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#idk I just wanted to put this somewhere
mightyasteroid · 7 days ago
It's you. You! In the night                  in the morning                                  in those 2am reflections that are only meant for me me and the books and the heroes and the lovers                 who are all you too, when it really comes down to it And all those beautiful people of the silver screen that you can't bear to watch they still all come down to you for me my consumption, my simple days those beautiful days walking down the boulevard in my best outfit                                                   (where else would I wear it?) My pink skirt                 My blouse                                  My hat                                                   (and who still wears a hat?) all now for you                 with you and more beautiful for it...
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bardmaker · 2 months ago
My mom wanted to get me (transmasc) vitamins cuz idk why and we spent 5 minutes in the vitamins isle of Walgreens while she figured out which one to get me and I kept hearing her go "ooo this one looks good. Wait no that says women's" and then putting it back and I think that's the most affirming of my gender she's been and I find it adorable and hilarious
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the-phandom · 5 years ago
i had a kinda weird dan and (mainly) phil dream 
k so i dreamt that i was in town and leaving uni and i saw dan and phil walk past me so i was like ?????? so i let them go ahead bc they were mumbling about being late for a train but i saw they went into a tkmaxx so i followed them in and i was just hovering about upstairs bc they went down and then they came up wearing red hard hats?? but then the setting kinda switched and phil ran off down some stairs (this is totally bc of a phanfic i read last night before bed) and he ended up falling down like half of them and landing in a heap so me and dan sprinted down the stairs towards him to see if he was okay and dan crouched next to phil and then phil was all flustered and upset and he looked at me and said i had to get out the way of the workers and i was rly scared i made him mad and then the scene switched again and they were outside meeting people and phil was apologising for yelling at me and he felt really bad so i was tryna tell him it was okay and then he was thanking me for not crowding him when he fell and he wanted to hug me but he put his hands under my pits and proper lifted me up to his height and i like koala’d onto him briefly and he put me back down and then everyone was aww’ing and someone was like omg do that again lemme film it so he lifted me up again and i clung onto him and then i remembered a tumblr post someone wrote that was like “if u hug phil and u dont let go neither will he” so i just held on for ages and then someone said they were gonna upload it to tumblr and thats when i woke up 
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prettyheathen · 5 years ago
I don’t know what’s going on but I feel like really out of touch with reality and I’ve felt this way before but it’s weird because I thought I was doing better?? Now I’m like really fragile to the point where if anything happens I like flashback to self harming and I like really consider doing that to myself again. I just feel so overwhelmed all the time, but at the same time I feel like none of it matters at all so why bother. I look ahead to the future and something nags at me like its not supposed to be the way I imagine, like I’m not going to be in the future. I feel like I’m walking on thin ice with everyone around me like I can’t tell people the whole story otherwise it will be selfish and needy and make people see me differently. I’m kind of sick of this feeling that happiness does not exist. Like I’m out and doing stuff and everyone around me is happy and I think about whether or not I’m happy…and the answer is always no. It bothers me to smile or laugh without that feeling that I used to get inside. That feeling of actual joy. I can’t tell if it ever comes back. I don’t know what I’m really doing this all for anymore. And then I’m caught up in my image of myself, of how I used to like myself more. I get really mad that I don’t think I’m beautiful, and honestly I get mad that I’m not actually beautiful at all in any way. I’m just really angry about everything right now. I’m upset at how my life is going and how it seems to be ending but I can’t explain what that means because I don’t understand it.
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trashprinxe · 6 years ago
my mother has no sense of temperature like she'll have the windows open when it's 60 fucking degrees and then the next day the thermostat will be at like 78 and my dad and I'll be sweating and she'll just be like "I'm fine what are you two complaining about"
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andimlikeow · 7 years ago
It drives me absolutely nuts when I see people on my dash that make posts that just seem like they're asking for attention. I don't wanna be that bitch that doesn't believe they have problems, and that's not even the case, I just think they post a bunch of things about it to get people to freak out and feel sorry for them or for people to send them messages and give them attention for it. They're one of those people that doesn't get the kind of attention they want from their parents, so they lash out and try to get negative attention instead. And I Don't. Want it. On. My Dash. (but I also can't unfollow them because that would make things awkward, ya feel?)
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ucarim-blog · 7 years ago
                She doesn’t tell him directly.
            Of course, she doesn’t need to. She doesn’t owe him anything, never has. If anything, it’s his debt that can never be repaid, a debt born of a gift so great he can’t even quantify it, can’t weight it against a thousand diamonds or a fleet of Ferraris. She gave him a reason to live, and how could he possibly ever pay that back? And so, of course, she can’t owe him anything. It’s simply not possible.
            It still hurts, though. Sitting in one of the smaller alcove kitchens at the school, his feet up on the table and a cold beer in his hands. It’s the only way he makes it through the school days, half the time. He sneaks away and gets a little buzzed, never drunk, and then he’ll return to Physics an hour later and be able to deal with Quentin Goddamn Quire’s incessant babbling. Ororo caught him at it, once, and gave him a stern look that turned concerned when he didn’t try to make a joke about it, didn’t try to be flippant. She laid a hand on his shoulder, a silent question, but he ignored her and kept tipping back his cheap, cold beer.
            Today the other head of school catches him. Logan enters the room muttering a curse under his breath, hands stuffed into his jean pockets. He’s a man who seems to exist solely in flannel, when he’s not in uniform. He goes to the fridge, pulls out a beer of his own, and then turns and stares as though he just noticed he has company. Of course, that isn’t actually the case.
            “Join me, homme?” Remy says, this time managing to be flippant. He’s not in costume, just in a plain white linen shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His black jeans are tight, tailored in a very European way. He hasn’t bothered to cut his hair in months, and auburn strands brush across his distinctive eyes as he leans his head back and raises his bottle in Logan’s direction.
            Logan grunts in his usual, noncommittal way and pulls out a chair opposite Remy. For all the money, technology, and time that’s gone into the school, this hideaway is deceptively simple. The table and chairs are simple wood, straight lines and no adornment. The floor is all white linoleum tiles and the appliances look modern, not belonging to some space station sixty years in the future.
            It looks, it many ways, like the old kitchen at Xavier’s. The two men sit in companionable silence for a moment, forgetting that this is actually the Jean Grey School and not the old Institute at all.
            After a moment, Logan says, “Don’t you have a class to teach?”
            Remy shrugs. He’s never really enjoyed standing in front of a bunch of mutant teenagers and impressing upon them the importance of a classical education. Training classes are more bearable, but less frequent. Sex Ed is an event unto itself, but more for the students than for him.
            “I’m gonna kick you out if you ditch again,” Logan says.
            Remy shrugs, smiles wickedly. “You haven’t, yet.”
            “Too lazy to hire someone else,” Logan returns.
            “Or too sentimental ta get rid a’ me,” Remy argues. It’s a strange term to ascribe to Wolverine. But then, didn’t he name this the Jean Grey School? Isn’t this room a replica of Charles Xavier’s kitchen?
            “Don’t push me, Cajun,” Logan warns. Remy takes another sip of his drink.
            Remy thinks that if Logan really were sentimental, the two of them would be out on the lawn digging into each other with mistrust and reckless abandon. Remy would charge Logan’s uniform just to prove he could, and Logan would cut Remy from shoulder to hip just before the explosion blew him backwards. Violent, extreme, and somehow cathartic, their fights used to be all there was between them.
            Now they sit in a hidden kitchen and sip beer and pretend they don’t have responsibilities.
            “You’re not wit’ the Avengers, today,” Remy comments after a moment.
            “They don’t need every team all the time,” Logan grumbles. Remy’s about to add that Logan’s on a fair percentage of those teams, that chances are he’s needed at any given moment. He doesn’t want to see Wolverine’s schedule, with class time marked off in blue and Avengers duties highlighted in red and his time with his elite X-squad, the one Remy’s on, penciled in as an afterthought.
            “How’re they doin’, anyway?” Remy asks the question generally, but they both know who it is he cares about. The Avengers mean nothing to him, and he still smarts at the mention of the last time he faced Captain America. Alex was a friend, once upon a time, but Remy made mistakes that cost him many allies. Even his peace with Logan was tentative, for ages, until Laura bridged the spaces between them with her need of both of them, and their need of her. There was only one person, really, who ever welcomed Remy back unconditionally.
            “She’s fine,” Logan says, understanding completely. Then he sighs, sets his beer on the table with a clunk and runs a hand over his face. “She ain’t fine. Things’re a mess, and Rogue is only hanging on for Chuck’s sake. Or, she was.”
            “Was?” Remy asks. He knows Anna’s been out of sorts, lately. She seems happy enough when she’s at the school—the thought conjures the image of her in a green-and-white baseball uniform, hair done up in a messy ponytail and a wooden bat balanced on her shoulder—but whenever she leaves for Avengers Mansion, she’s angry. Not the spunky, ready kind of anger that kept her strong for so many years, but a deep and bitter suspicion, like she’s balancing on a tightrope and waiting for it to snap.
            “Something happened, when we were out in space,” Logan continues. He isn’t the type to mince words, to hide things. His relationship with Remy is such that he’ll tell the other man what he needs to know, even if there’ll be consequences to that. “Between her and Summers.”
            Not Scott, of course. “Alex?” Remy’s voice is sharp and he can’t help it. Alex was a friend, once upon a time. They were teammates. Remy had helped rescue him and Lorna and Rachel from space. Now? They hadn’t talked in ages, certainly not since the younger Summers had become a leader of the Avengers. “You’re jokin’.”
            “I don’t joke.” Logan says flatly. He picks up his bottle and drains the rest of its contents. “You asked, Gumbo.”
            He had, hadn’t he? He doesn’t have many details, but he can imagine. It was in space, he thinks bitterly. He remembers a time, right before things went bad, when he and Rogue stood side by side on the bridge of their ship and kissed through the clear shields of their helmets. When he had memories of touching her, of holding her, of kissing her, but couldn’t act on those impulses any longer. It’d been slow torture.
            And now she can touch whomever she wants, and who she wants is Alex Summers. Remy feels like he's going to throw up, he feels like he'ss going to drown. He’d been patient, hadn’t he? He’d said nothing about Magneto. He’d forced himself to not care, to feel nothing, to spin it like it was something good and new.
            And now Alex Goddamn Summers.
            “Get to class, Gambit,” Logan says, as he gets up from the table.
            Remy stays in the kitchen and drinks his way through three more beers.
            She didn’t tell him directly. And that, more than the fact itself, tells him how much things have changed.
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numel · 9 years ago
best friends of the felt
itchy and doze
trace and fin
eggs and biscuits
clover and cans
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saw someone else do this and forgot it was actually a really good way to vent, n e ways don’t read the tags if you want ig my guys
#if they drop him idk what I’ll do#like I’ll be okay in the long run but it’s gonna hurt#he’s made me smile so many times#and that group is his brothers#what would he do#I saw a post that said something about bad news#and to read under the tags#and I was so terrified it was an official post from j*p that they had dropped his contract#it was literally just that the shop owners needed more time to make their products so they were including free stuff to make up for it#I have no kpop friends and nobody that’s as invested in something like this as I am#how am I supposed to explain that I want to go to someone halfway across the world and hug them and tell them everything will be okay#and then actually go and make everything okay and fix it all for him#because he deserves the world but he’s getting so little right now#and if it’s hurting me like this then I can’t even imagine how he’s feeling#saw somewhere online that someone saw him in public and thought he looked thinner#like I have no control over his life obv I’m not a crazy person and I know I’ve got no right to tell him what to do#but this has gone on for so long#and all I want to do is wrap him up and make sure he and his group members are taking good care of him#I didn’t really realize I was feeling all these things until I wrote them down#so to that one user that put their feelings about the whole situation in the tags#thank you#if you read this I’m sorry I guess but also you should drink water and take care of yourself bc you deserve the world and more
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antagonistenthusiast · 4 days ago
i keep thinking about making a gifset for sequel trilogy characters + astrological symbology but i’m too lazy so here you go (from your local astrology obsessed nerd)
poe - mars (action, courage, passion)
ben - pluto (transformation, power, death, rebirth)
rey - sun (consciousness, vitality, stamina)
finn - jupiter (optimism, expansion, understanding)
rose - mercury (intellect, communication, reason)
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bastardmanvibes · 13 days ago
anons off oops uhh look idk why you tag rant but also i do know why and also you're right op let dennis be proud and loud and a fashionista and also maybe a drag queen idk maybe not i wouldn't want sunny touching that no offense but actually
thank u for reaching out
to address your concerns. yes. uh huh. yeah, but also no. and i concur.
i appreciate your understanding have a good evening or morning or afternoon
#ask#jackie talks#i just have a lot of thoughts and idk where else to put them thank u for getting it#but if u don’t get it that’s also fine bc theyre for me at the end of the day#i’ve been thinking abt gender fluid/drag queen dennis a lotttttt recently and it’s been breaking me#do NOT want to see it depicted bc it would be baaaaaad mkay probably most likely idk#oof i said a lot of shit this evening hold on man#glenn. okay. glenn gets it. but also? sunny writing bad. sunny writing hard. writing dennis breakdown hard.#so let alone man wear girl clothes ha ha danger ummmmm the whole point of the show is supposed to be like#the characters don’t change anti sitcom oh u want character development? NOT HERE lol hahaha schemes haha poop joke#but motherfucker. motherfucker. you listen to me. i am 100% sober right now. mac mcdonald came out of the FUCKING closet#and he’s not a wanabe buff guy he just IS buff. but he’s not written well but that’s not we’re talking abt here rn#we have 4 more seasons TELL ME it’s bc you are taking us somewhere please please#it confounds me. will we recieve 4 more seasons of lukewarm commentary blah blah flandarized self worshipping worthless bullshit#or are you going to remember the characters you invented and do them fucking justice#glenn wants to do dennis justice have you SEEN the way he acts him. nobody told him to make that face in that shitty thundergun episode#NOBODY told him to go on that face journey in hohc. he invents dennis in between the lines. has been. will continue to.#he KNOWS who dennis is. r u gonna put it on the goddamn paper now? please? gun????????? or r u gonna break me#idk which it’ll be. i dont. i don’t know. my GUT says expect trash expect nothing expect disappointment and heartbreak#my HEART says glenn is gonna do dennis good bc dennis is literally his legacy u say glenn everybody says dennis? the guy who plays dennis?#charlie is a movie star rob thinks he’s fucking fantastic and influential and balhabalagabaha labala fuck him#but glenn? glenn? glenn is still in this. TELL ME he is still in this#write the dennis breakdown. write him unraveling. write him having to abandon the golden god thing bc he doesn’t believe in it anymore#as much as he wants to he can’t he doesn’t anymore so what does he do??? might as well be a gay soy boy beta cuck#might as well. might as fucking well. mac. mac is his goddamn life and he haaaaates it. oh u thot getting w mac would solve it??!?!#it makes their relationship WORSE. they start fucking and it makes it WORSE. MAC hates him back!!!!! it’s FUNNY u assholes#friend. soup. i know u didn’t ask. but clearly i got thoughts and they are passionate ones#i said i only have two thumbs but sometimes they fly babey#after the gay soy boy beta stage comes the flourishing fashionista but time this takes time#i am concocting one concrete narrative and lemme tell u it’s gonna hurt when we get the opposite LETS GO ladiesssssss
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vissenta-senadz · 18 days ago
They’re Knocking Now Upon Your Door
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On the dark and unusual childhood of Reynaud Chastain. 1.4k words
(tw/cw: mention of suicide)
Reynaud was ten when he first saw a Sauvage.
He awoke, in the dead of night, to the distant clang of a bell. Bells had rung all week, as was typical for Carnaval, but they were cacophonous, riotous, the sound of chaos and merriment from one corner of Parletris to the other. But this… this was a singular bell. One clear ring through the night, a high and mournful tone that hadn’t been heard for years. Reynaud was too young to have even heard it before, but still, he knew exactly what it was.
La cloche de la mort.
He’d fallen asleep in the nave again. Father and mother never understood it, when he had a perfectly good bed in the rectory, one with a soft mattress and more pillows than any boy of ten years had a right to sleep upon. Reynaud supposed he ought to have felt lucky to have his own room, as befit a child of the bishop. But then, he thought his parents ought to understand his need to seek the peace of the chapel, even late at night. Were they not the leaders of their order? Were they not holy followers of the Queen, of the Sword, of the lady of Death herself?
Even at ten years old, Reynaud Chastain thought himself but an instrument of la Reine, a servant of truth, and the cool stone of the floor of the chapel nave the only bed he might need.
He blinked in the darkness. One ring. One ring, and from the direction of the Estate.
It could only mean one thing.
His family would have a visitor soon.
Mother and Father wanted to let Helene sleep, with the hour so late. “You should be sleeping yourself,” Father said grumpily, lighting the candles along the back wall of the chapel.
“He should see this,” Mother replied. “How else will he be ready when the time comes for him to begin his training?”
“Ten years is too young for a novitiate,” came the curt reply, but there were no other words on the subject. Reynaud could stay.
And he knew Helene wouldn’t forgive him if he let her sleep through this night.
“I need my coat,” he lied, affecting a shiver. The chill of October did hang in the air, a chill only just now come to this part of the world, with its short, wet autumns and drearily mild winters. Without another word, he sprinted out of the chapel, across the lawn, through the graveyard and into the rectory. His long legs carried him up the stairs and he pounded on the door of his younger sister’s room.
Helene was scowling when she opened the door. “This better be good,” she groused, rubbing sleep from her eyes and yawning.
“A Sauvage has died tonight,” Reynaud said breathlessly. “They’re coming. They’re coming here.”
Helene was wide awake at these words. “Well of course they’re coming here,” she snapped.
Reynaud wanted to slam the door back in his younger sister’s face. “I could’ve let you sleep through it,” he snapped right back, turning to his own door across the hall. “You’d better not let them see you.”
“I’m not an idiot,” Helene scoffed. Still, when Reynaud reemerged into the hallway, her expression had softened a touch, and she crossed her arms as she looked up at her big brother. “Thanks for coming back.”
Reynaud shrugged the too-big wool coat on. “You’re welcome.”
He’d expected a retinue.
So had his parents, by the confused looks on their faces when the massive oak door of the church swung open to reveal only two people. Well, one person, and one body. One man, and the body of his wife.
Catarina Sauvage.
Reynaud sat in the back pew, his head bowed, and he tried to look as inconspicuous as possible, tried to look like he belonged there, and not like he was some curious interloping child as his father insisted him to be. Still, he couldn’t help but look up as Armand Boucher, a man remarkable only in that he was the one who stole the heart of the sword queen, took heavy strides forward, weighed down by the lifeless body of the queen in his arms.
“Your… Grace,” Father Chastain said, sounding unsure for the first time in Reynaud’s memory. “We are honored to have you—“
“She’s dead,” the other man said, voice cracking on the word. “She’s dead. She’s gone. And she did it to herself.”
Thick silence fell over the nave, with only the sound of the wind outside whispering against the glass windows. It was so quiet, in fact, that Reynaud could hear a sniffle and a cough from somewhere toward the front. Helene. Before anyone could turn, he shifted in his seat, and then stood, making more noise than necessary as he shuffled out of the pew and into the center aisle. He almost didn’t dare look up, unable to bring himself to meet the incredulous, disapproving stares of his parents as he took a few steps closer towards the small knot they formed.
Before he could think, before he could remind himself that he was just a child, and that this was not his place, he reached out to touch the lifeless fingers of the hand that dangled in the air before him. “She’s beautiful.”
The dark-haired man looked down at him, his hard, wild eyes dimming for a moment, and suddenly, all the fire and ferocity there disappeared, a flame snuffed out, and his shoulders sagged beneath the weight of the woman he carried. He suddenly looked old, though Reynaud knew he couldn’t be much older than his own parents, and he looked sad, and he looked… lost. “She is,” Armand finally croaked out. “She always has been.”
Reynaud nodded solemnly, emboldened by the words, still steadfastly ignoring the growing alarm in his father’s eyes, and the way his mother started to shake her head and wring her hands. “The Book says she’s on the wind now,” he said softly. “To cut through the heart and join the spirit of the mind.”
Armand settled down on the bench where Reynaud had just been sitting, still cradling Catarina’s head in his hands. Reynaud could see from this angle now that her neck was bent at an odd angle, and her shoulders twisted in a strange jutting way, like her bones had been shifted, rearranged.
Like she’d fallen from a great height.
“I was never one for the Book, or the cards, not like she was,” Armand said softly. He was speaking directly to Reynaud, not even looking up at the other adults, as he stroked his dead wife’s hair. “But she’d have said the same thing. Whatever it is about the scythe, and how we all fall to the blade.” He looked back down at her face, his gaze gone soft and tender. “I just thought I’d go first.”
“And the babe, my lord?” Mme Chastain stepped forward, still wringing her hands. “We’d heard the bells just before the start of the Carnaval.”
“With her nurse,” came the stiff reply. “Cat made sure she was safe with the nurse before she…”
Father Chastain laid a hand on his son’s shoulder, squeezing his fingers in warning, before he spoke again. “We are honored to lay her to rest,” he said.
“Honored nothing.” Armand wouldn’t look away from Catarina’s bruised face. “I’ll pay you handsomely, to keep it a secret.”
Another hush fell over the vast chapel, and Reynaud could hear that the wind had slowly turned to gentle, murmuring rain. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes against the crushing grip of his father’s hand, and hummed a note.
The grip on his shoulder became something bruising and nigh unbearable, a dire warning, a preemptive punishment, but Reynaud couldn’t stop. He’d already begun to study, even if his parents though him too young, thought him too strange, to learn the rites when most boys his age were raising hell at the docks and picking fights in the schoolyard. He didn’t care what they thought; all he cared about was the Sword.
The Truth.
Armand looked up at him again. “Your altar boy knows well,” he said.
“My son,” said the Father through gritted teeth. “He’s my son.”
Armand nodded. “You know the proper songs, boy?”
Reynaud stopped his humming and blinked rapidly, his breathing gone shallow. “Every word.”
“Come, then.” Armand stood once more, his back straight and tall, and while he spoke to the bishop and the prioress, his gaze never left Reynaud. “You’ll sing for my wife. Sing her to the wind.” He finally looked up at Father Chastain. “And then, we’ll talk of your coin.”
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iamphibolous · 19 days ago
hrnggg want to watch robots 2005 for some reason now but also I want to draw LN stuff but also it is midnight and I got work at 10:30 so I’m tornnnnnn
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savedbythedel · 21 days ago
CThe CP fandom in my experience is rly thirsty but that comes with any fandom, just sometimes, the thirst rises to a really uncomfortable level and i am reminded that these are video game characters and i don't know how to feel about that
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