#and unrealistic

[henghost]

worm is like... if bugs were your friends, you might still be unhappy

[horse-heaven]

some people out there really act like if you spay/neuter a dog before a certain age their joints will immediately collapse and their bones will crumble to dust

[cureofthenonesense]

“And then he shoves their underwear down and slams in with no prep” closes out of the ao3 tab

[i-love-tubbs-the-cat]

i struggle w the two sides of the spectrum of like. wanting to put more effort into my appearance, and look cute and feel confident all the time. and wanting to feel good just being comfortable in my own skin

[crumb-crumblet-s-crumbington]

guys is it weird for your 20 year old son to build your ex husband out of trash in your house after youve gotten divorced

[dec2007]

breathing organism

[sandersstudies]

Thinking you are uniquely undeserving of love is just another form of self-centeredness.

It came free with being human but you have to learn to overcome it.

[part-time-pixie]

that one b99 cold open

[drunkonimagination]

does he know he gets ten times hotter when he looks insane

[dykekarkat]

neil winning the idgaf war is so embarrassing for andrew actually...spent years convincing everyone he was the biggest idgafer around only for a ginger freak to absolutely upstage him in less than a year AND he gets a crush on him??? probably doodling stupid ass AM+NJ hearts during his lectures like a loser...

this is not to say neil wasnt also being a loser with a crush he was just not gafing at the same level mr nonchalant "hey i should probably warn him that im in love with him but i got a serial killer dad after me rn"

[melanthios-has-glitched]

quick note goal post before i get to work

every 10 notes I complete a simply plural profile for us

25 notes we start wearing blue light glasses regularly because we do a lot of work on our laptop and look on our phone

50 notes we go through our clothes to clean it out

100 notes we eat healthier

125 notes we go to sleep at 11:30

175 notes we push our mom to actually buy us another binder

200 we work on our wolf mask and post progress pics

1,000 notes we tell our teachers what name we want to be called

10,000 notes we tell our parents our preferred name

rules: if you’re going to comment, do something interesting; any “a” “b” “1” type comments will be deleted. because it’s my post and i said so. spam is allowed, tag however many people you want

red: goal reached, uncompleted

orange: started

green: complete

edit: what the fuck and how the fuck

edit 2: IN TEN HOURS???????????????????????

[sixeyesonathiel]

satoru is terrible at keeping secrets.

especially when that secret is you finally, after two years of relentless, dramatic, embarrassingly persistent courting, agreeing to be his girlfriend.

he swore up and down he could handle it—“…sure, sure, lowkey, hush-hush, i got you, baby,” he said, practically bouncing in place like the golden retriever he is, his white hair a fluffy mess, bouncing with every nod, bright blue eyes sparkling behind his blindfold—because, yeah, okay, it made sense. things were complicated. it would be messy if people found out too soon.

but also? it was satoru.

it was the lovesick man who has been hopelessly, pathetically down bad for you since the moment he laid eyes on you, and turns out, yeah, he can’t hide shit.

he’s doing the most. failing the most.

he’s staring at you during work like you’re the moon, the stars, the air he breathes, and probably breakfast, lunch, and dinner, too. the kind of gaze that has hearts practically floating out of his head like a bad shoujo manga. his lips tug upward in a soft, lopsided grin every time you so much as sigh. and it doesn’t help that he smiles like an absolute idiot every time you speak—his fingers fiddling with his pen, twirling it with that restless energy, like he’s got nowhere else to look but you. sometimes he props his chin on his hand, elbow on the desk, feet swinging beneath his chair, eyes glimmering with obvious affection. sometimes he kicks his feet, like he’s writing your name in hearts all over his notes.

and when people tease him about it?

“uh…uh…she’s just…” he chokes, rubbing the back of his neck, his white hair falling into his flushed face. his sunglasses slide down his nose as he stammers, his fingers nervously drumming on the table. “she’s cool! yeah! a really… really… cool… coworker!”

uh huh.

people start noticing real fast. the way you bring two drinks into meetings, both his favorite. the way his jacket mysteriously ends up on your chair, like he’s perpetually cold even though he’s not. the way you two walk in separately but somehow always leave together. the way satoru is always hovering two inches behind you like he’s your personal security detail, or maybe just your lovesick guard dog, his long legs struggling to slow his stride to match yours. his glasses slips sometimes, revealing those ridiculously bright eyes trained on you and only you.

and when you whip your head slightly and whisper scoldings under your breath, lips barely moving—"“you’re gonna blow our cover, dumbass”—he just beams, a grin so wide his cheeks push up against his blindfold. his fingers twitch, aching to reach out and tuck a stray hair behind your ear. it’s the kind of smile that could knock the air out of your lungs if you weren’t already holding your breath trying not to combust. he tilts his head like he’s imagining sliding a ring on your finger already, the soft flush on his cheeks betraying how much he’s already too far gone.

it’s not just the staring. it’s the giddiness. the way he forgets to keep his distance when you’re around. the way his shoulders instantly straighten when you walk into the room, like his whole body is magnetized to you. the way his fingers tap against the desk like he can’t wait to talk to you again. the way he fumbles, dropping his pen or knocking over his water bottle, when someone catches him looking at you like you’re his entire universe. it’s the way he instantly brings you snacks he swore were “for everyone” but somehow always end up on your desk, the wrappers piling up as you pretend not to enjoy the attention.

it’s also the way you’re absolutely pissed when you realize he’s blowing the secret wide open. your jaw tightens, your foot taps the floor, your arms cross, and your glare sharpens to a laser beam. you’ve warned him. you’ve scolded him. you’ve threatened to dump him—half-joking, half-very-much-not—if he keeps being so obvious. you press your palm to your temple in frustration as you whisper, "you're killing me here, satoru."

and suddenly, he’s panicking. his hands flail, baby blues orbs widening . his voice cracks, desperate. his fingers clutch the air like he's trying to grab the right words before they scatter.

“no, no, no, babe… please don’t dump me. i’ll do better, i swear. i’ll look less. i’ll… i’ll stare at the wall instead. i’ll wear sunglasses indoors. i’ll look at the floor forever. i’ll… i’ll even switch departments. please, please don’t leave me. i won’t survive it. i’ll just crumble into dust. i’ll haunt you. but like… in a hot way.”

he's clutching his chest dramatically, leaning into the nearest table for support like he’s seconds from collapsing. his bottom lip juts out in a pitiful pout, and his fingers twitch like he wants to reach for you but knows he can’t—not here, not now. his feet shuffle in place like he’s trying to root himself to the ground, but his whole body screams to be closer to you.

“you’re so bad at this,” you deadpan, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded, pretending you’re not melting inside because you’re emotionally constipated and you like to act like you’re not just as whipped. but your ears are pink. you know they are. you can feel the heat blooming across your skin. you shift your weight onto one leg, tapping your finger against your elbow in mock annoyance, but your foot has already inched closer to his.

“but you still love me right?” he pouts, voice softening, tilting his head as he leans closer like a puppy waiting for a treat. his hair flops forward over his blindfold, his grin tentative, hopeful, like he’s staking his entire existence on your next words. his toes point toward you, his shoulders curling in, like you’re his center of gravity.

“you’re lucky you’re cute,” you grumble, rolling your eyes, but you’re already reaching for his hand beneath the table, already letting him lace his fingers with yours, his thumb stroking soft circles into your skin like it’s instinct, like it’s home. he squeezes your hand like he never plans to let go.

he brightens instantly, a soundless laugh puffing from his chest, his white hair bouncing with the force of his excitement. his entire body relaxes, his feet kicking slightly under the table. “i’ll be better! i’ll be so sneaky, baby! like a ninja! you won’t even see me coming! i’ll be a ghost! you’ll be so proud of me!”

spoiler: he does not, in fact, get any sneakier.

he gets worse. because now he’s trying so hard to “be sneaky” that he ends up staring harder. he waves at you across the room with a smile that’s way too fond, his hand flopping in a lazy, unmistakable greeting that lingers just a second too long. he trips over his own feet when you so much as glance in his direction, scrambling to play it cool like his heart didn’t just somersault into his throat. he texts you from three desks away: “do you miss me?” like you’re not in the same building, like he hasn’t seen you in five minutes. he sends you selfies from the next room with captions like, “thinking of you” and “missing my girl.”

he's a terrible liar. but he’s the best boyfriend.

so you let him. you let him slip up. you let him look at you like you’re his whole world. you let him wear that stupid grin. you let him love you loudly, even when he’s supposed to be quiet about it. you let him text you unnecessarily, bring you snacks with your name written on the wrapper, and you let him keep leaving his jacket on your chair.

you’re just as hopeless, aren’t you?

[merlinmylove]

So u know how in the tudor era, and general royal history, the wife of the King made his shirts? It was seen as an intimate item of clothing, and thus Queen was responsible for tending to them and sewing them.

Yeah, Merlin totally does that for Arthur. He started mending them when he was the prince and just never stopped even when he became King

No one has the balls to point it out to either of them, and so every visiting noble, servants, and knights who may reside in the Citadel believes Merlin is his “favourite” because of this.

The fact that Sir Leon, the 1st knight of Camelot, is always watching Merlin’s back doesn’t help the allegations either — clearly he’s under royal protection !!

(leon is just very nervous about merlin’s lack of self awareness and don’t want to see him hurt)

Arthur is blissfully unaware that everyone assumes his manservant is acting like his wife and Merlin is just annoyed because he keeps tearing the tunics at the seam with his giant muscles and now he has to fix them again godammit Arthur!

[callmeizukunotdeku]

I was a kid with a Hunger Games hyperfixation and, from time to time, I'll get reminded of the books. With Trump's inauguration and the TikTok ban and unban, I can't stop thinking about a political tactic called panem et circenses, or bread and circuses.

In Mockingjay, Collins writes "'It’s a saying from thousands of years ago, written in a language called Latin about a place called Rome,' he explains. 'Panem et Circenses translates into "Bread and Circuses." The writer was saying that in return for full bellies and entertainment, his people had given up their political responsibilities and therefore their power.'"

In Collins' world, the Hunger Games was the entertainment. In ours, it's social media. Twitter, Meta, TikTok, are all controlled by political powers. Musk, Zuckerberg. TikTok is owned by Yiming and Rubo, but with the ban and unban, the content it shows in America is filtered to fit Trump's political agenda.

It's entertainment at the cost of information.

[schizononagesimus]

cant explain why but harrow would love the princess bride.