#about to be the saddest day ever bc it’s my last day

[vintagetvstars]

Alan Alda Vs. Robin Williams

Propaganda

Alan Alda - (M*A*S*H) - He is both the saddest wettest little meow meow and your kindly grandfather and your favourite eccentric uncle (mom's side). Somehow it works. Passionate Democrat, feminist, great writer, he and his books are hilarious. Did a cartwheel when he won an Emmy! How he met his wife is the best meet cute of the last two centuries, and they've now been married over 60 years!!!

Robin Williams - (Mork & Mindy) - Mork & Mindy will forever be iconic. Robin Williams is such a gem on this show! Nanu Nanu <3

- No Negative Propaganda Please -

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Additional propaganda below the cut

Alan Alda:

he’s just so good in MASH

he put so much bisexuality into hawkeye i think it fundamentally changed me when i was little and watching mash for the first time. anyway do we all know the story about how he met his wife when they were at a party together and they were the only two people eating the cake that fell on the floor and he fell in love with her over her laugh. i just think hes neat :) i love when theres a strange looking man. also feel it necessary to say that the guy that wrote the book mash was based on wrote himself as hawkeye and HATED alda's hawkeye bc he displayed his morals too much (alda had it in his contract for the show that every episode had to have an operating room scene bc otherwise you arent backdropping the fact that war is Not fun. actually. he almost didnt take the role bc he thought a war comedy would make too much light of the horrors)

please please please use this picture of him, he's so hot in it

His comedic delivery in MASH...

The story of how he met his wife is charming and sweet, and they've now been married 65 years

Just look at him. He's the most beautiful man I've ever seen but also he's completely average. He's got a weak jawlines and a round face and these big soft eyes and he's just so beautiful. He's capable of playing a silly charismatic sitcom protagonist in one scene, and a jaded army surgeon haunted by the deaths he's witnessed in the next. He's so hot that my dad once told me he decided to apply to medical school because of how much he was attracted to Hawkeye Pierce. That's literally how I learned that my father was bisexual.

He's also just a really great dude? He's been outspoken about his political beliefs for a long time, and has always been strongly and vocally anti-war, pro-feminist, and pro lgbt. He served a tour in the Korean war, and his experiences there informed his performance in the show. He (and honestly the entire cast, but especially him) really just soared above and beyond the standard for comedies of the day.

He's so funny and his eyes are pretty

He loves and is a champion of science (Source).

Robin Williams:

[care666bear]

XL coffee and handful of gummy worms b4 work. Breakfast of champs

[tododeku-or-bust]

Gonna start out with im white but tbh thats probably obvious so like. You rbed an interview about Miles G's hair and ive been wondering

Are there specific stereotypes to certain black hairstyles? Im curious bc i do character design a lot, and tbh ive always thought the double braids was a really cool look, are there implications to it? Or is it just regular racism from nonblack people that make some view it as "thug" as opposed to just a normal hairstyle.

Like when i was little i used to have my hair like that all the time, and i still do it sometimes bc its really good for hot weather, so i kinda associate it more with beating the heat/good hairstyle for when you're gonna get sweaty than anything else lol

🤣 it tis obvious, but I'm gonna answer this for you and anyone else who wants to start looking into it bc yes this is very important. So let's talk about it!

(this became a history lesson I did not mean to give lmaoooo)

The CROWN Act

PBS Transcript- How Hair Discrimination impacts Black Americans...

So first, to be frank: it's Racism. Understand that this shit is rooted in White Supremacy towards any nonwhite hair. I'm also approaching this from a Black American standpoint. While I won't be discussing their perspective bc it's better for one of them to do it, Native Americans also have a long history of White society forcing them to cut their hair, regardless of the religious/spiritual/symbolic importance. It, and its damage, lasts til today. And head wraps? Psht almost all of Brown America has a story.

In the beginning, they had enslaved Black women (and then through Jim Crow) cover their hair altogether. It was somehow seen as a way to protect property, then to call our hair ugly and an affront to whiteness, and yet a Jezebel lure for White men to sin (i.e. rape Black women, but White women didn't think that was possible so it HAD to be that concubine!!) This perception lasts to this day. Later, it turned into Assimilation or die- hair presses and conks to better meet white beauty standards. Being proud of our afros and natural hair had a revival in the 60s and 70s, and (this is subjective) i noticed it again in the 2010s with women and natural hair.

To present: You gotta realize that having afros, cornrows, braids, and locs is enough to get Black kids kicked out of some schools and extracurriculars. An entire education or valuable experience, and you cant have it bc of the hair that grows out your head. One of the saddest videos I've ever seen was when they forced a Black teen to cut off his locs (i.e. they held him there, looking miserable, as they sheared off his hair) in order to compete in a wrestling tournament, and all the white people in that place did was watch. No one stood up for him, as he sat there getting handled like property (bc his Black body was bringing them wins but his hair was just TOO MUCH 🙄 but that's a whole Convo about Blackness, Whiteness, and Sports).

My brother went to Catholic school and they basically said he couldn't grow his hair out. None of the looks we ascribe to our culture were allowed. The girls, unless it was flat ironed (to replicate whiteness), couldn't have long braids. Certainly no locs. Meanwhile, white girls can grow their hair out as long as the sun is old, and it's treated like innocent, beautiful youth.

And this lasts into adulthood with jobs! Bc that socialization, the idea that some hair is better than others, LASTS. A newslady just took her wig off to reveal her locs on camera, after hiding it for a decade because of public perceptions. The idea that if I have locs, oh they must be dirty (they're not), so they don't care about their physical appearance and we can't hire them. Like when that old white woman said that Zendaya's faux locs probably smelled like patchouli- that was an assessment purely made on stereotype.

This is also why we get so annoyed when white people- white women in particular- wear their hair in these styles. It's usually associated with "being edgy, being rebellious and older" (i.e., bc being a Black girl is so far from what you're supposed to be as a White girl, it's not innocent or valuable, it's dangerous and it makes everyone notice you) and as soon as they're done, it's back to Mother Mary of Whiteness. It's how cornrows and braids on Black and Latino men (or both, like Miles and Miles G!) are misperceived as gang or hood shit, but a kpop rapper will get them poorly done and it's 'cool' 🙄 it's White men with dreads (I refuse to ever call them locs bc they are NOT) who think they're in their "hippie/fight the power phase" cut them when it's "time to be respectable", but when a Black man with nice locs has them already he's suspicious.

You're basically saying that being Me/Black is a trashy, edgy phase that will never succeed, but it's cool for when you wanna feel Different!

*it's also why it pisses me off in fandom spaces when people refuse to give brown characters their hair texture (or whitewash at all!). It's a statement, that "good hair" is White, and "not good/aesthetic hair" is Black. You might not think that's what you're saying, but it's what you're saying, and every Black viewer of your art can hear it loud and clear. So if you're a character designer, put some thought behind and give your Black characters their features. It'll make you a better artist and a better person.

Anyway, to come back full circle to your question: as far as I'm aware, no, there's no "bad implications" of Miles G or his braids. Nothing we wear on our head is inherently bad, just like him. But bc we've all been raised in White society to unconsciously and consciously associate certain stereotypes with these looks, Black and Brown viewers of ATSV were quite worried that that statement was being made. It was nice to hear that it wasn't.

[strawbubbysugar]

Happy birthday Bubby!

Couple more questions!

-Are you able to say everyone’s ages in So(u)l, including the animatronics?

-Does June ever play his guitar and sing in public or at bars or anything or does he only do that at home now?

-Soulmate question, kinda regarding Rush and Morgan’s bond, does that imply that if you don’t have a soulmate due to your previous one passing away, you can get a new bond later even if your future soulmate already exists? Like the string will “wait” kinda until they’re ready? Or was Morgan and Rush’s string there right when Rush woke up?

-What are June, Hello, and Goodbye’s main fidgets/stims?

-Okay this might be weird lol but I’m curious, what are Hello and Goodbye’s favorite little things that June does in his sleep? Does he talk, twitch, unconsciously cling to them like a koala, anything like that?

-What kind of odd jobs does June do on the side?

Thank you!!

i wanna keep it vague, but June is roughly in his mid 20's matt is roughly in his mid-late 30's Marlow is roughly one year younger than June Morgan is two years older than June Hello is a year old (his AI is somewhere around June's age) Goodbye was a year older than June (now the same age as Hello) Rush is around 8 years old (his ai is early 30's) Wibble is around 6 years old (his ai is the same as Rush) Cammie is 4 around years old (her ai is the same as wibble and rush) Octavia is around 2 years old, but was technically never completed (her size makes it much easier to fit a more complex system in her, so her mental age is around 40) The skrittles have the same AI age as toddlers, but theyre a few months old Astro Cadet has been worked on off and on for about six years, and his ai is about the same age. It grows much slower than the WOW branded animatronics

Absolutely no in public things. He's gotten a lot more shy about performing since his band days. He only ever plays for hello/goodbye and piper

Soulmate marks are all about right time, right place. if you arent the version of yourself that would be soulmates with someone, no markings will show up. Morgan was a very different person with their last soulmate, and their life experiences changed who they are. it happens! people change, especially as they get older. its why a lot of people are told not to be upset if they dont get any markings until later on (SPOILERS BELOW) Its why samir and june didnt have any soul marks until samir was goodbye. he wasnt the person that wouldve been soulmates with june yet, he needed to experience and change and grow before that would happen. So did june!

June chews his lip a lot, and sighs. Sometimes he sighs for no reason just because he forgot to breathe. I think his favourite fidget toy would be one of those fidget cubes Hello stims by waving/flapping his arms, or playing with his hands. I think he'd enjoy fidget spinners or rubix cubes! Goodbye stims with squeezing/pressure. He'd enjoy weighted blankets, and I think he'd enjoy stress balls. Ones with thick stuff inside so he can really squeeze down

Hello likes it when June sighs in his sleep, or mumbles. Goodbye thinks its funny when he snores on occasion, and records it to play it back while pretending to nap. (taking inspiration from my roommate bc its hilarious, sometimes june will make the saddest, softest little sigh in his sleep and hello will wake him up like "WERE YOU HAVING A BAD DREAM ARE YOU OKAY" & june will be entirely confused)

June does a lil of everything. people in town come to him for a lot of stuff like yard work, painting houses/fences, cleaning houses. He occasionally comes into bryn's office and helps with anything they might need too, like fixing the chairs, etc. He's known as a jack of all trades around town (which makes him feel nostalgic, since that used to be what he called his childhood best friend)

[loving-n0t-heyting]

3 straight days of going to court while dawn rosy-fingerfucks it. Sleep deprived to the point of pain, a nasty cold at one end of my central bodyhole and a uti at the other, freaking out at my roommate bc its all exacerbating crazy bitch syndrome

Worst part about this little judicial triduum is how little fucking information is conveyed each time. Yesterday was "finishing up" the hearing with the last bits of direct/cross examination and the closing arguments, and it was just 100% rehashing stuff said during the previous two(? maybe more) Days of the hearing. Nothing new was learned. And now this morning the judge is delivering his summary judgement first thing after reviewing the evidence, and nothing else. There are only two verdicts he can fckn give!! Literally dragging myself out 26 miles to the worlds saddest shitass suburb to glean one bit of information. Then tomorrow another case of early bird gets to eat the disgusting wriggling worm for a scheduling hearing. The prime case ever of "these court proceedings could have been an email exchange"

Im not delving into the actual contents here bc privacy but trust me they make nothing better. Oh except i will add the judge kinda reprimanded me for trying to submit my amicus brief and refused to consider it so, hey, thats a nice little reminder of how little my intellectual talents and effirt have contributed to the world for the last 6yrs. Still dawdling on replying to grad school about shit and weeks behind on math reading while im at it. So thats all fun. If [side i want to win], which argued incontestably better than the other side while somehow annoying the judge more and whom i still despise from the depths of my heart, loses this hearing i am gonna be fucking depressed. Maybe even moreso than if we lost the trial itself

[whoslaurapalmer]

been going through some old wips so behold!! some scene sketches i have done for various sugar bowl gen fics and stuff, bc i will probably never make them more than these few sentences (or they will transform into something else) and that is not terrible. sometimes you just have little snippets that exist as they are, and that's cool ⭐

wait hold on first. that time i wanted to crossover hades and hamlet but i have read hamlet too few times and need to really bite into it to make this work right. also wasn't sure if they should talk in iambic pentameter

[ "i dream of ophelia," hamlet says, suddenly. he is wiping the blood off his knife with the hem of his jacket, and horatio watches the movement, still. "i dream of her in such a dreadful state -- she has old flowers in her hair, and when she comes at last close enough to touch, she is the softest and the saddest thing i have ever seen, as if all a rotting petal. she smiles at me, with tears on her face." he pauses. "a hideous sight." ]

[ "my lord," horatio says, "perhaps it is not death."

hamlet looks away. "if not to death," he murmurs, "then to what end, horatio?" ]

that time i wanted to well i guess crossover hades with lemony but just in the sense that lemony dies and comes back repeatedly and it wasn't a time loop. just needed a lot of words about death and living i didn't always wanna pull out

the first time it happened, bertrand had dragged lemony out of the water, and lemony was coughing out lungfulls of water in the dark shadows on the pier, his whole body cold and wet and trembling, and bertrand was trying to figure out what he was supposed to do, and lemony said, in a harsh whisper –

“i’m going to die.” he coughed again and looked petulant, closing his eyes. “don’t tell kit.”

"i'm sorry?" bertrand said. 

then he was holding a dead lemony snicket in his arms, and before the absurd horror of it could really sink in, lemony opened his eyes again with a sharp, clear breath. 

because lemony snicket is sometimes the kindest, most aware person bertrand knows, lemony takes him out for lunch. 

"does this happen often?" bertrand asks.

lemony makes a face. "no," he says. "not often. i'd rather it didn't at all." 

It was a lot to take in. But lemony was trusting him -- lemony, who, Bertrand knew, trusted less than three people on any given day. bertrand was touched. 

bernadette and lemony go out for ice cream

her mother had told her to cause uncle lemony a reasonable amount of trouble, and bernadette, being six, was good at causing a reasonable amount of trouble. if only uncle lemony wasn’t equally good at causing a reasonable amount of trouble back. she’d kept changing her ice cream choice all the way to the ice cream parlor down the street from the movie theater, to keep him on his toes, and he had retaliated by buying one little cup of each of the ten flavors, for them to share.

they sat at a table outside the parlor, under the awning of the shop and so in the shade and out of the hot summer sun, and taste-tested them all, bernadette writing the results in the notebook from her pocket.

“what did you think of the mint chocolate chip?” uncle lemony asked.

“it needed more chips,” bernadette said. she held her pencil very tight and wrote slowly so all the letters looked like they were supposed to. her penmanship was not quite up to her troublemaking skills, but bernadette was determined to fix that as quickly as possible. “what did you think of the salted caramel?”

“less salt,” uncle lemony said, and paused while bernadette crossed a still-too-big t with neat precision. “the smores?”

bernadette smiled, because the smores ice cream was always her favorite. “perfect.”

that time i was testing out ideas for college au and wound up nearly writing the basic eight and went 'well that is NOT the tone i want'

This, thing has been happening lately. (beatrice can just see lemony, where he usually sits in the basement of the library with her, gently circling thing in her literary analysis and telling her the word is too vague. Since when does lemony police her thoughts? She flexes her grip on the steering wheel and taps her nails against it. anyway.) when she’s with olaf, she almost doesn’t feel real. She looks at him out of the corner of her eye, cigarette dangling out of his mouth, sticking his hand out the window as beatrice drives down center street. It’s like she has to remind herself who he is. Because the second she sees him she thinks of kit all over again, in the backyard of olaf’s parent’s house, punching olaf in the face, blood on her knuckles when she pulled back. And again, and again, with a coiled rage in her eyes, because he was laughing at her around the blood he was spitting into the grass, that wheezing laugh beatrice had always loved rising to a frenzied pitch, and kit didn’t stop until olaf was on his knees and jacques grabbed her around the waist. Kit twisted in his grip like she could’ve hit him, too – and it’s the stupidest fucking thing, beatrice thinks, the only reason kit stopped was because jacques was still wearing the party hat beatrice had snapped onto his head when the snickets had all arrived. Because it was beatrice’s birthday, and kit and olaf had ended an eight year relationship in one five minute fight between lemony and bertrand pulling the cake out and josephine cutting it. Jacques had pulled kit into the house, and olaf got to his feet, dragging his forearm over his mouth. 

“Didn’t think she had it in her,” he said, and how was he still laughing? Something cold and hard was curling up inside beatrice – it was her hand, gripping the cake fork so tight it was going to leave a perfect mark on her palm. She let it drop under the table, into the grass. 

Beatrice got the details from kit later. And she couldn’t look olaf in the eye, now. 

that time i was trying to work something out about olaf and esme and just tried rewriting the same idea over to see if i could make it work

you don’t love anything, olaf told her, like it was supposed to hurt. and if esme was anyone else, maybe it would have – if she was olaf, perhaps, who thought baiting for a rise, an argument, a power play the height of appreciation, who thought hate as intoxicating as love. maybe. as it was, esme rolled her shoulders, said, mmm, no, put her heels back on, and left olaf alone. he could come back to her when he was being less exhausting. she had absolutely no patience for his shit moods.

and it was a lie, anyway, esme thought, taking the elevator down to the lobby, fur coat hooked in her fingers and dangling just enough above the floor not to touch. she loved lots of things. rumors. gossip. attention. a very nice pair of hands. good food, in clothing, being looked at. when all eyes were on you, it didn’t matter why. you could get anything you wanted, just because you got people’s attention if only for a moment. just because you played your cards right.

“you don’t love anything,” olaf told her, like it was supposed to hurt. like if he said it all right, he could cause pain in someone else. he liked doing it. pain in someone else meant power.

esme, however, was not just someone else. she raised an eyebrow at him, bending over to do the clasp on the side of her heels. “I love lots of things,” she said. “just because you aren’t one of them doesn’t mean you have to have an attitude about it.”

and it was a lie, anyway. Esmé loved lots of things. rumors; gossip; attention; a nice pair of hands; good food, in clothing, being looked at. admired was better, but just having eyes on her was pleasing enough. being special. and it wasn’t hard, really. she was very good at being special.

that time i was thinking about ernest and lemony and bertrand but wasn't quite sure where it would go and also i can never get them all in the same damn room

“This is lemony snicket,” said lemony snicket.

Ernest paused. “Well, that’s a neat trick,” he said, digging his elbow against the glass of the phone booth. “Dialing bertrand’s number and getting you, instead. Do you do weddings? We’ve missed dewey’s bar mitzvah, of course, so that’s out – how about funerals?”

“How would that work?” lemony asked immediately. “Would i be doing card tricks over the deceased? Isn’t that inappropriate?” 

“Depends on the funeral,” ernest said. “Please do it at mine. Is bertrand there?” 

“He’s supposed to be,” lemony said. “I believe he’s been detained.” 

It figured, of course. When ernest was actually calling in an emergency, bertrand was out somewhere being a good person to someone else. Well, it wasn’t – really an emergency. That was genuinely too dramatic, and the last thing ernest was was dramatic. Bertrand had just given ernest the number for his office at the theater and told ernest to call if he wanted to. If he needed to. He’d smiled when he’d said it, the way bertrand always smiled, one cheek dimpled and a sunshine kindness pouring out of him. And there was no time like the present, ernest thought. The present being, jammed in a phone booth blocks away from the hotel, which was still not enough distance, because – 

It didn’t matter. It was fine. Ernest would be fine. 

“Is there anything i can help you with?” lemony asked, because of course he was still on the other end. In bertrand’s office. 

Ernest closed his eyes, his jaw working. “No,” he said. 

that time lemonberry ice were supposed to be playing like some absurd hide and seek game but i could not quite work out exactly how they were playing and went well! too bad, gang

Beatrice is luminous in the lights above Ramona’s garden; they hang halos in her dark hair, in her eyes, catch on her ruby-red smile. There are the tiniest sequins sewn in her mask, Bertrand realizes, glittering like diamonds in the shape of a crescent moon curved over half her face. She’d shown him her costume before, of course, but here, at the party, it looks different than it did in the apartment. Beatrice glows even in private, but out where people can see her, she shimmers, flashes, beams, like the whole world bends around her and into her hands (balanced on his shoulders, tapping out something that feels like Magalenha). It is dizzying. He could kiss her, if he just tilted his head – they’re pressed that close in the sliver of space between the bushes at the pond. He could absolutely, definitely kiss her, and she’s grinning like she knows exactly what he’s thinking. 

But! This is supposed to be professional. They have rules. Bertrand holds himself very still, raising an eyebrow at her, and Beatrice bites her bottom lip hard around a giggle.

“Shhh,” Bertrand says, trying to sound stern. Does he look stern? Probably not, not at all. 

“I’m sorry,” Beatrice whispers, still giggling, “you just look so – ” 

“Shhhh,” he insists. Now he’s trying not to laugh. “We have to be quiet, Bea.”

She schools her expression into the perfect patient look. And just in time – there are footsteps behind them, quiet on the patio. Dress shoes, not heels, moving slowly from one corner to the next. Someone is taking their time. 

that time i idly considered a sugar bowl gen groupchat fic, but i could never figure out the right circumstances to put them in where the groupchat mattered enough to be the main focus of the fic, bc the nature of a groupchat means you are getting things secondhand, which can cut down on actual story content. but i did come up with usernames, of course. and of COURSE lemonberry ice shenanigans went down in the background.

itstheduchess has renamed the chat ‘don’t tell lemony anything we’re about to say, part 5’

itsthecount: tell me every single detail of the juicy gossip itsthecount: I demand answers and I demand them now itstheduchess: where’s kit itsthecount: do not. sidetrack this conversation. itsthecount: but she’s in the shower itstheduchess: ugggggg itsthecount: who do I have to kill to get the hot take on snicket’s latest fuckup itstheduchess: THIS IS WHY WE DON’T TALK, OLAF itsthecount: and yet here I am, in the fucking group chat theretheir: ????? Did something happen? theretheir: I tried to call Beatrice earlier but she didn’t pick up plainspoken: ramona I respect your desire to respect their privacy but if something has happened it might be better to tell us now itsthecount: yes, so I can plan my funeral outfit accordingly itsthecount: this bright green suit has been dying to be worn theretheir: Olaf, I want you to know that I saw every single thing wrong with that sentence and that I’m going to give you hell for it at a later date kitsnicket: he doesn’t even have a green suit. kitsnicket: what happened? itstheduchess: from what I can tell I think they ran into bertrand plainspoken: oh, no. theretheir: I thought he was out of town? I thought he was in Boston? kitsnicket: do not tell me l and b are in boston itstheduchess: he came back for the summer, they ran into him at the diner on route 9 and I don’t know what happened because beatrice won’t tell me but i’m ASSUMING something did not go well from her tone theretheir: Well, tone is notoriously hard to tell in the written word. itsthecount: josephine have you ever read anything by lemony snicket because I think that will change your opinion on tone kitsnicket: o has a point.

itstheduchess: do you ever get the feeling that since we’re, for lack of a better word, spies, that we maybe shouldn’t have a written record of all our conversations?? kitsnicket: frequently. but that’s never stopped us before. theretheir: I often wonder where I’d be without the ability to personally call you all out on your grammar. itstheduchess: josephine. itstheduchess: you do that outside the group chat.

itsthecount: can’t we just do a murder mystery for snicker’s birthday and call it a day itsthecount: we’re all used to that itsthecount: I will supply the bodies kitsnicket: we’re going to have a conversation later about how that was not the wisest thing to say, next to trying to say ‘flammable’ was a compliment. itsthecount: I will NOT rehash that argument but I will say again that i’m RIGHT kitsnicket: regardless. we are not putting my brother through a murder mystery.

the original incarnation of all phone, no sex, which was instead more about the newspaper

when lemony came home that evening, he took off his hat, looking thoughtfully off into the distance. “apparently,” he announced to beatrice and bertrand, who were bent over a newspaper crossword puzzle in the kitchen and sharing one pen, pressed together from shoulder to hip, “i’m having a torrid love affair with you, bertrand.”

beatrice gasped, her head jerking up. “you are? and no one told me?”

“torrid?” bertrand echoed, taking the pen from beatrice and filling in another answer. “bit of a strong word, don’t you think?”

“i do,” lemony said. he crossed to the kitchen, loosening his tie as he went, and sat down beside beatrice. “i prefer something like passionate.”

beatrice rolled her eyes. honestly, the two of them were lucky they had her, otherwise they’d go around calling their magnificent relationship something boring like passionate. but torrid certainly wasn’t the word either. “you two have no imagination,” she sniffed. “how about steamy?”

bertrand and lemony shared an intrigued glance. beatrice pulled the pen back and contemplated 45 down, smiling to herself.

“i don’t think we’re particularly steamy,” lemony said.

“barely any steam,” bertrand agreed.

“sensuous, then,” beatrice suggested absently. out of the corner of her eye, she saw lemony’s face flush red to the tips of his ears, and her smile grew.

bertrand cleared his throat for a solid five seconds. “you can’t say words like that with a straight face, bea.”

the two of them were so cute when they were flustered. “how is sensuous any worse than torrid?” beatrice asked.

“now is not the time to argue the semantics of language,” lemony said, with all the wisdom of someone who has done that very thing for hours at a time and once drove josephine anwhistle to tears over his opinion on metaphors. “but it has to do with the sound, I think.”

“what about ardent?” bertrand said. “it’s sort of sophisticated.”

“it is sophisticated,” lemony said, “but does it have quite the enthusiasm?”

“you two are going to make me bring out the dictionary, aren’t you,” beatrice muttered.

“nothing would please me more,” bertrand said. he even batted his eyelashes at her for emphasis, which did nothing to sway beatrice’s opinion, although she had to admit he was cute when he did that.

“how about heartfelt?” bertrand suggested behind her.

goodness, he was sentimental. grinning at her coat, she told him, trying to be firm, “affairs aren’t heartfelt.”

sigh. for many years now i have toyed with doing a lemony pov of my babybea fic, but it has just never panned out. but moxie got the bulk of the good lines in the scenes i considered. oh i did have a title though! it was 'but all folks are damaged goods' to continue pulling lyrics from the crooked kind

moxie swings her office door open, grinning wide. “you,” she says brightly, “look like hell.”

“That’s very kind of you,” lemony snicket says, leaning against the doorjamb.

“have you found your niece yet?” moxie asked.

“no,” I said.

“have you been looking?”

“have you?”

moxie sighed. “no. and that’s because you asked me to look for the baudelaires. I thought you’d personally want to find your niece. she is your niece, you know.”

“i am well aware who she is, moxie.”

“are you?” moxie snapped. “because i’d think a man who cared about his family wouldn’t be slumped in my office, asking to be forgiven by a woman who’s already done that, many times over. and begrudgingly, I might add.”

I met moxie’s eyes, and found them cold and grey. they no longer looked as washed and sad as I thought when we were children, instead tempestuous, a word which here means “unwilling to let lemony snicket get away with anything at all.”

I had never forgotten how lucky I really was, to have been forgiven by moxie mallahan.

she was wrong to say it was begrudgingly, though. it was at first. but there is nothing begrudging about exonerating a man from inaccurate accusations.

“what else can I do?”

“well whose fault is that?” moxie shouted. “who’s been hiding, all these years, and not doing a single thing about it? pain isn’t supposed to be comfortable, lemony! it’s not something you get used to! it’s something you drag yourself out of and then never look back at, especially when there’s someone out there who needs you! you don’t lounge around in it and let it eat you alive and forget about your daughter, leave her all alone to deal with everything you were supposed to take care of, all the secrets you never told her! you help her, so she’s not out there running away at sixteen and forcing it all down so she doesn’t think about all the people who were supposed to be there for her!”

it took me a moment to realize that moxie was not talking about my niece.

i have also heavily considered writing a sequel to (the three-part folding mirror) i just wasn't in a great space at the time so it kept getting shuffled to the back of my priorities but it had such TASTY things in it. specifically this was going to reveal that bea and bertrand spent that evening planning the opera

it had taken years to amass the amount of furniture that sat in the green room backstage, and somehow that hadn't turned it into a cultivated bastion (the word of the day in the life section of the punctilio) of good taste. the green room was the ugliest place olaf had ever been in his life. first of all, it was green. not because someone had decided to be funny, which would've been a reason olaf could try and respect, but because it was an organization theater, which meant a majority of the walls were all green outright. olaf had long since stopped lecturing anyone who would listen that it was the most egregious (last tuesday's word of the day in the life section of the punctilio) calling card in the world for an organization that made such a big deal about secrecy, but it was. second, the furniture -- stately little straight-backed chairs one of the snickets had put against the wall that baudelaire always put his jacket on, the most enormous but out of style set of brown chairs sebald had had to take the door off to get in, a coffee table with a permanent slouch from olaf's shoes getting kicked up on it. at least there was his couch, beautifully lurid purple, plush in the right spots, that he'd convinced one of the other snickets to push the six blocks to the theater while he and beatrice lounged on it. old books olaf had read cover to cover more than once, last season's marked-up scripts still piled around, a set of glasses he'd taken piece by piece from his parent's house (taken, not stolen. you could not steal your own family's possessions), excellent wine from esme (definitely stolen). cool in the summer, warm in the winter from the blankets ramona made, a permanent glittering floor from an age of makeup residue. ugly. shit. fucking beautiful. his. 

he wasn't welcome in every space the organization had created, but the theater, above anything else, was a theater, and he was always welcome there. it liked drama. it lived on it. a theater was the place you could break rules, set things right, change the world. no -- not change. change wasn't the right word at all. he wanted to rile it. bite it back. watch the world simmer. let it burn, just a little bit, nice and slow, before anyone noticed, and then it was too late. it was a shame nobody else understood how good it looked when you turned the world on its head just to watch it spin a little differently. not his parents, not the organization, not even beatrice really got it, not like this. nobody but this space, where the theater was one big throne and olaf was its very willing king. 

speaking of beatrice. it was monday, now, and it had been an excellent weekend, and she'd missed the whole damn thing. unforgivable, but olaf was a generous man. he'd tell her. she didn't live in the green room like she'd used to, but he knew he'd still find her there. and when he leaned into the green room door, palm down on the handle and let his weight push it open, there she was, sprawled out in that red sundress that clashed with their couch. ankles crossed over a pillow, her face hidden behind some book, and she hadn't noticed olaf come in. well now, but that just would not do. 

olaf sauntered over and dropped himself into sebald’s chair beside the couch, throwing his legs over the arm, then kicked the sole of beatrice’s heel sharply, grinning. “and where have you been, brat?”

beatrice kicked the bottom of his shoe back with perfect aim. olaf slid farther down into the cushions, his limbs sticking out at stupid odd angles. "rude," he called, waving his hand at her, even if she couldn't see it. "i come, out of the goodness of my heart -- " beatrice snorted, and olaf grinned wider. " -- to fill you in on all the hot drama, and this is the thanks i get?" 

"oh, please." she turned a page of the book. she'd started picking off her nail polish again, he noticed, little pieces of red missing off her nails. "it's been, like, forty-eight hours since i saw you? that's not nearly enough time for hot drama to happen without me, brat." 

“oh, but it did. ernest turned out to be a dirty, dirty traitor who’s been hiding information.” beatrice didn’t need to know that ernest had also given information to olaf, and that olaf had been stacking it away for future use. beatrice got drama, and the theater, and the rush when you did something special and all eyes were on you – but special to her meant noble, not different. she got away with it because she was still beatrice, but she didn’t have to know everything. (and olaf himself wasn’t a dirty, dirty traitor. some people knew how to play the game properly and bide their time, ernest.)

beatrice sat up, the book tumbling out of her hands and onto the floor, looking beautifully scandalized. “ernest did what?”

olaf wriggled himself back into a sitting position to match hers. “as far as I can tell,” he said, leaning forward, “at the party at the hotel, he was supposed to give one of the snickets something important, and pretended to be frank about it, and then he got caught."

olaf grabbed her wrist and pulled her back into the room, her arm bent between them, his knuckles brushing her shoulder. “you okay?” he asked.

beatrice flashed him her bright, stunning smile, the one that almost split her face with her delight. “peachy keen,” she said, and slipped her hand out of his grasp and took off.

beatrice knew the rule – when you were acting, nobody knew, and if you did it right, not even you would know.

but that was the thing, she knew all the time.

if you did it right, then when you were acting, nobody knew. not even you. 

bertrand was asked it over and over again, but he could never come up with a good answer. how could he tell the denouements apart? he just -- could. it wasn't anything as obvious as different facial structure, or the way they talked, or the way they moved, bertrand just looked at them and knew. you spent enough time around the three of them, you didn't learn tells or tricks (which could be imitated, anyway), you learned dewey, and ernest, and frank. 

this wasn't to say it was kit's fault ernest had lied to her. it wasn't. but bertrand also knew that if they didn't want you to know who you were talking to, you wouldn't. ernest had done it to him a few times. 

that time violet experienced The Silliest Childhood Horror, based on my own personal life experience

in her -- ugg, old age, bertrand keeps calling it, although he is a year and a half older than her and they aren't even thirty -- heightened state of mature thinking, beatrice will call it, she no longer makes the impulsive, rash decisions of her youth, like, climbing furniture (she has a stepstool now), or, throwing breakable things (she has pillows), or, launching herself across a rooftop (she has -- well, she hasn't found a replacement for that particular activity yet). she has the wherewithal to stop and think about something before she does it. but this summer is hot, and no matter what she does with her hair it just keeps finding ways to stick to her neck or her shoulders and sits in a thick, heavy weight on her head, so she takes the scissors from the bathroom and gives herself a neat, wavy bob one morning, along the line of her chin. 

and, it's not that beatrice forgot about violet, because violet was just in the other room, making piles of cheerios on the table of her highchair with bertrand instead of eating them for breakfast, it's that beatrice forgot children were just, like that sometimes. because the second violet saw beatrice lacking three-fourths of her hair, her daughter burst into tears. 

"oh no," beatrice said. 

that time i am constantly monitoring the level of Angst i am writing to make sure i do not descend back into high school levels of horrible prosey pushing it WAY too far angst but sometimes you do just write a heartbreaking thing just to see how it looks on the page

[frank says it, one night, very quietly. “You would’ve rathered it was me,” he says. “That i was the one who died, wouldn’t you.” 

Ernest stares at him.] 

that time i wanted to write the events that bring moxie and lemony back together as friends but i just got stuck on the exact vfd assignment details bc i can never find it in me to make them vague, so it progressed no further. but somehow arson was definitely involved and lemony (and r!) were doing it for Reasons. anyway it did have a neat ending of asking moxie to be the editor

"alright, snicket," moxie says, and she sets her typewriter down on the rickety table between them with the gentleness it requires, but there is a hard look in her eyes that she hopes tells lemony that if it was any other item she would've slammed it down. or thrown it on the floor. or thrown it at him. instead, she throws herself into the seat across from him and pushes her hair away from her face. he hasn’t said it, but he looks like he doesn’t have a lot of time to chew the fat on a cloudy thursday evening in her small but neat newspaper office. and moxie mallahan is a busy woman now, anyway. "start talking."

lemony clears his throat. he looks run-down, and moxie feels only the smallest bit satisfied at what this world has done. but it really is a shame, she thinks. he looks so anxious where he used to look so determined.

"where do you want me to begin?" he asks softly.

"why don't you start," moxie says briskly, feeding paper into her typewriter, "with why you're alive, first of all. last i heard you were dead, or at least missing."

lemony leans back in his chair, and he certainly takes his sweet old time in answering her. "i hadn't intended," he says, "for that to come out."

moxie raises an eyebrow. "that you're alive?"

"yes."

"why?"

lemony is silent.

moxie sighs, a hard and angry shot of air. "snicket," she says, "i agreed to this meeting under the condition that you would talk to me. if you aren't going to say anything, i will throw you out of my office, and i'll continue looking on my own for answers. i thought you were finally coming around, but if you're still going to be a secretive stick in the mud, then i don't see—"

"i'm sorry," he says. he meets her eyes this time. the look he gives her is startling in its intensity. "i am sorry, moxie."

moxie frowns. she taps her fingers against the keys. "tell me what happened, snicket."

"there was an incident at mulctuary money management."

“that’s not what I—”

“that’s where this story starts,” lemony says.

moxie stares at him for a considerable amount of time, one that she hopes is enough to make lemony uncomfortable. she stops when he finally shifts in his seat some minutes later. "the papers said it was a filing error," she says. she remembers the headlines from the previous week—mischievous money mismanagement at mulctuary money management! she'd thought it was a little much. she certainly wouldn't have been so alliterative. filing error at local bank would do the trick.

"it was not," lemony says. "it was a robbery that just happened to look like a filing error, that was used to cover up a much larger crime happening nearby.”

"how do you know?"

"i was driving the getaway car."

moxie tilts her head in thought. "which car?"

lemony almost smiles. "the one from the much larger crime."

“when did you leave stain’d-by-the-sea?” lemony asks.

“don’t you know?” moxie replies.

“i do,” he says, “but I wanted to hear it from you.”

“i was eighteen,” moxie says.

moxie stares at him, her fingers frozen on the typewriter keys. "what?" she whispers.

he doesn’t say a word.

“that couldn’t have been the only way,” moxie says.

lemony sighs, his expression blank. "we don’t know any other way. sometimes the only way to stop ten fires is to start one."

moxie can think of a million other ways. "you -- "

"what did you think i was, moxie?

a friend, she'd thought at first. a mystery, she'd thought, one she'd wanted nothing more than to unravel. a detective. a hope that was going to save her town. a best friend. then a liar. a murderer. a thief. a coward. and now --

sad, she thinks. she feels sorry for him, and she can’t even be angry about it now.

"i've made a lot of mistakes," lemony says.

"you've made more than a lot," moxie murmurs. "you've made a considerable amount."

"and i know i can't apologize for all of them."

"i don't think you can."

[more before this, slumps in his seat, etc] he runs a hand through his hair. “i’m trying,” he says. “i am trying to make up for them.”

“leave, then,” moxie says quietly. “get out of it. start over.”

“where am I going to go?”

"i have no right to ask you," lemony says, "but i think the day may come when i will need the help of an impartial third party to tell the truth. the whole truth, or as much of it as I can bear. can i count on you when that day comes, moxie mallahan?"

moxie sighs. "we'll see," she says. "we'll see, snicket."

he smiles at her, a sharp and fast thing, and then it's gone. he climbs out of the window and drops into the alley below, and when moxie looks down into the alley he’s already disappeared.

every now and then i try and figure out, if i was going to deal with the taxi, which we all know i am not necessarily a fan of, how would i do it

in general, the taxi, much like jacques snicket, was reasonably unseen, always undetected, and often nearby. but that did not mean that jacques snicket liked the taxi. he had tried to return it after the initial assignment with it, one that had taken him through the city and into the hinterlands and back again at, he’ll admit, an even speed with fair gas mileage, but he was told that the taxi was his now, and it would make things much easier for him. he did not see how, but he figured it was easier to keep the taxi.

he asked kit to take a look at it and make sure the car was working properly.

“I can’t believe you get to drive this car,” kit muttered, bent under the hood of the car and getting grease all over her hands. “do you know what I would do to drive this?”

“please don’t tell me, I would rather not be an accomplice,” jacques said. he was sitting in the driver’s seat with the windows down, reading the owner’s manual, in particular the safety recommendations, because someone should. “did you check the – ”

“yes, all fine,” kit said. she waved a dismissive hand at him from around the hood. “start it. I want to hear the engine.”

jacques started the taxi, and he assumed it sounded like it was supposed to. it sounded like a car.

kit closed the hood, wiped her hands off on her handkerchief, and got into the passenger seat, looking pleased. “well, it runs perfectly. start driving.”

“what? kit – ”

“jacques, do you expect me to let my brother go tearing off with a perfect engine without knowing if it runs right?”

bea's letter fic references 'the time bertrand tried to come up with nicknames' which was a wip i had tucked away somewhere

bertrand put his pen down on his notebook. “alright. I think i’ve got it this time.”

“i doubt it,” beatrice said, cross-legged on the floor in front of the record player, “but give it a try anyway.” she looked up expectantly, her hand on her chin, elbow digging into her calf.

before bertrand had a chance to say anything, lemony walked out of the bedroom, took one look at bertrand’s notebook, and said, “bertrand, I don’t think you should say any of those words out loud.”

“okay, how about this one – buttercup?” bertrand offered.

beatrice looked at him, her face almost dangerously blank. “why do you build me up, buttercup, baby,” she intoned.

“just to let me down,” lemony called from the bedroom.

“and mess me around, and then worst of all, you never call – ”

“baby,” lemony shouted.

“when you say you will – ”

“okay, okay, I get it,” bertrand said, laughing as he crossed the word off his list. “not buttercup.”

“you alright, bea?” bertrand asks.

beatrice startles a little, her wide brown eyes fixed on him, and then she smiles, her shoulders relaxing. “just wonderful,” she says, walking past and dropping a kiss on the top of his head as she goes. “i’ll see you later, the shop down the street is having a sale on fruit and I cannot not take advantage of it.”

“don’t let jo hear you use a double negative,” bertrand says. he smooths down his hair, and then eyes the door. “you aren’t following lemony so you two can have outrageous sex in an alleyway without me, are you?”

beatrice laughs, swinging the door open. “you know i’d take you with me if I was!”

more messy lemonberry ice thoughts, where i was trying to eventually write them all dancing and just got caught up in the semantics of How Exactly I'd Get There

number one on bertrand’s list of spring resolutions (he’d forgotten all about new years resolutions, and had taken the next most timely opportunity) was to learn to paint, and so he set up an easel by the floor-to-ceiling balcony window in beatrice’s apartment, to catch the sunset as it filtered in through the glass at the end of the day. the sun moved so quickly now in the evening, and bertrand wanted to capture the way it fell in soft, fuzzy gold patches against lemony reclined back into the couch, with beatrice stretched out at his side, her head pillowed on her arms in his lap. how it sat, warm and inviting on the line of lemony’s collarbone just visible beneath the open neck of his dress shirt, on his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, on the curve of his hand in beatrice’s hair, on the constellation of moles down beatrice’s left shoulder, on the triangle of skin at the top of her knee where her slip folded open a little.

bertrand was not good at faces, or incredibly distinct lines, or, if he was being honest, a great deal of art in the first place, but he was good at shapes and colors, so the painting didn’t necessarily look like beatrice and lemony but it still looked like beatrice and lemony, the shapely smooth strokes of beatrice in the thin black slip, the easy angles of lemony relaxed against the cushions, his feet (with those very beautiful blue flowered socks) propped up on the coffee table. the record player in the corner of the painting did look more defined, though. it looked-looked like a record player. but it was only spring, bertrand reasoned, and maybe by autumn he’d be able to get their faces down. he very much wanted to.

the record player in question hit the end of the b side of one of lemony’s slow jazz albums, and beatrice groaned at the silence and rolled off of lemony, graceful to her feet even when she stumbled, trailing over and removing the record. one of the straps of her dress slipped down her arm as she sorted through the record box. bertrand brought his brush back to the beatrice smudges on the canvas and tried to make the little line of the strap on the sleeping beatrice, but it came out thicker than he wanted. he frowned, looked back at the beatrice fitting a count basie record into the player with one hand, the other pushing her hair back out of her face, sunset orange spilling brightly down her back, and then turned the strap into another sweeping curl instead. that looked better.

"lemony," beatrice said, "do you want to waltz or do you want to two-step."

lemony opened an eye and looked in her direction. "i would like," he says, "a sandwich."

"bertrand, do you want to waltz or do you want to two-step."

“I am painting,” bertrand said, waggling the paintbrush.

beatrice was hunched over the record player on the floor, at the right angle that the orange sunset filtered through the balcony window and spilled down her back, over the constellation of moles along her left shoulderblade and the low v of her black slip. bertrand didn’t think himself much of an artist, not really, but he liked the feel of it, putting lines and shapes on paper and trying to get them to look like what they were supposed to. he had a little sketchbook for that purpose, and he kept it on the table behind the couch – now it was propped up against lemony’s head as bertrand colored.

he’d already drawn a scribbly lemony in the upper left corner, the top of his hair and shoulders highlighted at the edges from the sun, shaded in lightly with the crayons piled atop the rug. bertrand had thought even colored pencils would be too extravagant for the occasional drawing of beatrice or lemony, or the doves in the yard, or the dandelions coming back in the garden. also, they’d already had the crayons. they were beatrice’s.

beatrice takes another critical look around her living room, and then pushes the end table further towards the wall with her foot. she has her hands on her hips, and her hair pinned back from her face, the evening sun gold in the hollow of her collarbone and all the curves of her, resting on her fingertips like it was always meant to be there, bertrand thinks.

was it smart, bertrand wonders, for the millionth time (and he has kept track), to fall in love with beatrice baudelaire? it’s not like he had a great deal of choice in the matter, really. beatrice pulled people towards her like – some very nice simile that doesn’t involve fire he will definitely think of when he is not standing in her kitchen and lemony is not putting away the dinner plates and that’s it, that’s why it isn’t smart, because of lemony. both of them have a magnetism, really. beatrice, loud and uncompromising with a quick laugh and clever eyes, lemony, quiet and stubborn with a stunning, deep-rooted kindness. you just can’t look at either of them without your whole chest trying to rearrange itself.

[like a wave to a shore, maybe? like raindrops pooling together on a window sill. inevitable things.]

and both of them are in love, with each other, not bertrand, and it’s – it’s fine. it’s totally fine. bertrand is honest enough to think that it’s not exceptionally fine, but it’s, regularly fine. it’s decently fine. he’s here, after all. they have a standing saturday dinner and bertrand has gotten very good at not looking too long at either of them.

and – they are teaching him to dance.

[he didn’t know what was more surprising – that lemony looked the most affronted that bertrand couldn’t dance, or that lemony could dance. but bertrand had to keep expecting the unexpected of lemony snicket.]

that time i was ttoally going to rewrite singing in the rain as lemonberry ice. oh clearly it didn't follow the movie it just had Some Vibes. but god i had the best music number in this opening, and also lemony and bertrand hadn't met bea yet and clearly i had a not-concrete idea of where vfd was in the background here. also beatrice was driving by and stopped to fix their car

lemony sighs, his hands dropping from the steering wheel. “when I woke up today,” he says, eyes fixing off somewhere in the distance. “i had a feeling something like this would happen. I should have listened to it.”

“you had a feeling the car was going to break down in the middle of the morning?” bertrand asks. “that’s incredibly specific.”

“we aren’t holding you up, are we?” bertrand asks.

“not at all,” the woman says. “i’m not in a hurry. i’m running early today, anyway.”

“it’s good to be early,” lemony says. “some would call that the mark of a noble person.”

“is there a reason,” beatrice says, hoisting herself up and sliding a foil out from the mess of gears, “that you guys have a sword in your car?”

“i was wondering where that went,” lemony says. “thank you.”

beatrice stares at lemony, and then fixes her eyes on bertrand, a deep, penetrating brown gaze with one raised eyebrow. bertrand has a vague thought that he might be able to get lost in those eyes before beatrice ducks back down under the hood.

“what are you two?” beatrice asks. “actors? spies? extreme hobbyists?”

bertrand and lemony exchange a glance.

“yes,” they say together.

bertrand grins with delight. “you know how I say there’s a song for every occasion?”

“oh no,” lemony says. “bertrand, I cannot handle that, not at this hour.”

“you might have been meant for each other – ”

“you can’t just change the words to make the song work – ”

“to be or not to be, let your hearts discover – ”

“i don’t intend to discover anything, I only met her five minutes ago – ”

“you’ve got a feeling, it’s a feeling you’re concealing, i don’t know why – ”

“this song doesn’t have a narrator, bertrand, and I cannot abide by such flagrant disregard for the lyrics – ”

“oh, come on – it’s just a mental, incidental, sentimental alibi – ”

“jacquelyn will be furious if we get to the studio tomorrow and you’ve done something stupid to your voice, you really shouldn’t – ”

“but you adore her, so strong for her, why go on stalling, you are falling, love is calling, why be shy?” bertrand stops and waits out the pause between the verse and the chorus, staring expectantly at lemony.

lemony stares back at him, stretching out the pause much longer than is musically necessary. he raises an eyebrow.

“fine, be that way,” bertrand says, still grinning, and he swings the door shut. “let’s fall in love, why shouldn’t you fall in love, your hearts are made of it, go take a chance, why be afraid of it – ”

“are you quite finished?” lemony asks.

bertrand clears his throat and takes a step back, tugging on the hem of his vest. “well, if I have to be,” he says, trying for a smile.

lemony starts humming let’s fall in love while making dinner, and gives bertrand the dirtiest look of all time when bertrand starts laughing.

[snappycrow]

I think that the most heartbreaking thing in Passerine was p!Phil not being there. My mans just left, and poor p!Wilbur, at 16 had to rule the whole kingdom without him.

I remember that the first thing that made me cry was p!wilbur having that fight at the table with p!phil (yep, daddy issues). It really gives us the first look on their relationship in the story, although it is batter at the end. it's only bc Tommy's death and they all have to step together as a family to bury him.

Yeah, it's just the saddest thing for me. i read Passerine when sadist anaunced their animatic, i did spoil tommy dying for myself so it was expected when i got to that part, but yeah it was a really sad and bittersweet fic.

That fic made me read more of them, and then i realized that i hated "bad father phil" fics, and just love my classic SBI angst, with happy ending fics, that have good and supportive father c!Phil in it. <3

LMAO i know that this is so random. Me? Talking about Passerine in 2023? NO WAY?!

But I was just rewatching some old mcyt animations and i came across one form "Kazuallyy", that i had never watched before. I remember that it was always in my recommend, but i never watched it for some reason lmao

But yes, i just watched it and NO ONE TOLD ME THAT THE SONG IN IT WAS "TWO BY SLEEPING AT LAST"?!!

I just absolutely cried my ass out lmao. I'm not okay!

anyways, as much angsty that fic is, i love the core memories that i have with it and it will always hold a special place in my heart, as one of the first and the saddest fics I've ever read.

Thank you if you read all the way through and listened to the mini breakdown that i just had. Well if you did, i hope that you have a good day/night wherever in a world you are rn! <3

cya o7!

[poke-bon]

I was 5 years old when the first TV series of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles aired. I watched it from day one, every morning. My relatives were told it was my favourite thing when they inquired about getting me gifts. My Nana made me a whole Michelangelo costume bc he was my number one guy. Still is.

I haven't seen every TV show but I have seen every movie that has come out over the years and it was one of the things my partner and I bonded over, it means alot to both of us.

A few years ago he told me about The Last Ronin and I was like omg that's so sad, who is left alone. Partner said guess and naturally i guessed Raph. My partner looked at me, with the saddest eyes and shook his head and I immediately realised who it is and it fucking broke my heart. As a story and narrative choice it's absolutely fucking brilliant and I applaud them for going there but as a Mikey gal...how dare that happen to my guy.

I still get upset. If I'm randomly doing something and remember, I nearly start crying. My partner just told me he wraps the others masks around his wrist and I literally did cry!!

If they ever make a show out of it, I'll watch it but I'll struggle. We have the comic book but I haven't been able to bring myself to read it. One day!! He'll always be my guy.

[chronicas]

i’m sure you’re sick of hearing about chelsea but it’s on my mind so i’m gonna talk about the boys from it (since chelsea doesn’t rlly have any “lore” of her own to speak of) and just talk about a couple lil fun facts for each of the boys

charlie: name is short for charles, the nickname for his nickname (that only logan ever called him when they were kids) was “lee”, considers smoking gross but would partake if offered, is a film major bc film majors are pretentious assholes, and he actually cares more about leigh than he lets on, but due to the nature of their relationship, he’s reluctant to really be friends with her

logan: ran track in high school because he didn’t have the hand-eye coordination for basketball and he had to put his height to good use somewhere, isn’t the only guy in the friend group to have a car, but due to being a pushover he drives his friends most places, he and charlie have been friends the longest in the friend group, but the second guy to join their little posse, steve, joined bc logan befriended him cuz they went to the same church, logan also plays guitar

steve: picked up his smoking habit from his mother, got his suicidal tendencies from his father, but only really shows anger towards his biological dad and expresses it by making fun of his bio dad for being gay, says he likes hunting and is actually pretty decent with a gun, but he feels uncomfortable taking the lives of any animals, would probably be the best swimmer out of all the guys due to being on a swimming team when he was younger, but his need for glasses and refusal to get contacts led him to slowly stop swimming professionally and now he’s just kinda average, can also play guitar like logan, and some keyboard

Thomas: has a twin sister named Perdita, when they were young he gave her the nickname “Perry” and she gave him the nickname “Tommy”, may be kind of quiet but often does more of the hard drugs and is really capable of holding his alcohol, both he and his sister have freckles, partially because they lived in florida when they were small and got a lot of sun there, moved around a lot for the first couple of years of his life before they finally settled in [INSERT STATE THE MOVIE TAKES PLACE IN I RLLY DON’T KNOW EXCEPT IT’S SOMEWHERE ON THE EAST COAST] when he was just entering middle school, so his sister was his best and at times only friend for many years

isaac: last to join the friend group and therefore is most worried about losing it, bonded with steve due to also having separated parents, is the embodiment of “the saddest people smile the brightest” because he’s the comic relief friend and is also the only one in the group diagnosed with depression (that he doesn’t tell the others about) would love to make a short film with his friends one day, but every time he pitches an idea to mr. film major charlie he gets ignored or rejected, knows how to play bass guitar

das it das all i got

I ALWAYS LOVE HEARING ABOUT THESE JACKASSES!!!!! Shakes them around like a dog toy.

[juicezone]

the last ask game is so hard for me to read so uh. freebie!! anything u wanna answer for your guy

(i did just send you a lot of questions feel free to skip any of them if it's too much!!)

bold of you to assume i wont take any chance given to talk about my things /joking <3

💯 HUNDRED POINTS SYMBOL — share three random facts about your oc that others may not know. 1: When not regressed, Cooper doesn't really like dinosaurs that much. They're pretty neat, but he doesn't love them the way he does when regressed! 2: Cooper does not acknowledge nicknames but he loves them so much but he doesnt usually give any indication of it <3 however if any of his friends/cg/babysitters think he's slipping, they'll toss in an experimental nickname. If something else suddenly gets very interesting, it's usually a sure sign :P (Super Duper Cooper is like 100% a good go to esp if he's feelin a bit cranky, just bc its silly) 3: Do not leave Puppy Cooper alone, even if he insists its fine. He will be the saddest puppy ever and you WILL feel bad abt it. Baby-Cooper is more fine alone, but its like.. a "you can leave me alone, its fine w/e" 💤 SLEEPING SIGN — is your oc a light sleeper or a heavy sleeper? how are their sleeping habits? Ward dislikes bedtime when regressed, and Cooper is like "So help me god. if i'm up 10 minutes past my bedtime, we WILL have a problem" Cooper sleeps like a brick (which is part of the reason its helpful to wear a diap when going to bed regressed. he will not wake up if he has to potty)

🐈 CAT — does your oc prefer a wide circle of friends or a few close friends? Few close friends! Ward wormed his way into Cooper's non-existence social group and by proxy, Cooper eventually became closer w Bones, Kirk, and Spock. They're def a bit more reserved than Ward is around the three of them (jesus cooper thats OUR CAPTAIN.) but he's not super closed off to them anymore! usually.

🍝 SPAGHETTI — what is/are your oc's favorite food(s)? Cooper is Very. VERY picky. is better at eating multiple small snakc throughout the day, usually going for something like a banana, apples + caramel, single-serving boxes of cereal, those little "adult" versions of lunchables. Doesnt mind most veggies as long as they arent mushy! If you give cooper a mushy food, they will be like "incorrect. we are enemies now" TLDR: Uhhh more like tolerated foods than fav foods! Granola bars of various kinds are almost always a safe bet

🤔 THINKING FACE — what are some of your oc's quirks/mannerisms? Cooper talks to the machines he's fixing! He very much agrees w/ Scotty's sentiment that the Enterprise is a "Fine lady" and treats all the malfunctioning equipment like it needs some good ol TLC. Will get very mad if they see you smack the consoles

😞 DISAPPOINTED FACE — does your oc attract others, or do they tend to be left alone? Cooper tends to give off a stand0ff-ish, distance sort of vibe so they dont really have a lot of connections w other ppl! Ward, however, saw Cooper regressed tooone day, and went "omg.. we are brothers now" and bby cooper was like ????? and then that just continued into everything else

[vintagetvstars]

Terry Jones Vs. Alan Alda

Propaganda

Terry Jones - (Monty Python's Flying Circus, Do Not Adjust Your Set) - I wish I could tell you all in a few sentences just how handsome, funny, intelligent, kind and soft-spoken Terry Jones was. How passionate he was about the things he loved, lacing his interests (like e.g. history) throughout all the projects he was working on. How he was supposedly always laughing and giggling when writing and reading out sketches. How he admired the art of silent movies/Buster Keaton and was obsessed with writing poems as a child. How he was described as a wonderful friend and a little as if he carried his own world around with him. But there is simply too much to tell and I adore him too much to pick the best facts, so this will have to do

Alan Alda - (M*A*S*H) - He is both the saddest wettest little meow meow and your kindly grandfather and your favourite eccentric uncle (mom's side). Somehow it works. Passionate Democrat, feminist, great writer, he and his books are hilarious. Did a cartwheel when he won an Emmy! How he met his wife is the best meet cute of the last two centuries, and they've now been married over 60 years!!!

Master Poll List | How to submit propaganda | What is vintage? (FAQ)

Additional propaganda below the cut

Alan Alda:

he’s just so good in MASH

he put so much bisexuality into hawkeye i think it fundamentally changed me when i was little and watching mash for the first time. anyway do we all know the story about how he met his wife when they were at a party together and they were the only two people eating the cake that fell on the floor and he fell in love with her over her laugh. i just think hes neat :) i love when theres a strange looking man. also feel it necessary to say that the guy that wrote the book mash was based on wrote himself as hawkeye and HATED alda's hawkeye bc he displayed his morals too much (alda had it in his contract for the show that every episode had to have an operating room scene bc otherwise you arent backdropping the fact that war is Not fun. actually. he almost didnt take the role bc he thought a war comedy would make too much light of the horrors)

please please please use this picture of him, he's so hot in it

His comedic delivery in MASH...

The story of how he met his wife is charming and sweet, and they've now been married 65 years

Just look at him. He's the most beautiful man I've ever seen but also he's completely average. He's got a weak jawlines and a round face and these big soft eyes and he's just so beautiful. He's capable of playing a silly charismatic sitcom protagonist in one scene, and a jaded army surgeon haunted by the deaths he's witnessed in the next. He's so hot that my dad once told me he decided to apply to medical school because of how much he was attracted to Hawkeye Pierce. That's literally how I learned that my father was bisexual.

He's also just a really great dude? He's been outspoken about his political beliefs for a long time, and has always been strongly and vocally anti-war, pro-feminist, and pro lgbt. He served a tour in the Korean war, and his experiences there informed his performance in the show. He (and honestly the entire cast, but especially him) really just soared above and beyond the standard for comedies of the day.

He's so funny and his eyes are pretty

He loves and is a champion of science (Source).

[livingasaghost]

september was not great folks, but we're trying <3

in the saddest realization of the season i discovered that my favorite part of the day is my 40m drive to work because it's chilly and i can see a lot of trees and the morning light and i also am in the perfect headspace to listen to Good Music and it's like when i used to make my morning playlists for opening the coffeeshop except soooo much more enjoyable

been listening to lots of holly humberstone and NF's new album and justin vernon stuff (bon iver, BRM, etc) and unfortunately gracie abrams - there's just something about all these artists being like "I AM THE PROBLEM ITS ME IM SORRY" that just speaks to me! that's not concerning at all!

laura and i talked for like two hours last night and it was like old times and god i really do miss when we'd just ride the same bus home and i could walk to her house ):

i've been trying to make taylor's chai cookies for like a week and i realized i absolutely have time to make them today so i'm trying to buck up the energy to do that in the next two hours before i have to be a person and go to a photoshoot

"good day" by olivia barton

i'm trying to get back into crying in h mart because mom finished reading it and we're supposedly buddy reading it so we can discuss it but i haven't felt like reading all month because i've been depressed...but like damn cancer sucks guys

in other news, i think because i've had such a shitty brain month this september i've almost pushed myself so far that halloween season sounds really fun!!! i'm trying to work through my halloween hate bc i think it's kind of silly and all my friends love halloween so i should love it too! and like i wanna watch spooky movies and be chilly and have FUN! god!

i kinda forgot a vital piece of jennalore which is that when i was a kid my mom's college roommate used to send us frosted sugar cookies shaped like bats every halloween and it was actually kinda the best thing ever? so i'm trying to channel that energy this season

work is batshit insane and i'm so exhausted by it i literally slept for 11hrs on like wednesday night bc i was so tired but also......when we're busy i always feel like i'm actually Doing Something and my bosses are so happy with the work i do so like.....it's good even though it's bad!

therapy has actually been really really good? like it Sucks bc it's therapy and i hate talking about my feelings but my therapist is the sweetest NB person ever and they're always just like "uhhh that's emotional abuse my dude!" and i'm so fucking excited bc at the end of october they're gonna have saturday openings which means i can finally go talk to them in person and not on my lunch break in our tiny break room!!!! at this point i have to pretend like my coworker can't hear everything i say during therapy otherwise i'd go insane so i always leave my sessions being like ......did max hear that i'm aroace and i have depression and i might be neurodivergent??? idk!!!

which speaking of, even though max and i definitely aren't like friends by any sense of the word....we are also just like having a time together! it's wild i see him most out of all the people i know but i think we're both going a little insane from the workload and being Depressed so we just spend all day being kinda wacky and for whatever reason i've reached a point where i stopped having a filter with him so i just start talking about the most random shit and he's cool with it lol

i think i might maybe be a little lonely! idk! i've been struggling to figure out what i need or who to talk to and i generally just want to talk to like two or three of my friends or my gc and everyone's just busy ): but then when i have the chance to talk to anyone and i Sit Down to try to interact bc i know some people are probably around i just get a little overwhelmed idk make it make sense!!!

and i realized i don't have a lot of IRL friends anymore bc a lot of the ones i had from the coffeeshop are Not My Friend and the ones i met on instagram are also Not My Friend and the ones i used to live with are Not My Friend and so my list of people to hang with is teeny tiny and idek what i need or want anymore so it's just my brain screaming .

the most frustrating thing rn is that i know i'm in a bad mental place however i cannot distinguish what i need! but when someone asks me what i need i get this intense panic/dread and i spiral real bad and if anyone tries to be kind to me it makes me feel worse and so it's like....i'm stuck in this stand still where i can't get what i need but i don't know what i need so i just eat cereal, listen to music, and go to bed early!!!

i don't wanna watch anything, i still haven't finished this season of only murders, i need a DVD player bc i want to watch the director's commentary of hill house, there's a bunch of shows and movies coming out soon that i feel overwhelmed by at the moment and it's just like !!! this is all so unfair

and i need to make all these appointments like getting my oil changed and going to the doctor for my annual but i cannot bring myself to do those things but also like should i ask my doctor about medication for depression??? surely it isn't that serious but like maybe it is idk!!!!

the depression isn't as bad as it's been in the past (i think?) like i felt a lot more hopeless in 2017 and i think a lot of that is because i do have a support system and a therapist and a good paying job and things to look forward to but like i'm very aware that many days i do just feel that feeling of "everything is meaningless and nothing will bring me joy ever again" so it's like !!! idk!!!! maybe i'm gaslighting myself into thinking i'm not that bad when in actuality i am!!!

i've just been stuck in that space of middle limbo with all my "diagnoses" that i cannot rationally understand if i'm allowing myself to see myself the way i am? like i always felt like i wasn't depressed enough to be Depressed bc i'm not suicidal but like ??? that's silly !!! maybe i am Depressed!!!!! but i don't even know how to go about getting meds and what they would do and it's almost more overwhelming to think about that than to just be depressed ): bc i still am convinced a lot of it comes down to the heat and the lingering effects of summer

but now i'm thinking about 2021 when it was the bad times and i stopped working on creative stuff or literally any year from 2017-2020 when i just spent the early fall Not Creating and having a crisis that i'd never create again and it's like.............is that bc i'm always depressed around this time? it's comforting bc i know life is seasons and i will come back around to making things and doing my silly projects but it's just sort of making me wonder how it would be different if i tried to find a way to get meds ....like would that Fix Me....would that Solve the Problem....what if it doesn't! what if i'm not depressed enough for that!

(this is all just thoughts, i'm fine, etc, just haven't let myself fully think about the depression this month bc i don't think there's a solution rn i'm just trying to get through it)

anyway, "good day" by olivia barton

[elvenbeard]

Not me absolutely bingeing through the last 40 hours of Cyberpunk 2077 over the last 3 days, nope. I was actually shaking before starting the final questline, because there were so many FEARS about what might happen at the end (probably as much as V was shaking himself :’D)

All I knew was, there are several endings, some are better, some are worse, but zero specifics. In some regards, what I imagined, was a lot worse, in others it was exactly what I imagined, in other bits it was a lot worse than I expected but in a bittersweet kind of way?

I’m not 100% happy with the ending I got, but mainly due to a lack of hyper-specific dialogue choices I would have wished for during the ideal ending in my head XD But for my V I think it was the best outcome and also fitted him and his choices. So yay! My heart was a little bit cracked, but not ripped out in the way other games have done it with their endings (*side-eyes Mass Effect 3*), because I feel like my choices did matter overall.

MASSIVE Spoilers under the cut, so if you haven’t completed the game yourself, do not read!!!

I got the Sun ending! V lives, somewhat, yay xD

One of my biggest fears and worst case scenarios I was imagining was in relation to Jackie actually. I had the outcome that Arasaka took his body after the Coup (will do that differently next time though, now that I know of the alternatives... yes I read up so much stuff on the wiki tonight after finishing, finally xDD). So when Takemura tells you this, Arasaka took his body, probably put him through Soulkiller, etc. my immediate thought was “holy shit, please don’t let him show up in some evil twisted way during the ending just to have me suffer” (but also, that would have been so good XD). Didn’t happen though, thankfully xD

I was on quite good terms with Johnny actually, which I did not expect to be at all, see also my previous rants on the topic XD Letting him take the wheel scared me probably just as much as V, and his “just talking to Rogue about Adam Smasher” night of escapades didn’t really help ease that anxiety xD I’m not sure if I had high enough friendship for the secret ending, but I will reload my save to try (but will not attempt that ending til my next playthrough, bc admittedly, my V isn’t built for a suicide mission xD)

What made me the saddest about the Sun ending really is that V isn’t really that present or happy (for obvious reasons, of, you know, STILL impeding death), and that his relationship is suffering under it. But I like to imagine, given the slight open-endedness of that ending (ha), if someone can pull that final mission off, it’s V, and that Mr B. will be able to help him, and he’ll get some well deserved rest and happily ever after. Already wrote a whole fic in my head lying up wide awake in bed for three hours XD What I probably loved the most about the Sun ending is V’s penthouse XD It’s weird, I know, but I often started or ended my gaming sessions in his flat looking out of the window. So everytime I booted up the game I look out and see that nice lush garden and cool architecture across the street and think “man, whoever lives there has made it, wonder if I can go there myself at some point later”. Yes, I can!! It made me cry out loud once I figured out where that penthouse was xD Also, what kind of made the ending for me a lot, in terms of, “what fits my character best” was the ride in the AV to the Afterlife mirroring my corpo V’s ride in the AV to Lizzie’s in the very beginning super well (I have zero clues about the Streetkid and Nomad prologues - no spoilers in the comments please! - but maybe there’s a scene like that in those, too). But yes, the circle of life and all, you know *strums guitar*.

I didn’t expect Johnny to grow on me as much as he did during that last stretch of the game, and him having to go for V to get a final chance at living did make me really sad. I still don’t think I’d be able to go down the alternative route where he is the one to walk out of the tower. Waaay too attached to V by now, sorry Johnny xD But you’ll never be forgotten, and I mean in a way legends never die. And maybe it’s not the last Night City ever saw or heard of him.

What else... the other main story characters! I think what annoyed me a little bit was that sliiiight railroading into Panam’s romance, when you’re just wanting to be nice. I enjoy her as a character a lot, because she’s loud and unapologetic, but also has a really sweet and soft side about her. I like the Aldecaldos very much, too. But when I notice I’m being railroaded it’s a hard pass for me, sorry xD

Then Judy... Judy is love, Judy is life. Her final quest was one of my favourites, and the one apart from the ending the quest that made me cry the most, probably. I love that she stays in contact with a befriended V even after leaving the city. The little updates, how happy she is now that she left the city behind, are really really lovely. Also, I love her texting style XD *types one line then hits send, rinse and repeat* - because I tend to do that too. Also, from the moment she mentions she goes diving I wished she’d take V along at some point - so when she calls about it I again screamed irl about it XD Oh, Judy... I have a female V in my head for you, but no idea when I’ll get to play her XD

I would have wished for something similar with River, him keeping in touch a bit more, because I loved his (messed up) storyline a lot, and I would have loved a few more interactions afterwards! I think I need to space it out more next time to have more of him xD

Then Kerry, another heavy case of “is love, is life” omg. His questline was the perfect mix of feels and fun like *chef’s kiss*. Same with River kind of, I wish there had been even more quests with him, but since you only meet him very late in the game it still felt like you had a chance to get to know him better with not too much else going on simultaneously. And him being more involved in the main story than River, too! For his final quest, the beginning of the boat tour was one of the best scenes in the game for me, like oof... Got me really really emotional actually. And then... CARNAGE!! I loved it, love Kerry, 100000/10.

Then Takemura... man, you know, it’s a crime he’s not a romance option, but in hindsight, knowing his possible fates now, I think that might have actually killed me. I’m tempted to go down the Arasaka ending route just once for the sole reason to get more Takemura time really. Fuck everyone else on that path with a corkscrew XD But yes, A+++ character design with him, complex, layered, relatable (esp. for my Corpo V), foodie, but also absolutely blind when it comes to his loyalties and honor. All with good reasons, but aaahhh... let me fix him!! Let me change him!! XDD  Also he had the best first appearance of any of the main story characters imo! Epic badass.

But yes... what a fucking blast that was. Can’t wait for a replay with some slightly better choices here and there, trying the other lifepath quests, trying some different endings maybe, and skilling my V better XD There’s so many options to skill them, it’s insane, but knowing my fighting style (or not fighting - stealth ftw!)  much better now and what the max level roughly is I think I can make more informed choices. Really looking forward to a replay - also with a lot less anxiety now, and a little bit of faith in complex, bittersweet endings finally restored XD

[blythe-rin]

saddest fic i’ve ever read.

“I mean it,” Harry whispers. “This is goodbye. I love you, but you’re gone.” His throat feels scratchy and thick. He swallows past it. He needs to say this aloud. “I’ll see you again someday, I think. And when I do, that’s it. I’m never leaving you again.” His eyes are tearing up and this time he can’t stop it. He swipes across them with the back of his wrist. “So, I mean it. This really is the last time I’m leaving without you. Never again, okay? This is the last time.”

- Stop All the Clocks (This is the last time I’m Leaving Without You)  https://archiveofourown.org/works/1273078 

I’ve been reading fanfics from the Drarry ship since I was 14, and I’m turning 20 so I can pretty much guarantee that I’ve read. I’ve actually never even read the HP books because I fell in love with Drarry first, and I could never get into the books bc I knew Drarry wasn’t canon so everything I know about HP is from fanfics. 

Anyways, this fic basically broke my heart. I cried so hard while reading it and it pushed me into darkHarry for some reason. The way the author writes about Harry’s grief over losing Draco is so raw and painful, it makes you want to stop reading and cry with snot running down your nose but you’ll continue because it hurts so good. The memories don’t make it any better because you actually laugh at how funny, loving, and so IN LOVE they were. The memories made me laugh and then the next we’re back to reading about Harry’s grieving process, and you’re tearing up again. 

Almost all the fics I’ve read are enjoyable, fun, and I love them so much but this one made me think and moved me beyond tears. If you want to read this, I seriously caution you to read it at your own risk. This fic made me feel a painful twinge in my chest for DAYS.  

[eggmeralda]

please infodump about the golden ratio especially because of me realizing there are dogs involved

okay so *inhales* *cracks knuckles* *does stretches or whatever*

they're a group of golden retrievers (except for one time when they also had a labradoodle) who live on a beach in the florida keys and they're all perfect. the current uh lineup is venk, hops, guac, chief brody and remi, but they've had others in the past (but they all sadly died :( rip legends)

i'll just talk about the current ones for now bc otherwise I will talk for 3587923857328 billion years

but yeah so the first dog they got was hopper aka hops

she's really smart and is the only one who can do tricks and be trusted off the lead and she's just really good and is the epitome of a best friend. she had cancer in her leg a few years ago and it had to be amputated but now she's visibly so much happier, bc in the old videos when she has 4 legs she looks so miserable, but now she looks like this ^ at all times. also she's unbelievably fluffy. but even fluffier than her is......

her half-sister venkman aka venk

she literally isn't a real dog she's really fuzzy and has the stubbiest paws in the universe and she's so chaotic. she jumps for her breakfast and dinner and has done so every single day for probably her whole life. she loves food and she used to be really fat so they had to put her on a diet, she also used to eat the other dogs' food so they had to put her behind one of those baby gate things. she's the actual definition of happiness and also her birthday is the day summer begins which is really fitting?

okay then there's guacamole aka guac aka the guacoman

He's Perfect. he used to be Too playful when they first got him, like he was 3 and wasn't trained and would cause problems, but now 3 years later he's such a good boy. everyday he takes his avocado (pictured above with three) or possibly a blåhaj out into the garden and just sits with it, like he's so gentle with any toy it actually makes me wanna cry, he treats it like his puppy. sometimes the other dogs try to take it bc they wanna play or rip it up or something and it's the saddest thing ever bc like? that's his puppy? but luckily the owners save it and give it back to him.

this is chief brody aka CB aka CBGB (inspired by the venue but stands for Chief Brody Good Boy)

he's literally a guy. he's just a grumpy lazy old man but he's also really sweet and kind of pathetic (affectionate), he just wants to live a simple life where he sits around (or lies still on his back with a toy in his mouth) and have his dinner early in the day. he always looks at them sadly when he's hungry but it'll be like an hour before dinnertime and if they give him his food then they'll have to give all the other dogs their food and then. but yeah, he's just an old man who is very cute and lazy <3

the last one is remoulade aka remi

he's literally just a silly little guy <3. he's also blind (I can't remember if his eyesight is getting better or if I'm imagining that? but whatever). he caused drama instantly when they first got him bc he kept humping chief brody, but luckily he doesn't hump any of the dogs anymore. he seems to look up to guac like a cool older brother (even though guac is younger than him) which is so cute? they always go out into the garden and sit together while tearing at coconut shells. his appearance can sometimes be compared to a bear cub.

I might have to make a separate post at some point ngl bc I also wanna talk about all the other dogs they've had (but there is A Lot). anyway i would literally sell my soul for all these guys <3

[hojbjerg]

girl what is up with the victoria line?? pls paint a picture for me bc it sounds like Actual Hell

first of all gm my love hope u slept well 🥰💘 second of all the victoria line is the rankest nastiest ugliest bitch of an underground there is i say this with no affection. every day i descend down into the boiling hot depths of the vic line and walk out onto the dim platform that’s so fucking dirty you can see dust and grime like floating in the air and not only that but there are also like a million other miserable bastards also on the platform squished together waiting for the tube that ROARS in from the giant pitch black hole and then once you’re actually on the tube…… jesus christ you are nose to nose with people holding on for dear life as you literally whizz around at like 50 miles per hour as it makes the loudest noise you’ve ever fucking heard in your life its so noisy you can’t even talk to people (not that londoners do that anyways GOD FORBID) and then if you’re lucky (i use this term lightly) enough to get a seat then you’re practically knee to knee with the people opposite because unlike the hammersmith and city line aka the line of dreams you’re given basically NO room it’s like a theme park ride down there the way we’re all bobbing about so closely together. and then last but not least even though i mentioned the heat on the platform i must also mention it now we’re actually on the tube because it could be snowing outside it could be -17 degrees out there but the second you step onto a vic line train it’s over for you. whip out the suncream deadass you need it. the saddest thing about this is i have to go back on it later today im going to kill myself anyways hope this paints a clear enough pic for you i love you and hope you never have to experience this xxxxxxx