#oh god why did i say that now im sad

[dailydoseofshoko]

Shoko in the new Jujutsu Kaisen Season 2 Opening 「King Gnu - SPECIALZ」

[flugame-mp3]

what do you fucking mean that's how charlie dies. THAT'S HOW CHARLIE DIES??? i mean i know the show has a penchant for killing off every character who's not a winchester brother or an angel of thursday but good god. what the fuck. charlie was such a good and enjoyable recurring character, and she had such a fandom impact that i've seen, and she's only around for THREE SEASONS?? (sidebar: it's amazing she has the presence she does for only being around for a couple episodes in the long run!) but: was this necessary? and she just dies offscreen after her skills are utilized to progress the plot of decoding the book of the damned?? oh my god. what in the actual fuck. i'm finding myself getting genuinely very upset at her death. she did not fucking deserve that. and i can absolutely see why the fan response to her death is what it is now. completely fucking unjustified and throwaway and useless.

[baeshijima]

it is now officially the 25th which means...

merry christmas everyone !!! regardless of whether u celebrate or not, i hope u all have a lovely day with whoever u spend it with or with urself <33

[themyscirah]

Thinking about current continuity Vanessa and just getting pissed off again

Like one, LET HER REST oh my god dc you ruin her FUCKING life like an asshole only to bring her back as a villain after she finally got out oh my god-

But also like its just so bad. This is a whole other woman with her name like why are we doing this. Like first you kill her mom (JULIA NOOO) and erase her YEARS of history growing up around diana (the thing that actually made her villain turn [if you can call it that w the level of manipulation involved] interesting and fucking heartbreaking) for some shitty "oh I saved you we were friends" run of the mill whatever. Then to use that and say Nessie had a crush on her OWN SISTER (Diana, so like informally adopted, but still 😡) now????

And then they took away her curls and made her a redhead but not even the realistic kind. DC SHE DOESNT LOOK LIKE THAT

It just makes me so mad. Freaking guys. They could have used another name like oh my god. She's not even the first silver swan why the fuck would they do that if they're not going to explore her history w diana (which she no longer has!!!!) or how intensely fucked up everything got for her. What is even the fucking point of this then other to drag a main character of the ww supporting cast through the mud again for genuinely no reason. They could have easily had her be Valerie Beaudry (sorry Val) instead or just MADE UP ANOTHER NAME because it's obvious that no one actually cared about her as a character they just wanted the wondy villain back so like !!!!!!!!!! Why even bother

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[fruiteggsaladit]

we don't talk often enough about the fact that although for most of yyh canon Keiko bears the weight of "the annoyingly clingy one" bc Togashi didn't feel confident enough to put his entire pussy into the effort of realising the potential of her character and expansion of her themes into the narrative, Togashi also, in his last bits of energy in the effort to complete one final arc for yyh, decided to recontextualise that with the reveal that Yusuke used to tell Keiko he'd make up for all the bad shit he did by marrying her, *he's* the annoyingly clingy one.

[29121996]

.

[narugen]

feeling bad again 😧

[catcraziesmidnightsfakeposts]

WAIT I DIDNT EVEN FUCKING TAG IT

[oldhabitsdiescrming]

.

[incomprehensiblegiberish]

am i the only one who doesn't see purpose in the cycle of work for more work to do more work so that you can earn more work? why should i fucking try if my only reward is getting more work and maybe a "good job keep working". i am. fucking tired.

[boxwinebaddie]

do u think we can hear a little bit of the kyle cant say i love u ask?

ugh, yes </3

so...fair warning, idk what this is. also...

why is it written in present tense? idk. anyways!

i started ~writing~ something ( bad ) that i was going to maybe slap to the end of the ask, which is not proofread or finished, but basically context is that it's the #ravesey divorce fight, the climax of it...

...where stan starts packing a bag and for one of the first times in his pleated, completed, type-a, show no mercy, no nonsense, new jersey slaughterhouse life, kyle broflovski...is paralyzed with fear.

because kyle who always has his shit together is completely losing it.

everything.

his everything.

his stan.

again.

and he's ripped at the seams, dissolving right before our very eyes: his perfect auburn tresses which usually cascade and glide effortlessly down his lithe shoulders, are fucked up, frizzy and falling all over his face which is pale, creased and gaunt...

— like he's seen a ghost.

his pupils are blown to high heaven and shot to all hell. dilated like two green distress signals. once fierce now frightened, floundering.

his special stan glasses are crooked and fogging up from how hard and uneven his breathing is with the chain nearly suffocating him from how rough and imprecise his startled, frenzied movements are.

he's shaking his head in horror, in shock, in grief, in utter disbelief. really, his whole fucking body is shaking like an addict going through withdrawals, but this is a million times worse than watching someone flush a pack of cigarettes down the toilet. it stings. it burns. it lingers.

in a way that stan won't.

but kyle needs him to, needs him to stay, needs him close, needs him forever, so he's talking fast, way, way, Way too fast, like if he can say enough other words, i love you will seem far less grand and lustrous...

but they're not.

whilist time passes achingly slow. and kyle's given hundreds of speeches, debates and lectures, but words fail him, his lips quiver, his mouth opens and closes helplessly and that booming voice is barely a whisper when he finally musters up the dis-courage to mumur;

"...b-baby? baby! where—where are you going?! w-where are YO—“

kyle darts forward and reaches for his boyfriend before he turns into a memory again, not sure where he was aiming. to please, to squeeze, to stroke his tear-slicked cheek, maybe? to dust the tips of the his trembling, unworthy fingers cross that little spot of sun just beneath his right eye. the gentle curve of his jaw, far less violent than his, or—or even just on the side of his arm where love is written in spanish. amor. like tracing the letters onto his skin would be good enough.

but it never was.

he never was.

and as proof of his inadequacy, stan sails to the left and ducks right under kyle's arm, which collides with the quilted down of their couch.

…their couch.

how long would their couch be their couch? kyle thought that their couch would always be their couch! kyle thought that—

"out."

it was a single syllable, uttered in the same bratty voice harnessed by misbehaved teenage boys everywhere, but it was different coming from stan, whose mouth was not made to start fights or draw blood. it was a horrible, harsh sound, wrought with an undercurrent of sadness.

it was then that the realization dawns on him.

stan wasn't angry with him.

stan was disappointed in him.

which was far, far worse.

kyle wants to look strong, look stable, look sturdy, so stan would look at him — god, he would do anything for stan to just look at him! and stop packing that stupid fucking bag, that dumb black jansport backpack they'd bought back to school shopping because...his stan was going back to school. and kyle was so...so proud of him.

but gerald never was, gerald was loud, so kyle was loud, so when he should have congratulated stan for doing something difficult, he criticized him for not doing something easy! like the dishes and told stan he'd stitched his name into the bag...just in case he lost it.

funny how things happen.

…not funny.

not funny at all, actually!

so then…why was he laughing?

why the Fuck was he laug—

"out? Out? O-OUTSIDE?! stan, you—ya can't be serious?! you're in a little t-shirt and—and shorts, you'll freeze to death! you'll—“

kyle clings to the thin fabric of stan's tee-shirt, admiring the myriad of sauce stains and makeup marks that, on a normal night, kyle might be livid about, but tonight...they're lovely; they're so, so lovely.

just like the boy who made them.

the boy kyle loves.

not rockstar raven of crimson dawn.

but sweet, sensitive stanley marsh.

his stan.

his...

kyle's eyes fall absentmindedly to the tattered hem of stan's shorts, where amidst a jagged, serrated sea of angry self mutilizations past, was a new beginning...the beginning of a word, a sound, a letter...a

K.

a k...for kyle.

stan had gotten it done last anti-valentine's day, as a gift, for him, but mostly...for himself. because stan cruelly hated himself, every part of his body, but he hated that part the most. his inner thighs, the valley that stretched between them...so he'd gotten kyle's name tattooed down there, so that when he was off on tour and missed his boyfriend terribly...he was with him.

always.

so that on his very worst days, when he felt the worst about himself, he could still see his super best friend. a precious skin-deep reminder that when the dysphoria hit and he felt like shit, craved a stiff drink and the razor blade winked…that when he felt falsely ugly...

...someone thought he was truly beautiful.

and he was.

he was really...and truly beautiful.

everyday. every second. even now. especially now. and god, what kyle wouldn't do to place his lips in that spot right there, anywhere, everywhere! because kyle couldn't say i love you and they weren't married, no, not in the traditional sense, but even so, kyle went to temple, a place of sacred worship & recited his vows every night.

every stroke, every sigh, every stretch of blessed skin.

i love you.

i love you.

i love—

"because you're so Worried about me, right, kyle?"

stan sneers, holding his name like a knife between teeth.

"—because you 'LOVE' me, right?"

he spit and twist it.

it was twisted. and kyle feels those spiteful syllables split him open like shrapnel. he gasps like stan had shot him, grasping the hem of his shirt so hard that it hurt, like a little kid clinging to his mother's skirt.

so scared she would leave.

so scared she would go, begging

don't go.

please don't go.

please, please, please don't g—

"NO! i—i do! stan, i do!”

kyle tries to argue but nearly breaks his neck nodding, with his shrill voice weak and watery and wanting.

“baby—BABY! i do, i DO! i really do! i—I LO—“

but the words wouldn't come.

kyle was banging on the wall, iron clad and impenetrable, he fought and shouted, kicked and screamed and still...nothing would come.

he couldn't say it. he couldn't FUCKING say it!

why...why?

Why?

WHY?!

he had never wanted to cry before but he could feel it in the back of his throat. he wants to come out. the little boy he'd trapped back there. but he couldn't be that big again, that small...that pathetic. so he bites down HARD. harder than he'd even bitten before and thrashes his cheek with his teeth, the taste of blood filling his mouth.

and for a moment...he feels dizzy...

because the blood tastes like metal.

like stan.

just like sta—

"save it, mi sabelotodo."

stan sniffs and lifts his head up slowly. his damp bangs are stuck to his forehead, the tips just barely kissed with bleach, mere whispers of the boy they wanted him, those beautiful dark roots growing with him into the man he wanted to be. whose wonderful face was flushed with frustration, whose kind, bright blue eyes were...

god, all kyle had wanted was for stan to look at him. but it gores him; it guts him. it carves him; it cuts him.

it was wrong. it was all wrong!

he took it back. he took it all back!

take me back, baby.

he wants to plead, while his lip shakes and bleeds.

stanley, PLEASE take me ba—

then, in one foul swoop, the boy with the bag shrugs his shoulders and kyle's hand crumples back down onto the couch. broken. lifeless.

"—save it for someone you ACTUALLY love."

[icarusredwings]

Thinking about Wade's life and his mental health issues a lot, and I just thought about this. Not only being abused, but his entire brain being made out of cancer, and the fact that oxygen was physically taken from his brain over the course of 2+ days multiple times?

We see him coloring a lot and claim multiple times that he doesn't/ can't read (this is probably a bit, I guarantee he can read), but it had me thinking what if some days were more childish then others as part of his coping mechanisms?

At first, Logans was really confused about why Althea puts up with it until he realizes that it's extremely good for him to just... be taken care of? Praised and given affection for the bare minimum? He thinks it's weird. This wasn't the same man he was fighting with yesterday.

Coming into the living room, he sees Wade sprawled out with crayons and markers all around him with multiple pictures already coloured, his notebook having pages ripped out of it as he kicks his feet and hums.

On the tv, there are cartoons playing. Once in a while, he'll look up at the tv and then go back to coloring. "What are you doing??"

"Hi wolvie. 'm colouring."

"He's behaving, so don't ruin it." Al says. There's pictures by her, and she is holding a box of cereal.

"O..kay??" Sitting down, he's almost too curious to just walk away, picking up puppins so she doesn't ruin his drawings, petting her confusedly.

Sometimes, Al will hold out some cereal in her hand. "Wade." And he will see him shimmy over and take the cereal. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, baby."

As hes scooting back to his color spot he stops and watches the tv for a bit longer then usual.

"...What.. the fuck." Logan says to her and she gives him a brow raise. "What?"

"What is he doing?"

"He's coloring. And I thought I was the blind one."

"No no I mean.. those aren't murder plans. That's puppins."

"Yes? And?"

"And.. what did you do to him?"

"Treated him like a human being. Give it a try once inawhile." She says, and he comes back with more pictures, climbing in between them with no regard for space as he leans into her.

"Oh thank you. What is it?"

"It's you."

"Oh? How sweet. Do I look good?"

"Mhm!"

"Im glad. How about you show our friend here your amazing pictures. And he better be nice!"

So wade turns and now is leaning on logan as he points to a different picture. One of Logan with Puppins on a leash with a sun in the corner and crappy grass, a hearts all over the place.

At first he wants to tell him to get off of him, but seeing the pictures and how excited his eyes were to show him, it hits him and he understands.

".. uhm.. thank you?" But he puts it back in his hand. "Oh- you want me to keep it?"

Wade nods and starts cleaning up his crayons.

Logan turns to whisper to Al "How long does this go on?"

"About 2 hours or so."

"Why?"

"God only knows, but it helps with his nightmares."

"Colouring helps with his nightmares??"

"Its more then that. Hey sweetheart? Why don't you bring your ponys out."

"Theyre horses."

"Oh im sorry, my mistake. I think logan here wants to play horses."

Logan gives her a look like excuse me? When did I sign up for that? "No.. uhm.. I think im good."

Wade gets this look of sad innocence but goes to get them anyway, beginning to play by himself, brushing them and making them talk to each other quietly. As if he speaks any louder, he would get hit.

Logan groans and is like "Gimme a fucking horse.."

From then on, Logan is quick to understand what's happening and is much nicer to him, starts giving him snacks, buying him actual coloring books, and has pinned his drawings to the fridge each time he's gifted one. His horses name is Buttercup, by the way.

[sol-rizen]

thinking about messi again

not the football guy but my oc who was hilariously named after him as a joke

them. theyre the sweetest bird in the world and i keep wondering whats become of them now and it honestly does make me cry a little inside

[reidrum]

surprise songs | s.r.

A/N: okay listen i am not a fan of unrealistic professions for reader who’s dating reid, BUT i just totally know penelope is one to hyper analyze every surprise song and definitely has theories for when rep tv is coming. it’s canon idk. enjoy this silly little thing it’s just for funsies <3 (not proofread im lazy)

spencer reid x popstar!reader

cw: literally none, reader is basically taylor swift for convenience purposes, angry penelope?

summary: garcia yells at reid because you sang sad songs on tour, how could you do that reid

wc: 0.5k

——————————————————————————

Penelope’s heels clack through the bullpen with a vengeful mission to find a certain stupid boy genius. She walks past Derek’s desk who lets out an amused whistle and turns his chair to watch her wreak her wrath.

Hell hath no fury like a Penelope scorned.

“What the hell did you do?” She exclaims, lightly smacking the back of Spencer’s head.

Spencer reacts in shock, “Hey! What was that for?” He tries to rack his brain for what Penelope could be upset about. Did he miss her birthday? An event?

She pulls out her phone and shows the screen to Spencer, who leans closer and strains to read it.

[“SURPRISE PIANO SONG N1 WEMBLEY: Teardrops On My Guitar/The Last Time!”]

Oh.

You and Spencer had been dating for a year now, a little before you embarked on your world tour. Every night you would perform a few acoustic songs that differed each show, and some fans liked to read into the diabolical combinations you’d come up with.

“Garcia, I didn’t do anything!”

“Then why, would she sing those together! Do you not understand how insane those choices are? Together?! You obviously did something to make her do that, and as the only person close enough to you to do something it’s my job to reprimand you.” She huffs.

Spencer chuckled to himself, he knew Penelope was a huge fan of his girlfriend but he found it amusing that she was analyzing their relationship from song choices.

She playfully thwacks his forehead again. Spencer shouts, “Maybe she just wanted to sing sad songs, I don’t know!”

“Bullshit, Reid.” She narrowed her eyes at him.

He held his hands up in mock surrender, “Do you want me to ask her?”

“Oh my god, no! You dummy, don’t do that. I don’t want her to think I’m like, a crazy fan or something.”

Derek snorts from the back of the bullpen, Spencer shakes his head, “Okay, would you prefer I sit in a corner and think about my actions?”

“Actually, yes that would be nice.”

He raises his eyebrows in amusement and stands up, walking to an unoccupied corner of the bullpen and sits down, looking back at Garcia with a faux sad look on his face, “This good?”

Penelope nods triumphantly and clacks back to her cave. Spencer laughs to himself as he pulls his phone out, opening up a flower delivery website.

It can’t hurt to cover his bases, right?

The next day Spencer gets a text from you,

Thank you for the flowers, my love. They’re almost as pretty as you. Can’t wait to see you soon, love you :)

He smiles and replies lovingly to you, and sets his phone back down to finish the rest of his work.

Later that day Penelope comes back into the bullpen to deliver something to Hotch, and passes Spencer’s desk, and before he has time to brace for impact she gives him a cautionary smile, “You did good, but you’re still on thin ice, Reid. “

Happily confused, Reid pulls out his phone again to google search what you sang today, piecing together the obvious reason for Penelope’s change in attitude towards him.

[SURPRISE SONG PIANO N2 WEMBLEY: This Love/Ours!]

His cheeks rise in a blush, feeling bashful and loved. He sends you another loving text with a promise to call you tonight.

Safe to say, Penelope is more than pleased with the following surprise song choices in the next shows.

[princessbrunette]

stepbro!johnb knew it was wrong. god, he knew it was demented, and sick — but he couldn’t stop. he was pent up.

things had been kind of a mess lately, and despite popular believe, no — finding and hunting treasure was not all sunshine and rainbows. it was a lot of dead ends, a lot of waste bins filled with screwed up paper covered in ideas and plots that were going nowhere. sometimes you had a piece of paper, a pen, a map and a dream — and that was it.

john b could have sworn he saw you scribbling away during a plotting session in this specific pink paperback journal. it looked like any other notebook you’d use to jot down everyone’s ideas. you weren’t too good at the whole treasure hunting thing yourself but you were eager and had the right spirit so the pogues could often rely on you to scribble down anything important they might say during these sessions in which they’d bounce off eachother. this was why john b picked the book up and opened it in the first place.

once he started reading, even past realising that this was infact your diary — he just couldn’t stop.

“oh, uh…” he coughs awkwardly to an empty house when he flips it open and finds his own name in pink glitter pen, hearts and swirls galore. you hadn’t exactly been subtle about your attractions towards your older step brother— never missing an opportunity to bat your lashes up at him, touch his chest whilst you’re talking to him, even find a way to sit on his leg when there was just no other room — but for the most part he assumed you were just teasing in your own cruel way. passing the time, so to speak. he wasn’t expecting this.

his eyes continue to flit from word to word, each more graphic than the last until he’s stumbling across full descriptions, day to day on what you’d do to him, moreso what you’d let him do to you.

‘john b was so frustrated today. he needs me, i know he does. he has that look in his eye! that super frustrated one that looks all tired and irritated and unlike himself. he’s usually so warm and comforting but today he looked like he was gonna snap. i thought he might finally march over and bend me over… a girl can dream i guess :( when i finallyyyyy got some alone time i spent it grinding against my pillow, wanting him to come in and catch me. i wonder if he heard the bed moving… if he hears me moaning… i don’t wanna be a virgin anymore, need john b to come and break me in :( ♡’

the more he reads, the harder he gets against his shorts— sighing out his nose, blinking in discomfort as he adjusts himself. he looks around, knowing you were at the beach with kiara but still feeling paranoid. it’s one thing to have such dirty thoughts about your step-brother, but atleast they were private. john b gets caught reading them? he’s the bad guy.

he tells himself it’s not you doing this to him. it was simply his anatomy betraying him. he couldn’t help how his body reacts.

he feels dirty when the tip of his cock grazes the pages, now sat on the edge of your bed like he could jump up at any minute given the sound of the front door closing. he’s turned the page, landing on a particular fantasy that had his hand moving and cock leaking before he could dare to question the morality of it all.

‘john b looked so good today :( i love when he bosses me around all big brother like ♡ he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it, it’s like second nature for him to look after me. wanted to sit between his legs and make out with his dick :( i bet it’s so pretty and i know it’s big cos sometimes he doesn’t wear boxers under his pants and i see it swinging it around. wanna suckle on it whilst he tells me im a good girl like he did that one time when i was sad. his voice just gets me so wet, can’t stop humping everything n rubbing my clit whenever he leaves the room. i’m like an animal and im not even ashamed anymore. i need him :(’

the brunette groans as he squeezes his eyes shut, fisting and twisting the way he imagines your smaller hand to— inexperienced yet with a feverish hunger to please and a vast knowledge of sex which he could only imagine was learnt through word of mouth and porn. god, the thought of his sweet little step sister sprawled on her back, legs splayed open — pawing at her glossy cunt as she scrolls to find the perfect porn video. it was enough to send john b mad.

he wondered if you tried to find pornstars that looked like him, or if you just used your imagination for that part. john b liked to think himself a humble man, but in the throes of his passion he couldn’t help but accept the warm embrace of the ego trip the thought gave him.

“oh fuck, so wrong — so fucking wrong—” he strains, feeling that burning hot twisting in his stomach as that familiar feeling overcomes him. he clearly hadn’t thought this through, before when he opens his eyes once more — he’s covered your delicately decorated page containing your fantasies with his white hot sticky syrup. “ohhhh god. oh no.” he hums, eyes widening slightly.

yet there was no time to act— for as soon as he’d realised, he could hear the jangling of your keys and your familiar giggles as you lead your new-ish friend into the chateau, probably moments away from singing out his name, wondering if he’s home. he slams the book shut and he’s sure it oozes from the edges of the page— stuffs it back beneath the pile of clothes on your chair where he found it and makes quick work of tucking his deflating cock back into his pants.

john b fears he might be in big trouble.