#seriously what the FUCK is your problem man

[misunderstoodmotherfucker]

KARKAT: WERE YOU LISTENING TO A GODDAMN WORD I JUST SAID? I SAID YOU CAN'T DATE DAVE BECAUSE HE'S YOUR BROTHER

KARKAT: ITS FACTUALLY INCORRECT TO ASSUME HE WOULD EVER BE INTERESTED. AS IF WE WOULD BE FRIENDS IF HE DID.

KARKAT: THIS CHART IS MEANT TO ILLUSTRATE SOMETHING TO YOU. SOMETHING REALLY IMPORTANT TO YOU, IF YOU TRY TO PAY ATTENTION FOR A MILLISECOND INSTEAD OF HAVING CHILDREN WITH ANY INFIDILE YOU EVER MEET AT A TARGET COOKING SECTION STORE. YOU SERISOULY NEED TO GET OFF THE MEDS AND MAKE A MOVE TOWARDS SOME NORMALCY IF HE'S GOT A KID ON THE WAY LIKE YOU AND JADE DO, STUPID. GET USED TO THE PHILOSOPHY HARVARD-LEVEL LECTURES BECAUSE THEY'LL BE DELT OUT LIKE A FUCKING LAW AND ORDER SVU EPISODE WHERE YOU GET YOUR SHIT WRECKED IN THE INTERROGATION ROOM, FUCKER.

YES IM AUTISTIC, A SAVANT IF YOU WILL AND YOU WILL REGRET EVER LETTING ME LOOSE THINKING IM AN "EMBARASSMENT" WHEN IM AN "ASSET" TO EVERY NON-INCEL THERAPY-DROOLING TOOL YOU MEET IN A MEETING ROOM TAKING AWAY YOUR STOCKS AND YOUR SHIT, YES ALL YOUR SHIT. YOUR PROPOSITIONS ARE SHIT, ROSE. I COULD DIAGNOSE WITH BRAINROT BUT YOU'D UNFORTUNATELY FIND A WAY TO MAKE IS A NARCISSIST'S PLAY, A FUCKING PLOY FOR YOUR ROMANCIFICATION FOR ANY YOUNG MAN YOU SEE, EVEN YOUR NOT-SO BROTHER WHO IS ALSO A BROTHER IN THE SENSE THAT YOU HAVE A CHAIN AROUND HIS NECK LIKE MY WEAK-ASS BRETHREN. TRY THAT AGAIN HONEY, I READ AND YOU NEED TO SERIOUSLY REEVALUATE YOUR SHIT. SERIOUSLY, THOUGH. WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM????? YOU AND JADE HIT IT OFF JUST FINE BUT YOU KILL OFF DAVE LIKE ITS SOME SORTA MUSIC VIDEO WITH WILD RETRIBUTIONS?????

THAT'S WHAT THE ASS-SHAKING MUSIC INDUSTRY IS FOR. YOU'RE NOT A THERAPIST, AND I'M NOT A LAWYER.... RIGHT? SO LET'S LEAVE IT AT THAT.

ROSE:....

KARKAT: AND THANKS FOR THE $50

beanbag chair psychology

[inkyrainstorms]

The Martian Stan AU - The Beginning

“Is that it?” Stan asked, his voice burning and rising like the coming tide, vicious and overwhelming and inevitable. Ford’s shoulders tightened involuntarily, and he threw his brother as scathing of a glare as he could manage. Couldn’t Stan see that this, Ford’s problems, were important? “You call me all the way here after ten years, just to tell me to get as far away from you as possible?!”

If Ford was any less exhausted, if the hole in his left hand and the hole in his heart  were any less gaping, and the fresh scrapes and cracked fingernails ached any less, he might’ve taken a step back to apologize. To explain that it wasn’t about what Ford wanted, or what Stan wanted. It was about stopping Bill, and saving the world.

If Ford were a different man, he’d reconsider his approach and find a way to fix the chasm that seemed to yawn wider with every word that came out of each of their mouths. But as it was, Ford was not a different man. He couldn’t even fix himself.

So Ford instead felt indignation sting like hot coals in his gut and urge him to step forward, closer to Stanley. His brother took an involuntary half-step back. “Stanley, you don’t understand what I’ve been through!”

“What you’ve been through!” Stan kept talking even as Ford pushed past him, fury etched onto every word like a brand. “No, no, you don’t understand what I’ve been through! I’ve been to prison in three countries, and I once had to chew my way out of the trunk of a car!”

He got up in Fords face when Ford turned back, his brows drawn low and finger jabbing into Ford’s abdomen. He didn’t realize it, because of course he didn’t, but he’d pressed right into one of the bruises on Fords ribcage from his trip down the stairs earlier that day. Ford grit his teeth and glared back.

“You think you’ve got problems? I’ve got a mullet Stanford!”

Why couldn’t Stan take Fords problems seriously? Was he really cracking jokes at a time like this? 

Ford couldn’t take it anymore. 

Oblivious to the dangerous precipice Fords stability had drawn close to,  Stan got bitterly sarcastic. “Meanwhile where have you been? Holed up in your fancy house in the woods and living it up, selfishly hoarding all—“

Ford went still. If he’d been a slightly different man, a slightly more composed man, perhaps, he’d have fired back another jab at his twin, because how could the man that ruined Fords life and betrayed his complete and total trust call him selfish?

There was a different voice, at a different time altogether too recent and a lifetime ago. His monstrous Muse, his most trusted friend, taking his body on a fucking joyride and then having the gall to look him in the eyes and say “YOU’RE PRETTY SELFISH IQ”. 

Ford had just kept on weeping blood. 

As it was, Stan didn’t get a chance to finish his rant. He was much too busy receiving a solid punch to the face and staggering back against the force of it. For a moment, all was quiet. Ford was shaking, he realized distantly, staring blankly at his brother. His knuckles stung from the impact.

Stan took more time to recover than Ford would’ve thought, but when he finally did, it was with a new layer of dark fury that Ford hadn’t ever seen from him before. Stan lowered the book from where he’d clenched it to his chest, and pulled out a lighter. “Fine.” He whispered roughly, though it echoed in the cavernous room anyway. Louder, then, “Fine! You want me to get rid of it so bad? I’ll get rid of it right now!”

A challenging fire burned in Stan’s eyes, and with a flick, it burned in his right hand too. Ford’s journal dangled above the hungry, all consuming light. 

Ford couldn’t breathe. Every piece of himself he’d had to let go of, that he’d lost to Bill and all that he was giving up to rectify his own mistakes, all to see Stan get rid of part of his life’s work right before his eyes. 

How dare he.

Ford let out a guttural shout and lunged for the book. Stanley, evidently not expecting this, stumbled back and tried to move the lighter before Ford and him could get burned from it in the tussle.

He only partly succeeded. Ford hissed at the momentary new pain shooting up the underside of his hand as he tried to grab for the book and Stan flat out dropped the lighter in response. His brother faltered for a split second, his brow creasing. 

“Sixer, I—“

Ford didn’t let him finish. The second he heard the nickname, some part of him blanked out entirely, and the buzzing in his ears sounded like an angry hornet in his skull. “Don’t,” he grit out, and he’s sure his voice was much too thick and angry and he wasn’t being rational but he couldn’t bring himself to care. “Call me that!” 

When Ford lunged for the journal anew, he tackled Stan to the ground as his brother instinctively tightened his own grip on the book. Ford’s book.

“Why not?!” Stan cried out, trying to pry Ford off of him and only succeeding in rolling the two on the ground away from the portal. Ford couldn’t figure out if he sounded more hurt or concerned. The hurricane in his chest kept him from thinking on it too much.

Ford let out a wordless grunt in response, as the two of them, having grappled up to stand, slammed straight through the door and Stan tried to pin him down onto one of the control panels, before Ford managed to gain enough momentum to roll Stan off of him. They were throwing punches and shouting insults they probably didn’t mean, and after a minute long struggle where they surely broke every damn thing in that control room —and good riddance, Ford tried to think but he was too tired to think much at all— Stan had shouted with all the ferocious desperation of a drowning man, “why can’t you listen to me, damnit! You ruined my life!”

Ford had retorted, because of course he did, with “You ruined your own life!” as he finally got a good grip on the book and kicked Stan away with enough force to shove him against the side of one of the control panels. 

Stan’s scream was abrupt and guttural and horrifying. It cut through the haze in Fords mind with all the precision of a scalpel, dropping a rock of dread into his gut. Ford backed away as quickly as he could, and didn’t even register his journal slipping through his slack fingers to land facedown on the ground. He felt sick.

“Stanley! Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” 

For a few, horrible, horrible seconds, Stan laid there, slumped and unmoving from where he’d hunched onto the floor. The burn— the brand on his shoulder looked angry and hot against his skin. It had burned clean through his coat and shirt.

Ford took a few hurried steps closer, shaking so hard he could barely walk, when Stan groaned. “Stanley…” he started, but trailed off as Stan pulled himself to his feet. His eyes were darker than Ford had ever seen them before. Stan was shaking too.

“You really want your dumb mysteries that bad?”

And Ford wanted to say, no, no he didn’t, because Stan still held his shoulder stiff as he could and his grip was knuckle-white where he’d used it to brace his arm against his side, because Ford had branded his own twin.

But the words stuck in his throat, because he realized with a start that Stan and him weren’t the ones shaking. The room was. His eyes shot to the portal.

His magnum opus and his curse, his Dadaleus’s Labyrinth, was activating. 

A sudden movement from Stan snapped Fords attention back to his injured, angry brother. Ford took a few cautious steps out of the control room and held up his hands placatingly as Stan advanced. His brother was blocking the doorway, but Ford needed to get in there, he needed to activate the shutdown procedure. “Stan, please,” he said weakly, not sure what exactly he meant. Let me through? Wait? Let me help you?

He didn’t get the chance to find out, though, because Stan continued talking, hefting up the journal he’d evidently picked up from the floor while Ford was distracted. “Well you can have ‘em” Stan said viciously, and Ford could hear the pain in it clear as day as he moved to shove the book into Ford’s hands.

Ford dodged Stan attempt, careful to not touch Stan’s injured shoulder, and weaved around him. “Stan, please, wait.”

Stan laughed, turning around. His grin looked painful. “I’m tired of waiting, Si— Stanford. I really am.”

Ford didn’t have time for this. His heart ached in ways Ford didn’t have the time to decipher as the humming in the room got louder, and he turned to move back to the control room. “Just a moment, Stanley, I just need—“

When Stan latched onto his arm and tried to whirl Ford back around, Ford reacted on pure instinct and deep seated paranoia, that kind that can only be born from aftermath of pure devastation. He followed the momentum and shoved Stan back as hard as he could, turning and sprinting to the control room before Stan could recover and try to stop him again.

“Stanford?”

He never got there. Stan’s voice, suddenly small and scared, ground Ford’s pace to a halt. The humming was louder now, reverberating through his chest. 

“Ford, what’s happening?”

For a terrible moment, Ford didn’t turn around. He just stared at the door of the control room as if he could stop time if he tried hard enough. He didn’t want to see. Seeing made it real. It meant his worst fears had become true, it justified the cold sinking in his chest. 

“Ford!”

Ford whirled around and let out a hoarse cry. There Stanley was, greasy hair floating in a halo around his face, one hand outstretched and the other holding Ford’s journal tight to his chest. Ford had pushed him over the danger line.

The look on his twins face was worse than Ford could’ve ever imagined. 

The anger had drained out of him, the closer he floated to the all consuming blue light of the portal. The was naked terror in his eyes, and he cried out for Ford again.

“Stanley! Hold on, please!” Ford said, before making another break for the control room.

He needed to shut it off right this instant.

“Hold onto what, brainiac!?”

“I don’t know, Stanley! Anything within reach, just don’t let yourself go through the portal.”

Ford input the shut down code. He input it again. He then realized that they’d knocked the cords out of alignment and frantically began adjusting them from where they were wired into the top of the control panel. Shit, they really broke everything in this room, didn’t they?

The third time he input the code, the light flashed green, and the keys made themselves known on a panel adjacent to Ford’s position by the window.

Three keys. Of course. Why did he have to make it three keys, all turned simultaneously?

Metal screeched in the portal room, and when Ford dared to glance up between trying to maneuver himself to turn all three keys, a jolt of horror swept through him and nearly knocked him off his feet. 

Stan has nearly entirely consumed by the light now, clawing at the edge of the portal he’d managed to reach. Ford cursed himself when he realized that the metal plate Stan was holding, as well as  over a dozen others, were loosening to the point of nearly falling off entirely from the main frame. The other objects he’d scattered across the floor of his lab, everything from basic tools like screwdrivers to bigger machine parts floated through the portal at increasingly high speeds.

Ford wouldn’t need to do anything, he realized, and it wasn’t the comfort he wished it was. The portal was destabilizing. Judging by the erratic pulsing the portal light was doing, it’d be closing soon.

Ford ran out of the control room and stopped short just as Stan locked eyes with him again. 

“Stanley!” he called, another desperate idea beginning to form in his panic addled mind as he scanned the room for spare rope and found none. The spare rope from the first portal test must’ve gotten caught in the portals expanding gravitational pull. His brother was barely a shadow in the light now, but Ford knew Stanley had heard him. “If you toss me the journal, I can—“

“The journal?” Stan gasped out, frenzied. “Is that still all you care about!?”

“No, no, if I just had the instructions, I could fix—“ this, fix everything. 

The screeching of metal and thundering of the portal reached a deafening crescendo, and Ford could see Stan open his mouth to interrupt, to say something, assent or argument or—

But Ford didn’t get to find out what Stan would’ve said. A particularly violent jolt shook the metal frame of the portal, and Stan, with a wide-eyed final look that Ford didn’t know how to decipher, slipped.

His brother disappeared into the light just as the portal collapsed in on itself with enough concussive force to send Ford crashing to the ground. He slammed onto his back hard enough to knock the air from his lungs.

Silence fell over the room. It was dark.

Ford stared at the ceiling above him, then dragged his eyes, slowly, painfully, to the portal. 

The deactivated, half missing and half obliterated portal.

For a long, long time, Ford sat in the dark under the full weight of every bruise and scratch and burn he’d sustained, and it was like he was underwater, head swimming with nausea and pain and bewilderment. He was numb. 

A faint plip-plop sound echoed suddenly through the deathly silent basement, and Ford squinted at the sound through his crooked glasses, trying to identify the source. 

A dark substance stained the edge of the portal, right where Stan had been holding on. Ford watched blankly as the liquid slowly rolled along the curve of the portal entrance, before reached a jagged gap in the perfect circle and slipping through. It slid down the jagged and crumpled panels, weaving until it gathered at the tip of a particularly jutting sheet of metal. 

Another drip.

Another.

Ford shifted closer, simply trying to breathe. He pointedly didn’t think about how the other side of the portal had driven Fiddleford to seemingly the brink of madness in moments, he didn’t think about the glimpse into the Nightmare Realm Bill had given him when he first revealed his true hand, and he certainly didn’t think about the final look Stanley had given him, grief and rage and betrayal all rolled into one.

He finally got close enough to see the liquid for what it was. It wasn’t oil, like he’d figured, like he’d hoped and prayed with every inhale and exhale to the gods he didn’t believe in. It was too thick, congealing with familiar splatters on the floor. It was a deep crimson.

Stan must have cut his hand on the metal with how hard he’d been holding it, Ford realized, and the thoughts were the first crack in the dam Ford had buried himself beneath. This was Stan’s blood.

Stan was in the Nightmare Realm, bleeding from one hand and burned on the other shoulder and begging for Ford to do something, asking Ford what was happening because he didn’t know, because Ford didn’t tell him, and—  

It was all Fords fault.

All of it.

Oh Moses.

The dam creaked with warning, a death rattle and a laugh rolled into one, before Ford was swept into the undertow.

Ford had killed his own brother.

All alone in the dark basement with the machine he’d turned into his brother’s grave, Ford buried his burnt, bloody hands in his hair and bowed his head until it hit his knees. All alone, Stanford Pines cried for the first time in years.

Alternate Titles: The Worst Conversation Ever

Or: Ford started disassembling the portal early and everything went to shit accordingly.

Tags! @aroace-get-out-of-my-face @pleasantartisanhottea @empressofsamoyeds @littlelilliana15 @pinefamilycatsau @thejaxindianrizzler (I saw your comment in the og post and it made me laugh cause I was in the middle of working on this when I noticed it) (I hope you don’t mind the tag :))

if I missed anyone I’m sorry about that! The tag is always a fair option to follow too (#martian Stan au)

[cocogum]

The Great Wave - Chapter 14 Review

‼️SPOILERS FOR THE CHAPTER‼️

This chapter felt shorter than the other ones in this second volume so far.

But that doesn't matter.

CUZ GUYS WE FINALLY SEE DATHURA AGAIN ‼️❤️‼️❤️‼️❤️‼️❤️‼️❤️‼️‼️❤️

When the chapter covers were only available, I originally thought that she ended up being the guardian of the Tree of Life but it looks like she just settled somewhere vacant in the Sadida Kingdom.

I don't mind cuz as long as she's there, I'm happy hehe 💗💗 She's such a beauty omg

Dathura saying that she's been called once again by Amalia makes me assume that Dathura asked for her help once before but we know it couldn't have been in Season 4 because she was only seen protecting the Tree of Life as it's last defense.

So the first time Amalia has asked for help must've been in Season 5 when Harebourg will be seen as the antagonist. I'm only making assumptions here but it could be true. In a way, it makes sense because Dathura technically does have a connection to Harebourg since she used to be a past member of the Brotherhood of the Frogotten just like him. So maybe she could have helped Amalia by trying to talk to Harebourg or maybe explain to Amalia what may be going when he'll become a problem for her kingdom. Because let's not forget the fact that he wanted Amalia's kingdom to have endless wood to warm up Frigost.

But anyways, Amalia asks Dathura to help her find a remedy for Yugo.

Cuz apparently the belladonna only slowed the process. It didn't actually fade away on its own because it thought it did its job.

Dathura disconnects herself from her meditation spot and guides Amalia to some hidden territory in the Sadida Kingdom.

I found it a bit odd when Amalia asked her where they were here, since she was supposed to have lived in the kingdom her entire life AND WAS ABSOLUTELY THE TYPE OF KID TO HAVE ROAMED AROUND THE PLACE AND MEMORIZE ALL OF IT BY HEART.

But then again, this entire area is ALIVE so it can do whatever the fuck it wants lol

Dathura just flies away as if she didn't say the most hippie spiritual shit ever.

BUT LOOK AT AMALIA'S ADORABLE FACE WHEN SHE ADMIRES THE PLACE 💗💕💗💗💗💗💗

my little queen is such a softie for nature 💖💖💖

Also let me just say how much I love the fact that Dathura is referring to Yugo as "our" king. She was so chill with Yugo in season 3 and we can tell that she's still cool with him because she accepts him as the king of the Sadida Kingdom.

And that speaks A LOT on so many levels when you know that some sadida citizens do not accept Yugo's people but then you got a part of the Sadida God literally being cool with the king they hate. Like come on now, if you're a sadida AND an eliatrope hater, what are you doing??? You keep blabbing about how the eliatropes are being a menace and "staining" your sadida culture when one of your demigoddesses (who LITERALLY keeps a portion of your god's power, mind you) is straight up just vibing with the man you hate.

Like seriously Amalia you gotta shut them up someday or another.

Another thing that I enjoyed was that I now know, thanks to Dathura, that there is a shortened way to say Grougalorasalar's name. It's Asalar and I don't know why but I find it so cute to say 💕💕 Like it's cool and yet adorable at the same time I don't know how else to explain it.

Amalia then explains what Grougalorasalar wanted and that he'll start attacking again if Yugo doesn't accept giving away the artifacts.

But I am SO GLAD that out of all the things Yugo refuses to give, it's the eliatrope dofus for very obvious reasons.

Like I explained back in the last chapter, Grougalorasalar wanted the Eliasphere since it doesn't belong to them and because Yugo's people have a habit of naming things after their people if they find any powerful artifacts that can support them. But in no way, shape or form does Yugo ever need to give his eliatrope dofus to him. These eliatrope dofus literally belong to the eliatropes because, again, those are the primordial eliatropes' recall points. Not to mention that they've been created by THE ELIATROPE GODDESS.

Like come on what is bro doing asking for something that belongs to them!? I agreed with him about how Yugo and his people were actual troublemakers without even trying, but taking away the dofus that respawns them?? Hell nah man, I stay away from that shit.

So Dathura picks out a plant and properly reduces it to the actual remedy before she tells Amalia to discuss this whole Grougalorasalar situation with Joris.

After everything he's done for the world, it looks like bro still can't get away from the short height allegations from mortals and immortals alike 😭😭

Talking to Joris makes the most sense since he used to be Asalar's vessel but yay, we get to see Joris back! I can just tell that all the joris fans were happy to see him in that 15th chapter cover and now get to see him being mentioned in this chapter lol

DATHURA CALLED AMALIA A FRIEND DISLDKDLWPWPROFODOEEO 💖💗💖💗💗💖💗💖💗💖💗💖💗💖💖💗💗💖💖💗💗💖

Anyways, after suggesting Amalia to speak with Joris about all this, she warns her not to upset Grougalorasalar no matter what hers and Yugo's decision will be.

Don't worry shawty, these two morons got this in the bag 🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢

[tacagen]

one of the things that fascinate me about thawne: yes, he CAN be normal with kids! surprisingly normal!

((not at all times, though. his mental illness still spills through and as usual he, in trying to manipulate or hurt others, spits out at them the exact stuff that would hurt him (or have in his childhood/barry's rejection interpretation) the most in the first place lmao))

but at the same time. his like second instinct when doing his bullshit is FUCK THEM (as) KIDS

(and, well. whatever this classifies as)

[stevethehairington]

oh boy. okay. we're really gonna do this huh?

first of all, THANK YOU for proving the VERY EXACT point i was making with this post. i did not tag you in this post. i did not mention your url. i did not name ANY names, in fact. on paper this post has NOTHING to do with you directly, and yet here you are. commenting on this post. and with unwanted rebuttals to boot.

the fact that you automatically assume this post was about you so clearly shows that you understand that you're doing EXACTLY what it says. that YOU are the problem here.

second of all, onto your unwanted rebuttals (which, rebuttals to WHAT exactly? i have no fucking clue. because nowhere in my post did i say she isn't a writer? lmfao. in fact, i actually call her the writer several times so like, learn to read?)

to your point that "SHE IS A WRITER". yeah. okay. she's listed under the writing tab on IMBD, but if you actually CLICK on the tab¹ you get this:

in which she is listed as a staff writer.

according to wikipedia², a staff writer is "the probationary, entry-level position in the writers room."

according to yellowbrick³, a staff writer is "an entry-level career in writing rooms."

according to screencraft⁴, a staff writer is there to "develop and break story" and work "under the direction and authority of the above positions." the only positions lower than them on the totem pole are the writers assistants (who literally take notes and do some light proofreading) and the PA's (who work as gofers by answering phones and getting coffee).

according to brian herskowitz's (an actual writer/producer/director in the business) website⁵, the staff writer, again, is the third up from the bottom with six levels of writer above them.

ALL OF THIS TO SAY - she is not some like high level, super important, final-say-having writer. she's in the room, yeah absolutely, and she's contributing, sure! but don't try to make it out like she has this, like, HUGE amount of power and sway. she doesn't. the stuff she did write had to go through like six other levels of people. NOT TO MENTION, every single one of the sites i sourced emphasized that being a staff writer is a COLLABORATIVE effort. as in, she works in a TEAM of staff writers. as in, it does not fall to her shoulders and her shoulders alone. she is NOT out here making ANY decisions by herself.

again, i NEVER said she wasn't a writer for the show, and certainly not in this post??? so i really don't have one single clue why you're coming for me for that???

next, your screenshot of the author's note in the book.... pal. "you all had some hand in eddie's creation, and i count myself lucky to have been there in the room with you" does NOT imply that she had any direct contribution in the creation of eddie. not to mention the phrasing "you all had some hand", again, implies that she is a step removed. YOU had a hand not WE had a hand. plus i'm gonna be reeeeeal honest here, if i was a writer and i had ANY hand in creating the character of eddie munson, the character that has become SO popular and SO beloved, i sure as SHIT would be making it ABSOFUCKINGLUTELY clear as day that i had an active part in it. i wouldn't be using phrases like "letting me be in the room". that does NOT imply any direct control. that implies that she got to be there and witness it. (now i'm not saying she didn't have any direct impact, because WE DON'T ACTUALLY KNOW THE EXTENT OF WHO CAME UP WITH THE IDEA OF EDDIE MUNSON. but like. she didn't say that she DID have direct impact, so you can't say THAT with your whole chest either,,, so like. take a step back.)

finally, "so calm down. it's not me the one who is jumping on your throat. you made a mistake. just knowledge it."

i'm not jumping down ANYONE'S throats here. i'm not the one that is going around leaving UNWANTED COMMENTS on people's posts trying to "show them the errors of their ways" and shit. so, in fact, YOU are the one doing the throat jumping here.

you literally jumped down my throat on this post. literally right here. on this very post. the post that had ABSOLUTELY NO mention of you specifically. it was a general statement because i've seen this shit from MULTIPLE people over the past couple weeks. but you took it to mean i was speaking about you and you CAME ONTO MY POST to leave an UNWARRANTED COMMENT in which you SHOVED YOUR "FACTS" DOWN MY THROAT.

i made a mistake? pray tell, what fucking mistake did i make? because from your comments here it seems like you think i said the book author was not a writer for stranger things? but actually, i literally never said she wasn't?? and, hell, i didn't actually even MENTION that on this specific post because this specific post was a plea for people who are doing exactly what you just fucking did to stop because it is VERY MUCH unwanted and unappreciated. i will fully take responsibility for any mistakes i make, and i will acknowledge them, but like. there's no fucking mistake here. there is none. i think YOU actually are the one here that needs to acknowledge your mistake - your mistake being that you ONCE AGAIN HAVE INSERTED YOURSELF AND YOUR OPINION ONTO A POST THAT IS LITERALLY NOT ASKING FOR IT AND IN FACT SPECIFICALLY ASKED FOR YOU TO KEEP IT TO YOURSELF.

in conclusion, your commentary is not wanted here or on any of my other posts, so you can ever so kindly fuck off. 😊

really fucking sick and tired of people who really fucking love the eddie book jumping on people who don't like or are even remotely critical of it's posts and like crusading their opinions around from the top of their high horses and shoving it down our throats.

if you like the book, great! that's awesome! love that for you! i am genuinely glad that you were able to find good in it and enjoy it!!

but not everyone did, and not everyone is going to agree with you. so, instead of going on some grand crusade where you find every single post that includes anything even remotely negative or negative adjacent or even neutrally critical and spending ALL this time and effort trying to provide unwanted rebuttals to every single thing, maybe you should just stay in your lane and find people who DO like the book and chat about it with them.

because i can PROMISE YOU, none of us appreciate it when you come onto our posts and start accusing us of "hating on" the author or "being rude" about her and her work and RIDICULOUS shit like that.

being critical of something and pointing out it's flaws is NOT inherently hating on it. i, frankly, do not know where people got that notion, but it's not fucking true so can we fucking quit assuming it is? and, critiquing something is also NOT the same as saying this is shit and it sucks and the author is a piece of garbage. again, where the fuck that came from is beyond me. you can be critical of something and still enjoy it. as soooo many of you love to point out, it's not perfect, why should it be perfect? so D U H. of course that means criticism can and should arise???

also. hot take (by which i mean ice fucking cold because it's NOT a fucking hot take), but going around toting FALSE facts as part of your "defense" does not make you or your argument look good. you, like the author, should maybe do a basic fact check first. 🙃

tldr, if you like the book, that's genuinely great, but stay in your fucking lane and stop seeking out posts from people who didn't like it to start shit in the notes.

[le--monde--est--stone]

my personal theory is that people who endlessly make fun of yamcha and hate on him never watched the og dragon ball series/read the manga

[tubbytarchia]

Dear anonymous. I talk about characters. I'm not hating on Pearl and I'm very much not hating on Pearl the CC. Her POV literally just hurts me on a deeply emotional level because I'm invested in her character. I thought I made that clear

[puppppppppy]

adhd comix

[papikyoo]

Every day I face the dilemma of having a clean room or having a job.

[electromains]

I simply think that white straight male incels shouldn't be playing genshin/hsr anymore and should just die afterwards

[twistedappletree]

at the ER with my client’s mom and she has a blood clot in her lungs 😭

[rawliverandgoronspice]

hmmm getting hit by another little "being heartbroken about tp ganondorf" moment :)

[amplexadversary]

Ahh, tv shows where I can't tell apart the male leads, my beloathed.

Seriously either we need to go back to lighting our sets more, or long hair on men needs to come back into vogue, because I can't keep living like this.

I can't keep taking two seconds to try to determine who is who every shot because I miss what's going on in the scene!

Controversial opinion, but you need to follow the silhouette rule in live-action projects too, at least in regard to characters in the same show or movie! If you absolutely *can't* hire actors with different heights, hair, or builds, you need to work something out with the costuming department to get a distinct shape!

[moe-broey]

Man..

[gregmarriage]

whenever i get insecure about my looks etc , i remember that people have been attracted to me in the past and it WASN’T some long winded prank of some kind. also, they didn’t spilt up with me bc of my looks either, it was entirely separate issues they may have had. like, the year i was dating my ex wasn’t a joke in that sense, it was just kinda a waste of time, bc we broke up and it basically turned out they lied to me, and i felt very strung along, but again separate issue. they WERE attracted to me for a while. they asked ME out, the rest is weird, but that part’s true. like, there’s only so much you can fake, if you know what i mean

[timeisacephalopod]

One of the dumbest criticisms of Glee that I've seen is questioning why will Schuster (is his last name spelled right? Don't care he fuckin sucks I hate his character lmao) doesn't have adult friends.

Setting aside that he does, he regularly hangs out with Beiste and Sue after school, and last I checked Emma is also an adult (I won't count Terry). But the reason he "doesn't" have adult friends is because of how shows work structurally. The setting is a high school, the audience is high schoolers, it makes no sense to follow will Schuster into his after school adult life to hang out with all his adult friends because that is not the premise of the show- because again that is how the structure of a show works. You have a set of characters in a set environment, you don't just randomly split off from that because a bunch of edgy 16 year olds on Twitter interacting with the show runners think they noticed something Sketchy™️ when all they noticed is how the structure of a show works. After School Will Schuster doing Adult Things isn't the premise of Glee and therefore his adult life outside the kids and the school isn't mentioned much if ever, because it doesn't need to be, that'd be a different show.

Frankly a lot of Glee criticism is bad faith and stupid, which makes no sense in a show that has really blatant biphobia and Kurt fucking Hummel in it. Technically nothing is "wrong" with Kurt it's just that I hate him and also he's the first character to do the aforementioned biphobia.