remember when anakin and obi-wan are standing just outside the room in which palpatine is being held hostage, having gone through Some Shit™️ to get to this point as a matter of urgency, and stover was like yo hold up I gotta marry you two real quick and then they exchange the vowiest vows of all time right then and there in a soft voice with a warm hand with a depth of feeling with a pure uncomplicated love rising in anakin that feels like a promise from the Force itself and then george lucas line-read this and said yes and gave it a row of enthusiastic little red ticks and drew a love heart next to it
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do you guys think that nancy carries a little journal with her at all times in case she gets random bursts of inspiration for her articles
and robin sees that she's running out of pages one day and buys her a new one and writes 'to the best goddamn journalist on the face of this planet: love you lots - rob' on the back cover of it
and gives it to nancy as a gift who immediately falls even more in love with robin when she unwraps the package because of how thoughtful her girlfriend is
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remember when this was the height of gay representation from the conchordswaititidarbyverse 🎸
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You ever find a fic that you've heard so much about and are so excited to read but then you look at the tags and you realize it's not going to end happily so you just sort of sit there contemplating if you're going to forever question or allow yourself to be destroyed emotionally?
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I'm so in love right now!!!! 💖💖💖💖💖
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does anyone else just get super mad and annoyed with everyone and everything right before their period but the type of mad where you just wanna burst into tears and complain to anyone who'll listen
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10, 12 & 15? <3
✨10 - what spot do you feel deserves more attention?
Backs, but specifically your upper shoulder blades, right where it connects to your shoulders themselves. It's so stupidly sensitive in that spot, I can't even tickle myself there without shivering. I feel like backs do get a lot of attention within the community, but the focus is always on the spine or the lower back (both good spots in their own rights 😌) and I feel like we are missing out on the goldmines that are the shoulder blades.
💘12 - if you could only tickle/be tickled on one spot forever, which would you choose?
I want to say it's a pretty solid tie between my feet and under my arms. Purely because those are the two spots where (a) I know for a fact they are genuinely ticklish (b) they are pretty prime targets in tickle fights so of all the spots to accidentally get tickled in, it would be them (c) they are the only spots that thus far have made me laugh laugh when tickled and (d) they both make your stomach do that swoopy flustered thing that's so addicting. If I had to choose, probably my feet, as my underarms get me weirdly panicky sometimes and I don't think I could handle only ever getting tickled there.
💖15 - what media (tv, movie, books, etc.) do you wish included more tkls?
The Raven Cycle
I am on hands and fucking knees
If I could have even just had a sentence that confirmed Gansey or Declan was ticklish I would have lost my shit.
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do you think isabel lovelace and renee minkowski explored each others bodies on the uss hephaestus
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The literal only thing I want from Midnights is a song that I love as much as Look What You Made Me Do
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i see a pattern that nobody else sees.
the first three… maybe four seasons of south park, spongebob, and family guy were golden in every way.
but they were all supposed to end.
spongebob was supposed to end after it’s third season per mr. hillenburg’s request. south park was supposed to end after it’s third season due to low ratings. family guy was even cancelled a few times.
but they’re all still here, 20+ years later.
and… they’re all shit! family guy is overly violent, spongebob is dumb as fuck, and south park is way too political and an obvious attempt at two middle-aged men trying to stay “hip n’ cool n’ relevant.”
i miss when spongebob was about two (maybe three or four) random dudes vibing under the sea and not about four dumbasses farting & spewing unfunny joke after unfunny joke for 10 minutes. i miss when south park was four random kids going on the most unrealistic adventures ever (mecha-streisand for example) and not one unsubtle/unfunny joke after the other with some politics or drama laced between. i miss when family guy was about a… family and not six people. fighting. spewing unfunny jokes.
and that is my speech.
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Sage
sage ⇢ what ‘medium’ of art (poetry, music, fiction, paintings, statues etc.) is the most touching to you? why do you think that is?
I think literature (in an inclusive sense with novels, poetry, short stories, etc) would probably be it for me. Partly because I was very much a bookworm as a kid, and felt like I could experience a huge range of worlds and people and even emotions that were outside of my narrow slice of life, and partly because it’s something I continue to love. As much as I enjoy my grad/PhD work, curling up with a good book is still my happy place.
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Instability, Lenny has decided, is a damn bitch of a thing.
It aches, except not in a painful way but more like something he’s never quite been able to put words to properly. It feels more like the idea of a memory loaned from the him that is still the Big Garage: The drawn-out moment of waiting before the renovations are declared, the knowing of an impending potential change to the very core of itself, the becoming with no power to do anything about what it is that it is to become.
Except this isn’t having his playing field suddenly ringed in pine trees whose roots are brand new intrusions that have been there for decades, or the pitching mound migrating even further from where it started. It’s instability, granted by the steps of a firewalker and something which has a very clear and fixed meaning. Is it better that there’s only two outcomes of this? He considers both options.
The first outcome: He lives through to the end of the week. He continues to play with a new team in the scorched remains of what was the Cookout, a fragment of a stadium living in the bones of another.
The second outcome: There’s an eclipse and he dies. The Queens bury the remains of rebar bones and gig-flyer skin, and some poor soul steps out from the metaphoric eggshell that was his body and all the fire that had killed him and straight into the frying pan.
(Of course, his traitor imagination whispers, those aren’t the only outcomes. It could well live long enough to see Seattle and all of it’s players swallowed by flames, outliving itself even though it was meant to be the part that learnt what the weight of mortality felt like for the behalf of the whole.)
If it was wearing Lenny’s face at the moment, it would grimace. After a moment’s consideration, he shifts and lets himself twist the internal dial. He grimaces. The change doesn’t hurt, but pain is something distinctly organic for him and the instability sits tighter in his joints than it did a minute ago.
Instability. Damn bitch of a thing. The coin’s already been flipped. All he can do now is wait to find out which way things will play out for him. It’s out of his hands. All it can do is wait and see.
All it can do is wait.
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