Tumgik
#girl can hear
bookshopbentley · 8 months
Text
“ aziraphale chose heaven over cr — “ shut UPPPP shut the fuck up aziraphale chose heaven over his own happiness THATS how selfless he is and if i have to read that one more time i’m throwing a tantrum
3K notes · View notes
spinaholi · 3 months
Text
that nat 20 shrimp jump is giving fabian rolling a nat 20 at the arcade against the racing game. cassandra is maybe dead and the girls are gone but goddamnit did you make that epic shrimp jump into a pool of flaming tartar sauce
2K notes · View notes
ministarfruit · 2 months
Text
Tumblr media
day 20: chose violence ♡
(femslashfeb prompt list)
1K notes · View notes
robotgirlservos · 9 months
Text
girls will be so nervous about showing you the glowing core that powers their robotic frame. You should compliment them, and watch their core glow brighter and warmer as they get flustered and "blush."
3K notes · View notes
fob4ever · 4 months
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
mmy review, billboard / mmy, youngblood chronicles / ybc commentary, vh1 / patrick, ap.net 2008 / miss missing you / pete's blogspot, 2005 / pete's twitter / pete, 2015 / mmy, youngblood chronicles / mmy ybc monologue/srar album text / miss missing you
714 notes · View notes
amielot · 8 months
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Two hearts
immediate continuation from this post.
Tumblr media
:3
1K notes · View notes
findafight · 7 months
Text
Robin chose Steve. Robin made the conscious and deliberate decision that she could and would trust Steve. She already liked him! She had fun working and bantering with him! They were already on their way to being weird little bffs and the torture just expedited the process. Steve chose Robin just the same! He thinks she's fun and cool and likes her so much! He chose to be honest and open with her too, putting himself out there.
Even though their interests on the surface level don't match why wouldn't they share them? Steve clearly caves when Robin wants to watch a movie he doesn't think he'll like, Robin can watch a March madness game or five.
Stop trying to take away their bond oh my god people can be close to more than one person!!! Their best friend doesn't have to be dismissive or mean or whatever in order for a romance to be special to them!
910 notes · View notes
Text
(Ignore the fact that I use tiktok while reading this post) Anyway, LOVE theater kid tiktok. Right now my fyp is literally:
“The Mean Girls movie was so good, maybe even better than the stage show. The instrumentals and vocals were insane, the cinematography was on point and the comedy and casting were perfect. And Reneé Rapp was so hot”
“The Mean Girls movie was an atrocious monstrosity missing all the good songs and good singers of the stage show, and the instrumental, timing, and key changes were Not It. And Reneé Rapp was so hot”
372 notes · View notes
Text
Tumblr media
you mustn't blame yourself
311 notes · View notes
novelconcepts · 11 months
Text
There’s a line from American Gods I keep coming back to in relation to Yellowjackets, an observation made early on by Shadow in prison: “The kind of behavior that works in a specialized environment, such as prison, can fail to work and in fact become harmful when used outside such an environment.” I keep rotating it in my head in thinking about the six survivors, the roles they occupy in the wilderness, and the way the show depicts them as adults in society.
Because in the wilderness, as in prison, they’re trapped—they’re suffering, they’re traumatized, they’re terrified—but they’re also able to construct very specific boxes to live in. And, in a way, that might make it easier. Cut away the fat, narrow the story down to its base arc. You are no longer the complex young woman who weighs a moral compass before acting. You no longer have the luxury of asking questions. You are a survivor. You have only to get to the next day.
Shauna: the scribe. Lottie: the prophet. Van: the acolyte. Taissa: the skeptic. Misty: the knight. Natalie: the queen. Neat, orderly, the bricks of a new kind of society. And it works in the woods; we know this because these six survive. (Add Travis: the hunter, while you’re at it, because he does make it to adulthood).
But then they’re rescued. And it’s not just lost purpose and PTSD they’re dealing with now, but a loss of that intrinsic identity each built in the woods. How do you go home again? How do you rejoin a so-called civilized world, where all the violence is restricted to a soccer field, to an argument, to your own nightmares?
How does the scribe, the one who wrote it all out in black and white to make sense of the horrors, cope with a world that would actively reject her story? She locks that story away. But she can’t stop turning it over in her head. She can’t forget the details. They’re waiting around every corner. In the husband beside her in bed. In the child she can’t connect with across the table. In the best friend whose parents draw her in, make her the object of their grief, the friend who lives on in every corner of their hometown. She can’t forget, so she tries so hard to write a different kind of story instead, to fool everyone into seeing the soft maternal mask and not the butcher beneath, and she winds up with blood on her hands just the same.
How does the prophet come back from the religion a desperate group made of her, a group that took her tortured visions, her slipping mental health, and built a hungry need around the very things whittling her down? She builds over the bones. She creates a place out of all that well-intended damage, and she tells herself she’s helping, she’s saving them, she has to save them, because the world is greedy and needs a leader, needs a martyr, needs someone to stand up tall and reassure everyone at the end of the day that they know what’s best. The world, any world, needs someone who will take those blows so the innocent don’t have to. She’s haunted by everyone she didn’t save, by the godhood assigned to her out of misplaced damage, and when the darkness comes knocking again, there is nothing else to do but repeat old rhymes until there is blood on her hands just the same.
How does the acolyte return to a world that cares nothing for the faith of the desperate, the faith that did nothing to save most of her friends, that indeed pushed her to destroy? She runs from it. She dives into things that are safe to believe in, things that rescue lonely girls from rough home lives, things that show a young queer kid there’s still sunshine out there somewhere. She delves into fiction, makes a home inside old stories to which she already knows the endings, coaxes herself away from the belief that damned her and into a cinemascope safety net where the real stuff never has to get in. She teaches herself surface-level interests, she avoids anything she might believe in too deeply, and still she’s dragged back to the place where blood winds up on her hands just the same.
How does the skeptic make peace with the things she knows happened, the things that she did even without meaning to, without realizing? She buries them. She leans hard into a refusal to believe those skeletons could ever crawl back out of the graves she stuffed them into, because belief is in some ways the opposite of control. She doesn’t talk to her wife. She doesn’t talk to anyone. It’s not about what’s underneath the surface, because that’s just a mess, so instead she actively discounts the girl she became in the woods. She makes something new, something rational and orderly, someone who can’t fail. She polishes the picture to a shine, and she stands up straight, the model achievement. She goes about her original plan like it was always going to be that way, and she winds up with blood on her hands just the same.
How does the knight exist in a world with no one to serve, no one to protect, no reason propelling the devastating choices she had grown comfortable making? She rechannels it. She convinces herself she’s the smartest person in the room, the most capable, the most observant. She convinces herself other people’s mysteries are hers to solve, that she is helping in every single action she takes. She makes a career out of assisting the most fragile, the most helpless souls she can find, and she makes a hobby out of patrolling for crimes to solve, and when a chance comes to strap her armor back on and ride into battle, she rejoices in the return to normalcy. She craves that station as someone needed, someone to rely upon in the darkest of hours, and she winds up with blood on her hands because, in a way, she never left the wilderness at all.
How does the queen keep going without a queendom, without a pack, without people to lead past the horrors of tomorrow? She doesn’t. She simply does not know how. She scrounges for something, anything, that will make her feel connected to the world the way that team did. She moves in and out of a world that rejects trauma, punishes the traumatized, heckles the grieving as a spectacle. She finds comfort in the cohesive ritual of rehabilitation, this place where she gets so close to finding herself again, only to stumble when she opens her eyes and sees she’s alone. All those months feeding and guiding and gripping fast to the fight of making it to another day, and she no longer knows how to rest. How to let go without falling. She no longer wears a crown, and she never wanted it in the first place, so how on earth does she survive a world that doesn’t understand the guilt and shame of being made the centerpiece of a specialized environment you can never explain to anyone else? How, how, how do you survive without winding up with blood on your hands just the same?
All six of these girls found, for better or worse, a place in the woods. All six of them found, for better or worse, a reason to get up the next day. For each other. And then they go home, and even if they all stayed close, stayed friends, it’d still be like stepping out of chains for the first time in years. Where do you go? How do you make small choices when every decision for months was life or death? How do you keep the part of yourself stitched so innately into your survival in a world that would scream to see it? How do you do away with the survivor and still keep going?
They brought it back with them. Of course they did. It was the only way.
1K notes · View notes
souporsaladnatural · 3 months
Text
Dean kicking cas out of the bunker is such a tragic and heartbreaking scene to me. Not just because of how upset dean and cas are about it, but because of the opportunity lost.
Cas has always been a very independent solving his own problems kinda character, to a detrimental degree. In season 5 it was looking for god, on his own. In season 6 it was working with crowley to open purgatory, on his own. In season 8 it was deciding that it was best for dean to stay away from him and then keeping the angel tablet and then deciding to trust and work with metatron, on his own. But here he was in season 9, human and vulnerable, and he realized "I cant do this alone, I need help"
And then you have dean, who has been reaching out to cas and wanting him to stay for several seasons now, always foiled by cas' hot girl activities, and he FINALLY has cas wanting to stay. Finally gets to keep him safe and with him. He can show him that "Yes, its ok to ask for help. We're your family, we'll help you. Of course you can stay."
And then he can't. And even though this is resolved, and cas forgives dean because he understands, and they're ok, this was an opportunity to break the pattern they've found themselves in that they never get back. A pattern they never really break.
372 notes · View notes
nats-uvi · 1 month
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Angst time :D👍
You can read my rambling about her in the tags
224 notes · View notes
yiifune · 3 months
Text
Tumblr media
hi guys sorry i havent posted in awhile i was REALLY EXTREMELY BUSY!!!!! (slept 18 hours a day the entire month)
i wanted to say thanks for 200+ followers on twitter and 100+ here on tumblr :3,,, it means a lot i read every single comment / reblog i get and they all mean the world to me so ty!!!!
343 notes · View notes
beetlebandido · 11 days
Text
was rewatching them play let’s get talking (because it’s my comfort video) and come ON courtney! she was slipping!
“no, we’re-” *motions at shayne* girl who are you trying to fool lmao
134 notes · View notes
dilfdyke · 2 months
Text
posts that compare clara to rose as parallel companions always surprise me cause to me she's so much more like martha. theyre both so similar to the doctor but crucially Not Quite Enough. they both quickly develop a weird codependence with doc thats very alarming to everyone around them. theyre both capable of becoming the doctor the second he steps out of the room. ten hurts martha and puts her in danger and twelve hurts clara and puts her in danger and both of them continue to travel despite it. maybe even because of it. season 3 ends with martha leaving to become a doctor and season 9 ends with clara flying off in a tardis. tenmarthaclaratwelve circle of codependence
168 notes · View notes
mintcakeart · 1 year
Photo
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
came across this pic on pinterest and absolutely couldn’t resist Steddie-ifying it. Plus some punk Steve, as a treat.
779 notes · View notes