#we're gonna have to have a talk later

[hyugahell]

Lord Hiashi do you have that Gyat? 👀

[miwtual]

im so fucking tired of the disrespect gifmakers get on the gifmaker website

[no27-autonation-honda]

congratulations to Mme. Pascale Leclerc, who has surely just experienced both the funniest and most unhinged weekend a mother could ever have. Dear fucking christ, I hope your middlest son brought you a bottle of champagne for yourself, ma'am.

[akiraal]

he got arrested :/

[hella1975]

so there's a reason my new job got back to me so quickly about my application and that's bc it's an absolute fucking shambles like actually perfect timing for me to decide to rewatch the bear bc i have never more felt like ive been thrown into a broke on-its-knees establishment trying to crawl its way up the ladder where i am somehow a godsend to them. my old job was crazy and shambolic in the sense that the industry is just Like That but this one?????? insanity. every 5 mins i am questioning what im doing with my life. ive already had a walk-in fridge moment

[katethevampire]

I'm so sorry Sebastian likers but I've started referring to him as Eustace in my head.

[jasper-pagan-witch]

I am 22 pages into Nothing But A Pack Of Cards and so far I'm enjoying the writing style. It's flowy, and absurd (complimentary), and it really emphasizes that this is one person's experiences with a system built from the ground up.

It reads less like a 101 baby's first guide to magic and more like the research notes of a less-than-hinged mad wizard scientist, which is honestly my favorite kind of book. (I say, as a less-than-hinged mad wizard scientist with research notes myself.)

[gloriousmonsters]

sometimes i'm like. am i actually a narcissist? just for a moment. then i remember that from the ages of like 12-19 i eschewed all other photographs or more normal forms of decoration to keep a framed photo of myself on either my desk or my bedside table where i could look at it constantly. cuz i thought i looked cute and confident and no it did not occur to me i might like to have a photo of like, a family member or some cool trees or something i just took like 7 years to go huh wait other people don't keep a photograph of themselves on their desks? what do you do when you want to look at yourself go all the way to a mirror??? anyway it wasn't realizing this was unusual that made me stop the photo just got water damage

[carltonlassie]

So I'm on a Greyhound (already a bad start) and I had to give my witness statement to COPS in the middle of the journey and I was a bit shaken about the whole thing but now I feel more normal and I'm more occupied with directing my energy towards not peeing my pants, so there's a good thing

[look-at-the-stars-tonight]

i would like to stop experiencing the full spectrum of human emotions every day please. putting this out into the universe

[thecontainerstoreofficial]

im being so real with everyone theres a 50/50 chance i break up w my boyfriend as soon as i start working full-time lmao

[thepoisonroom]

otp culture is crazy like not only is it extremely regular to have goldfish relationships that don't turn into much but it can actually be really fun as a plot device. like i think it'd be cool for [redacted] to have kind of a flop first gay relationship actually.

[anxiously-sidequesting]

SPEAKING OF WHICH are there like any chill wizard101 discord servers or group chats that I could join. Or if anyone just wanna add me on discord shoot me a tumblr DM because I'm lonely and I like you guys :)

[bumblingbabooshka]

Dark Frontier should have had an ending scene where after Seven returned to the ship and she's self-conscious about having 'betrayed' Voyager and whether or not the crew trust her (they retrieved her on Janeway's orders but her orders don't always match the feelings of the crew itself), thinking of Tom's comment, thinking of what she was a part of, she stumbles upon B'Elanna. They're both working well past the time to do so. Seven tenses up because B'Elanna looks irritated but she just goes into business as usual about mistakes in Seven's work (probably because she needs to regenerate!) and how much time and energy it took to find her and Seven apologizes for the inconvenience (sarcastically) and B'Elanna accepts her apology then she smirks, staring at Seven. Seven looks unsure about what this means. B'Elanna reaches up and clasps her shoulder. "Good to have you back, Seven." she says. Upon Seven's nod of acknowledgement, she leaves, calling over her shoulder "Get some rest!" threatening that she'll be back in the morning with more corrections if she doesn't. Seven stares after her for a moment. She continues to work. She pauses. She turns around and gets onto her alcove, beginning to regenerate.

[rexscanonwife]

what if Louie was my girlfriend

what who said that

[secret-bug-pain-blog]

[THURSDAY]

Buried Alive - Outlived Family - "Not growing old was fun at first, but then everyone around me started dying."

Hi! Hello! We're here, Late To The Event. Technically, we have plans for all these days! We only remembered this event was ongoing halfway through the week, and by then... well, you know how it is. Technically, this isn't fully compliant with the prompt, but it's close enough that we figure it counts, since outliving his entire family was actually slightly less impactful than outliving his husband for our boy.

Fic below the cut, and @species-whump-weekly we sincerely hope this isn't too late to count.

You have been asleep for long enough that you aren't even sure if he'll still be alive.

His swarm finds you before you find them.

Marina gasps when she sees you. She's years older, now - wings worn at the edges, shell thin and flimsy, aged far beyond the young butterfly you saw her as last.

She looks older than you ever have been. She looks older than you suspect you ever will be.

Her father, your friend – your paramour, your years-long companion – isn’t with her. You fear, for a moment, you’ve stumbled upon them too late. You nearly cringe away from the migration them and there, fearful of discovering yet another thing that’s slipped away while you hibernated.

But you don’t have the heart to walk away.

He’s been waiting for you.

He is old, and frail, and dying. You can taste the creeping end in his veins from the moment you step foot into the tent. His shell is pitted with age, now, cracked and chinked in places, brittle enough that you fear taking his hand will hurt him. Time has weathered him, his wings transparent and paper-thin around him, and you… you stay the same, looking just as young as the day you first met him on the stolen life of those who unearthed your grave.

“I knew you’d come back,” he tells you. “You wouldn’t die that easily.”

You hold his frail, trembling claw in both of yours. You aren’t sure how he can say that so confidently. He has always had more faith in you than you have in yourself.

He invites you to drain him.

You hesitate, at first. Every instinct you have picked up over your long, long life is screaming for you to run. To survive, to keep your secret- he knows, and it's against everything you've ever learned to remain, to let him speak, to not preserve your life-

He knows. But maybe he's known for a long, long time.

You take his offer. You take his life.

You know what it is that killed him the moment you bite. The magic of the wastes, the low hum that seeps into your bones, the constant background noise that sometimes threatens to tear you apart - it gathers within him, down to the deepest parts of his shell. There are lumps of flesh in his heart, his lungs, full of the same mind-jarring, skull-shattering buzz.

He has the wasteland sickness.

You think that, perhaps, he has had the wasteland sickness for a long time.

You drain him until he is dry, until every last flicker of the wasteland sickness is gone from his body, until he is stiff and his flesh holds the texture of jerky, and you let your fangs linger on his shrivelled veins until you can't bear to remain anymore.

You are sick, the next day.

And the day after that, and the day after that.

The buzz is in your bones, now - too close, too loud, rattling through your shell like a twisted beast. You have the wasteland sickness, stolen from his dying body, and it is trying to take you the way it took him.

You do not die.

You don't know if it's a blessing or a curse, anymore.

It is energy. It is vitality, the buzzing, throbbing pulse beyond the heart of a beast on a scale you cannot comprehend.

It is life force, and you can stomach it just the same.

A week passes. Two weeks. The symptoms slow, as you digest it. It becomes your life, your energy, it bends to keep you alive, it becomes you, while you lie weak and dizzy and throwing up blood.

It becomes you. You become it, in turn.

It is the last pulse of your husband, and you refuse to waste it.

You stumble out of the tent two weeks later, exhausted and bearing injuries you cannot see with your naked eyes. You are tired, and hurt, and you have burnt through most of the life you had, but you are alive.

His body is still waiting for you.