OC)

No no this is a fine and normal thing to do, and what he’s used to. Killie exists to be rotated! To scruff him by the neck and drop him into situations he would Hate is an excellent hobby for doctor’s waiting rooms, tube journeys without signal, running (with or without music) and going to the gym. PUT HIM IN FORMULA ONE.

COME ON KILLIE. NICEY.

NICEY CAR.

NO I SEE WHAT YOU MEAN ABOUT THEIR NAMES THOUGH. The twins existed (to me) and were named prior to Dungeon Meshi, one being named specifically after a Breyer horse; but the coincidence of their names/initials caused me to dig them out again and try them on for a role in my writing plans. Unfortunately neither of them would work for piloting Weasel Heart as standalone fiction; not enough horses for Killie, too much hard work for Charlie, and the rescue says they have to be adopted as a bonded pair, spoiling the whole thing. But you can see why I thought of it! Especially the initials. Their original last name (Tiernan) might have to change anyway, as the names are in the awkward valley of being realistic enough to share with real people, but also mildly distinctive on Google. (Killie’s got at least one real-full-name-buddy, a promising young hurler.)

And once you start rotating Killie, it is definitely a fun thing to do, I think. Put Killie in a submarine. Put him in Antarctica. Make him drive a fast go kart that might burst into flames. Make him battle the horselessness. Lie about what horses are. A car is a horse. A spaceship is a horse. A dragon is a horse. The heat death of the universe is a horse. Nicey, Killie, nicey.

In conclusion thank you for this! Let brains be bored!

[antlersaint]

haii… your reblog earlier has inspired me… absolutely gonna need a fic where quinn calls you pathetic for being eager/desperate to fuck her!!

i’ll feel shame for this when i wake up…

- 🍲

i do plan on writing more like this... (perv!reader x quinn and loser!reader x quinn coming soon)... but :3 yeah! quinn with a very desperate and eager reader who just NEEDS to fuck her. reader has a dick, not male reader.

you are just so...

there are a lot of ways quinn could go about describing you, really. none of them good. you're annoyingly persistent, following her around all day insisting that she let you take her out at least once. talking away about how you'd have such a great time, it'd be fun, blah blah blah. like a small dog nipping at her heels. fortunately for you, though, (and unfortunately for her), you're cute. so, eventually, she does agree to a date; on one condition.

keep it in your pants.

and, to your credit, you do. you take her to see some movie, with a cast she'd never heard of but you apparently know a considerable amount about. and to quinn's surprise, you're relatively chivalrous. opening and closing doors for her, paying for whatever she wants at the counter (which she takes advantage of, just a little). though most importantly, you're not overly touchy. sure, there's little things here and there. a hand on her lower back, a hand on her thigh above her skirt. normal stuff she's fine with and even encourages, throwing you a smirk, shifting closer. the way you completely stiffen up does not go unnoticed.

once you're back in the truck, letting the engine run so it gets a little warmer, quinn leans over the center console and presses a couple kisses to your neck—her breath ghosting across your cheek in a quiet laugh when you jump at the contact. she turns your head so your mouths can slot together but pulls away hardly even a second later, holding you in place when you go to chase her lips. "take me to your apartment?"

it's a miracle you don't get pulled over, with how fast you were driving.

she's half expecting you to jump her as soon as the front door closes, but for whatever reason, you don't. you sort of just... stand there, staring, gaze unfocused and breathing shallow. it's amusing. quinn can practically feel your eyes whenever she saunters over to the couch, patting the cushion next to her with an expectant eyebrow raised. your movements are jerky, like you're not sure how to at all. after you've taken your seat, her fingers curl around your jaw, pulling you closer, and from here, she can see how blown your pupils are. you remind her of an excited puppy, almost. hands clenched into fists sitting atop your thighs, like you're waiting for permission to touch her.

though, once that permission is given in the form of another kiss and you're immediately trying to shove your tongue in her mouth, panting, stuff starts to make sense.

you're a desperate little thing. and inexperienced, she's assuming, by the way you practically paw at her clothes, whining low in your throat. it's unfairly arousing, ruining the lace quinn had picked out just for the hell of it, but she's not complaining. you're a fucking treat.

in what she's sure is record time after only making out for less than a minute, you're straining against the fly of your jeans; something she takes too much delight in when noticing, unable to bite back the laugh that bubbles up from her chest. understandably, that reaction is received negatively and you flinch away, mouth open to apologize or whatever else, but she shuts you up with another kiss. tongue flicking out over your lips, earning her the most pathetic sound quinn is sure a human being can make. she pops open the button of your jeans, commanding you to lift your hips so she can slide them off along with your boxers. soon enough, you're left completely bare while all she's missing is the lipstick that's now staining your skin.

she lets you lay her down on the couch after a bit longer of teasing, gasping when you don't even bother to get her undressed and just flip her skirt up. nearly ripping her panties with the force you use to tug them off. you're lucky she's feeling generous, or else you'd be left untouched just for that.

generous doesn't mean patient, though. your eagerness is cute, but not when you fail miserably multiple times to push inside and just rut against her, pre-cum stickying her thighs, whining and grunting against into her shoulder. god, you're such a virgin it's almost painful. quinn pushes you back, hand around your throat keeping you in place while she climbs into your lap. free hand dipping down between the two of you so she can line up with your cock before sinking down.

you're sizeable; a perfect fit, really. you hold onto her so tightly she's sure there'll be bruises come morning, but she couldn't care less. not when you're moaning so pretty and filling her up so good. after taking a moment to adjust, she rolls her hips, your own twitching up to meet the movement. it's good. better than she was—

fuck. quinn just had to go and say something, didn't she?

you barely even get to the fifth thrust before your entire body is locking up. eyes rolling into the back of your head, her name like poison on your tongue. she has to blink away the haze in her eyes, incredulous. really? that's all you have to give her? oh, no. no, she really doesn't think so.

"jesus, you're fucking pathetic." the comedown from your high is cut abruptly short when she starts to move again. you're painfully sensitive, and you make it known, pleading for her to stop or at the very least slowdown. she doesn't. threads her fingers into your hair and tugs, keeping your neck craned back so she's basically speaking against your mouth. "you can take it, baby. just shut up and take it for me."

you can, and you do; and quinn makes sure she cums multiple times before you even get a chance to again.

[nephilimeq]

Take A Chance

Prompt: doing something new together

@bucktommyfluffebruary

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62721625/chapters/161946559

“Okay, I’ve changed my mind, I don’t wanna do this,” Buck said as they approached the building, yoga mats slung over their shoulders, and his boyfriend let out a sigh and said, “Evan, no. We talked about this, we’re doing this. Together.”

It was something that they had decided on back when Buck hold told Tommy that he felt that they didn’t go on enough dates.

Tommy had said he would take him on more romantic outings, and Buck had agreed that he would try more new things that weren’t really dates so that they could spend more time together.

…but now that meant he was going to be trying yoga for the first time, and he did not want to do that anymore. He saw the people inside through the glass windows, all of them looking far more limber than him, and he just wasn’t sure he could do it anymore. Maybe if it were a private class where it was just him and his boyfriend—but even then, he saw the way they were all built, proportional and slender, and he knew he would feel awkward as hell.

As they walked through the front door, Tommy had his hand on his lower back and said, “We’re trying something new together. It’s okay if we’re awkward, it doesn’t have to be perfect. We’re here to have fun,” and Buck was still amazed at how his boyfriend could practically read his mind.

“Hi! Welcome!”

Buck awkwardly waved at the bubbly blonde who stood at the front of the room, greeting students.

“Yeah, fun,” he muttered to himself as the two of them made their way into the room to pick out their places, and Buck found himself somewhere near the back with his boyfriend situated just a little bit in front of him, giving him a perfect view of all his assets.

Buck wore loose, silver gym shorts that came halfway down his thighs and an oversized red t-shirt, whereas Tommy was wearing blue shorts that barely had a four-inch inseam along with a light gray split side tank top that did little to hide his gorgeous physique. He could see the eyes going towards his boyfriend, and he didn’t blame them—he was damn good looking and even he was staring at him, and he was already in a relationship with him.

The bubbly blonde then clapped her hands and got everyone’s attention, saying, “Okay! Hello, everyone, I’m Sara and I’ll be your instructor today! Let’s start by doing a few sun salutations, shall we?” and then drew her arms over her head as the rest of the class scrambled into position.

Buck knew enough about yoga, at least, to not make a total ass of himself, so at first things were fine.

They did the beginning stretches, warming up the arms and legs…

…and then they dropped down to the mats, and she instructed them to go into butterfly pose. Okay. He could do this.

He put his elbows on his knees and tried to push them down towards the mat—and grunted when he realized his hips wouldn’t open in that particular position and stared in envy at the way Tommy did it without any effort whatsoever, keeping his knees flat, still looking edible from behind.

“Okay, now lean forward!” Sarah instructed, and Buck watched as everyone else moved forward…except for him.

His goddamn knees wouldn’t go down.

Feeling a flicker of frustration, he looked towards his boyfriend…and just about swallowed his tongue as he watched him not only keep his knees down but stretch down almost flat to his stomach with practically no curve to his back. Fuck. He was flexible, too—and then it was showcased even more when Sarah had them move to their stomachs and go up into cobra pose, and Buck found that he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the perfect curve of his boyfriend’s ass.

Fuck.

--

Tommy felt good as he leaned into the beginning stretches in butterfly pose and then into a basic cobra, enjoying the way his body opened up and he wondered why he hadn’t done it sooner. He was used to his normal heavy duty workout routine, but this was doing something for him.

As he let out a soft sigh, he glanced up towards the woman who was giving them their instructions.

He didn’t know what it was, but the airman swore he recognized her from somewhere.

“Okay, now up on your toes into upward dog!” Sarah called out, and Tommy squinted as he did as she instructed. “Okay, we’re gonna hold that position for a bit, but if you can’t then don’t worry about it. Just do what your body is telling you to do…”

From behind him, he heard his boyfriend mutter, “It’s telling me to go home.”

He snorted and did his best to keep in his laughter, barely able to keep his position, whispering over his shoulder as best he could, “Evan, behave,” and the firefighter said, “This is me behaving,” and he shook his head and went back to focusing on the yoga, moving into the next position as she instructed them to, feeling a delicious stretch in the backs of his thighs as he moved back into cobra, letting out a long slow breath…

…and then Sarah said, “Now we’re going into downward facing dog, so just copy me! If you can’t keep your heels down naturally, then bend the knee a bit, don’t force it.”

Tommy did as she asked, still confused why she seemed so familiar.

Even as he moved through the poses rather easily, he could hear Evan struggling behind him. He wanted to laugh but did his best to keep a straight face. His boyfriend was very strong and fit, at nearly peak conditioning for his age, as well as decently flexible…but he had always had a shortcoming when it came to short burst calisthenics like yoga.

He smirked to himself as he thought about how long it had taken him to convince Evan to go to yoga with him, his boyfriend fighting him almost the entire time, trying to argue that yoga was stupid and that neither of them needed to do it and they could put the money that they were using for the class towards something cooler, such as a karate class or even a pottery class, just anything but yoga…and now Tommy understood why.

As he glanced back behind him, he realized why Evan was struggling was because of how long his legs were.

He did his best to hide his smile of amusement—and then was taken off guard when Sarah suddenly said something that triggered a memory, her voice ringing out sharp and clear, “Just one more stretch towards the ceiling with your hips…and there we go! Now walk your hands back to your feet and slowly—slowly—rise all the way back up! Reach for sun!”

Oh my god. It was—

--

—pure agony, Buck thought to himself as he attempted to drop his heels to the floor while upside down, wondering why anyone would choose to do this for fun.

The only thing that made it worth it was the view that he had of his boyfriend, the older man somehow incredibly more limber than he was, and he was equal parts envious and impressed…but mostly he was horny as he saw the incredible curve of the airman’s ass in front of him. He could see a few discreet glances towards his ass, but didn’t feel the least bit jealous, because he knew that his man was all his and Tommy would never look at anyone else.

Except he was.

In fact, at that very moment he noticed his boyfriend’s eyes were locked on their yoga instructor with a laser like focus that would have been disconcerting had he not known that his boyfriend was very very gay.

Still, it bothered him as he slowly stood and stretched his arms up to the ceiling (or to the sun, as Sarah said), and he wondered why Tommy kept on looking at her with an intensity that reminded him of the way he looked at an interesting problem on his truck, like a problem to be solved, and at realizing that, he felt his nerves settle.

Okay, so he was confused by her. Now the question was why?

Did he know her from somewhere, and if so, then how—

—shit. His bad leg began to cramp up and Buck hastily dropped down to his knees, resting most of his weight on his good knee, and he let out a disappointed grunt, and said under his breath, “Fucking shit,” deciding it was better for him to not push himself. And then he was grateful when Sarah said for them to stand back up all the way, and he quickly scrambled to his feet…and then was baffled when she asked for tree pose from them.

Buck’s balance on a good day was iffy—at best—and now she wanted him to stand on one leg and pretend to be a ‘steadfast oak’? Her words, not his. But he decided to try anyway, standing on his good leg and attempting to rest his aching one on top of it, bending his leg to allow him to rest his heel against his knee.

Tommy (of course) was doing it perfectly…but he continued to stare at their instructor.

At that point, Buck was no longer jealous—though he was starting to get irritated.

He had wanted to do something different and had tried to convince his boyfriend that yoga was not his thing—but Tommy had explained that it was important that they do new things together and so he was doing his best to behave, even if all he wanted to do was stamp his foot and storm from the room like a petulant child. Unfortunately, he had made a deal with him that he would genuinely try, so that’s what he was doing.

God, he hated being such a good boyfriend sometimes. Sometimes he just wanted to—

--

—scream.

Tommy held the tree position, but some unknown muscle in his lower back was adamantly protesting and he was wondering if perhaps Evan hadn’t been right, because as much as he enjoyed the stretch of yoga, it seemed that some parts of his body didn’t agree—though he would never let Evan have the satisfaction of knowing that he had been right.

Instead he grit his teeth and bore through it, doing his best to pretend that he was an oak tree…

…while at the same time he was wrapping his head around the fact that he knew their instructor from her online shop where he had purchased Evan’s engagement ring.

Fuck.

Apparently like everyone else in L.A., Sarah had multiple jobs, one of which was running an online custom jewelry store with her husband where he had managed to get the perfect ring made for his soon to be fiancé. He just prayed that she didn’t recognize him and ruin the surprise. He had looked forever for a ring and found nothing, until he had come across her page, called Oak & Storm – “Custom made rings for the rugged hidden romantic.” They specialized in rings for people with hands on jobs that wanted to have something they could wear every day without risk.

The ring Tommy had designed for Evan was sitting at home in the back of a drawer in his unused office-slash-guest room, the one place that his boyfriend never went looking, even when he was doing his random deep cleans, and he did not need something—or someone—ruining the surprise.

“And now back to two feet and bring your arms out to the sides to stretch those chest muscles!” Sarah instructed, and he did as she asked, checking on Evan from the corner of his eye.

He looked a bit annoyed, but relatively fine, letting out a long breath as Sarah told them to.

“Okay, now lift up your feet and roll those ankles, loosen them up after you put them through the ringer, and let’s see if you can go into first warrior pose! Take your time,” she said as she began to walk through the group, checking on them individually, touching a shoulder or a hip here and there, gently correcting their form. “Want to see some strong warriors out here! Keep your chin up, and your hips nice and level…and you have perfect form,” she said directly to him. “You’re a natural…”

Tommy nodded, wondering if she recognized his picture from his e-mail profile; they had exchanged about thirty e-mails back and forth when he had been initially designing the ring and now he was nervous that she would—

“Do I…know you?”

His eyes widened and he gave her a tight-lipped look and shook his head.

“No, I don’t think so. Me and my boyfriend are here for the first time,” he said pointedly, gesturing with his chin as best he could…and saw her eyes widen as she realized where she recognized him from—and then let out a sigh of relief when she said, “Yes, that’s right…I must have mistaken you for someone else…”

Sarah then turned her attention to Evan and said, “Nice form…”

--

“…but you need to lift your front hand a little higher,” the instructor gently corrected him, and Buck felt a faint flush in his cheeks at being singled out, wondering if anyone was staring at him…and then after a quick cursory glance, let out a sigh of relief at realizing that no one seemed to care.

He lifted his front hand a bit and said, “Like this?”

“Perfect.”

She flashed him a bright smile, her perky ponytail bouncing behind her as she moved among the rest of the class, calling out, “Now into reverse warrior!”, and he had the errant thought that she might have been his type once upon a time—but now all Buck could focus on was the exquisite lines of his boyfriend as he moved from warrior pose into reverse warrior even as he struggled (again) to move into the new position, his bad knee protesting the entire time.

He never wanted to do yoga again.

Still, he might be amenable to watching Tommy do it from time to time, he mused as they eventually moved through all the poses and were now back sitting in butterfly pose, his boyfriend sitting with a perfectly straight back, eyes focused on their instructor with an intensity that he wish was turned on him.

Buck wiped some sweat from his forehead and glanced around the room, noticing that he was the only one that was sweating, and suddenly felt self-conscious once more.

Yeah, no more yoga for him. He would rather just do some basic stretches and be done with it—or, maybe he could convince Tommy to do some Tai Chi.

Now that would be more fun.

“Okay, now take a deep breath in…and out! In…and out! Good! Now let your muscles relax, close your eyes and set your goal for the day…and then you can go when you’re ready to go!” Sarah said, sounding far too cheerful for someone who had just put him through one of Dante’s levels of torture.

He was eager as he quickly got back up to his feet, wincing slightly at the pressure on his knee, and rolled up his yoga mat all while Tommy continued to sit there for a little while longer, eyes closed, lips softly moving as if he was talking to himself. Buck paused in his rush to leave and admired his boyfriend for a moment, appreciating the fact that despite all of the machismo that he portrayed on a regular basis, that his man was layered and in touch with his emotional side, which he loved.

Buck moved forward and put a hand on his shoulder, and Tommy’s eyes popped open.

“Hey…you ready to go?”

Tommy nodded.

“Yeah, let’s go,” he drawled, easily rolling up to his feet without using his hands before leaning over and retrieving his own yoga mat, and Buck took a second to catch his breath at seeing the strength and flexibility of the movement, feeling a rush at the fact that the man in front of him was his and no one else��s.

Briefly forgetting that he was in public, he breathed out, “Fuck, you’re so hot…”

…and Tommy giggled and shook his head, pulling the strap of his mat over his shoulder as he said, “Oh, Evan…and you are still so adorable,” and then leaned in and pecked a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth before grabbing his hand and leading him out of the studio, and he felt a warmth in his chest as they made their way back home, Tommy’s hand firm on his thigh the entire way, not once moving it from its spot, occasionally drifting his fingers down to rub at his sore knee, as if he knew.

When they pulled into the driveway, his boyfriend gave him a sideways glance as he put the car in park, and he could sense the question before he even asked it.

“So…yoga. I’m guessing that’s a no for you?”

Hesitantly, Buck nodded and admitted, “I’m not a fan. I mean, I like stretching, but I just don’t…like yoga,” he explained. “But you doing yoga…feel free to do it whenever you want babe,” and at that, Tommy chuckled and nodded back at him and said, “Noted.”

“But I still had a good time because I was with you,” Buck added, needing him to understand. “I mean, yeah, my knee hated me for most of that, but being able to see you going through the poses so effortlessly and enjoying it…that was nice. I like watching you when you do things that you love, you know?”

At his words he saw something shift in his boyfriend’s expression…

--

…and then he was kissing Evan as best he could across the front seat of the car, not quite believing he had gotten so damn lucky. The younger man made a noise in the back of his throat, as if surprised, and Tommy drank it up, curling his hand around the back of his head and holding him to him, unable to stop kissing him.

But after a moment, Evan gasped out, “I…the gear shift, Tommy,” and he quickly pulled back.

“Right, sorry…inside, we should go inside…”

He nodded and they each grabbed their yoga mats and headed into the house—but the instant he stepped foot inside, he found all of his energy had left him, and they barely said two words before going and collapsing on the couch at the same time, letting out identical grunts as they put their feet up on the coffee table in front of them.

“So…we’re not moving right?”

Tommy nodded.

“Yeah, we’re not moving.”

He then snuck a look at his boyfriend’s profile as he closed his eyes and rested his head against the back of the couch and felt himself fall a little bit more in love at seeing the faint sheen of sweat across his forehead and the small, satisfied smile at the corner of his lips. Sure, yoga wasn’t for Evan…but damn if it didn’t make Tommy happy to have tried something new with him. He thought about the ring upstairs.

Soon, the two of them would be embarking on something new that he knew they would both be looking forward to…

…and he couldn’t wait.

[criscura]

I want to get to the good part of this blastvoid thing I'm writing but i do NOT want to write the part before it and I'm procrastinating so fucking hard

Like i know what i want and it'll be satisfying but it's like the reverse of eating beef jerky, where this is the tough gross part you just need to swallow before getting to the fucking SPPIUCCE

[bizarrelittlemew]

✨ reaction gifs ✨

this isn't something i usually do, but i'm dumping a bunch of my gifs here that you are free to use and repost for your social media reaction gif needs (this is special permission for the gifs below – otherwise, remember to always credit gifmakers!!)

if you save and use these gifs, please give this post a like/reblog!

also i'm @bizarrelilmew over on twitter/X where i'm more active currently so feel free to follow me there 🤸

[buttercupshands]

just some LoV sitting in the long lost bar in Ultra Impact in clothes that they didn't wear yet

[theprincessandthepie]

LOOK AT HERRRRRRR <3333333

[running-in-the-dark]

kinda disappointed with how this weekend went. I mean, it wasn't bad! but it was our first weekend in the new apartment, and I/we wanted to get a lot done. I already did a lot during the week (a lot for me, not a lot for most people I guess), but there's lots of things that I can't do/can't do on my own, either because I'm too short or not strong enough or I need someone else to hold something or whatever. which realistically just won't get done during the week because my husband works full time, so. it sort of sucks that only one very small, unimportant thing got done. 😔

[rolandkaros]

i read that you don’t find iga/karo that compelling, but i have to know if you’ve read ‘the fine line’ by delacourt on ao3. like that fic is so well done even if u don’t ship it 😭 i highly recommend it because it’s a beautiful piece of fiction (and personally it turned me into a karo/iga truther) :)

oh i have read it and i greatly enjoyed it. dont get me wrong, not being 100% on a ship does not mean i wont read it or even that i wont casually ship it/have fun with it. mostly it just means i wont write it myself or explore the dynamic on my own. but that whole series was very good, plus i love both karo and iga so much that it wouldn't have even mattered if i wasn't into shipping them because i'll take any fics i can get 😭

[messybouquetoflilies]

im so delusional what is wrong with meeeee

[zemnarihah]

ive obtained a guitar

[autism-corner]

im doing it for them. ig.

[red-dyed-sarumane]

having not played rhythm games for months and then picking up kamicity ensemble ive gotten SO bad at proseka. i was like its so over but im finally down to 5 greats it may possible to ap maximizer ex yet.

[gallusrostromegalus]

I was raised agnostic and tend to remain ambiguous on theological matters.

-but my house has a porch on the second story that affords me a terrific view of my neighborhood and the Colorado Front Range and I was partaking of some peace before the 4th Of July Finger-Loss Festivities begin, and I have had a

~*Spiritual Experience*~

I just watched my neighbor try to unload an actual wooden pallet that had to have been forklifted into the back of his insecurity pickup worth of fireworks.

Except that he does not have a forklift in his garage.

He does have so much sports memorabilia and cardboard boxes of unsold MLM Merchandise and patriotically themed camping gear and posters of women in bikinis and flags of suspect political organizations in his garage that there is only BARELY enough space for the fireworks and certainly none for his truck.

So he had to unload the individual boxes of recreational explosives from the back of his truck and stack them in the minimal space he had cleared by hand. This is a tedious and time-consuming process as this neighbor has purchased a wide variety of recreational and locally illegal explosives instead of many of just a few types, so the individual boxes are rather small.

He begins, and this is crucial to what happens next, by cutting apart the industrial-grade saran wrap his explosives dealer had so carefully wrapped his merchandise in, and discarded it unsecured on his lawn.

Where Outdoor Conditions sometimes happen.

His process for unloading the fireworks is to 1. Climb up through the gate into the bed of his pickup truck (a feat made unusually difficult due to the slope of his driveway, and this man's fascinating decision to wear the world's Siffest and least Flexible Denim Overalls. 2. Once in the pickup bed, he selects ONE (1) box from the pile He is apparently from a niche religious institution that doesn't believe in stacking things. 3. Carries it awkwardly around the palette that barely fits in the truck bed 4. His wife yells "Be careful!" when he nearly falls out of the pickup. 5. He Yells "SHADDUP!" back at her. 6. The Large German Shepherd barks from inside the house. 7. He yells "SHADDUP!" back at her too. 8. He sets the (1) box down on the gate 9. Slowly and awkwardly climbs out of the pickup bed 10. picks the box back up, and carries it into the garage.

Question: Aren't you going to help this poor man? Answer: Absolutely Not.

There's four military veterans, MANY dogs, and several people with dementia in this neighborhood, all of whom are terrified by this chicanery every year and many neighbors have repeatedly asked him to maybe do the fireworks somewhere else. (This is the Eighth Year Running he's held a major demolition event in his driveway, and for those of you who can do math, you may be able to guess the precipitating incident to this little ritual) Additionally, I live in Colorado, a state marginally less prone to spontaneous and catastrophic conflagrations than a rotting grain silo, but only marginally. Our recreational explosives laws are written accordingly.

I am in fact calling the Non Emergency line to report Fireworks violations, and reading off the brand labels to someone named Dorothy, who is gleefully totaling up a SPECTACULAR fine for my oblivious neighbor.

However, while I'm on the phone with Dorothy, I notice the wind begin to pick up. and by "Notice" I mean "The Industrial Saran Wrap he left on his Lawn earlier is suddenly swept up about 100 feet into the air by an updraft intense enough to make my ears pop" And by "Pick Up" I mean "I look up to see the sky has turned a fun and exciting shade of glass green, and the bottoms of the clouds are bumpy and rounded, and the overall effect is not unlike looking up through the bottom of the cup at God's Matcha Boba Tea."

For those of you who do not live in places with Inclement Weather, these conditions mean "You have about 30 seconds before a Major Meteorological Event Occurs."

I move under the eaves. "Hang on Dorothy." I say, nose filling with Petrichor. "The show is about to be cancelled." "Oh, that doesn't matter!" Dorothy cheerfully informs me. "It's illegal for him just to possess those, no matter if he actually gets to set them off or not." "Terrific, because he's gotten maybe five boxes out of a hundred inside."

Sometimes, the weather gods are Merciful and give you a verbal warning, typically in the kind of thunderclap that makes your ears ring.

The Gods were not merciful today.

It's not often that I am in the time, place, correct angle or in a properly observational frame of mind to see this, But I got to see it today. Huh. I thought. I've never seen a cloud just DIVE for the ground before. Oh. I realized as it got closer. That's RAIN.

Sometimes, a thunderstorm will form in such a way that the rain that would normally be distributed over an area of say, five to tent square miles, is instead concentrated into an area of say, my neighborhood exactly.

So today, I was granted the rare privilege of being able to actually see the literal wall of water descend from On High and DIRECTLY onto my porch, my street, and my neighbor's truck, and his pile of unwrapped fireworks.

The sheer impact force of the downpour immediately scatters the teetering pile of fireworks boxes in the back of the truck, like the wrath of God striking down the tower of Babel. Boxes tumble, then are washed out of the bed of the truck by the deluge. Smaller Boxes are carried down the road in a little line by the stream forming in the gutter, like little impotent explosive ducklings.

My neighbor was definitely yelling something, but I could not hear what over the DEAFENING noise several million gallons of water makes upon high-speed contact with the earth's surface, but there was a lot of arm-waving and faces turning red as he went looking for the saran wrap that had probably blown to Nebraska by now, while his wife started disassembling the complex three-dimensional puzzle of interlocking material goods in search of a tarp. They do not have a tarp. They have one of those wretched Thin Blue Line flags though, and my neighbor jogs out in a futile effort to cover what's left in the truck.

Which is when the hail begins.

"HELLO?" Yelled Dorothy. "HI!" I shouted. "WE'RE HAVING SOME WEATHER!" "OH GOOD!" she shouts back. "WE NEED THE MOISTURE!"

I watch for a minute longer, but the loss was immediate and catastrophic- the hail is the size of marbles and dense and cares not for your pitiful cardboard and cellophane, ripping the boxes asunder and punching holes in the few things covered in plastic. The colors on the Thin Blue Line Flag are seeping all over the remains of that it was supposed to protect in a particularly apt visual metaphor. Not even the few boxes that made it into the garage are spared, as the German Shepherd escapes from indoors, and in an attempt to assist her humans, jumps directly into the small stack of not-yet-ruined boxes, scattering them into the driveway and deluge. She even picks one up so her humans will chase her around the yard, before dropping it in the gutter to be swept away.

So. I was raised Agnostic -but even I can recognize when God slaps someone upside the head and shouts "NO!" at them.

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[milo-is-rambling]

Ughhhhhh I love being me but after too long hanging out with normal people and adults and I’m like hmm maybe my bedroom walls being covered in stuff like that is childish and maybe everything I like is forming an invisible wall between me and other people because I can’t be normal about media but it’s all I focus on like I feel like I have no social skills outside of smiling and nodding while high and eventually everyone I like is going to get sick of me because I act like a child