Watching Gossip Girl for the first time in my life (finished s3) and I'm so mad at the way they all collectively failed Jenny Humphrey. She deserved so much better than to be sent away because somehow every characters' flaws are excusable but Jenny's are not?!?!?! She got labeled as the problem and not one person genuinely tried to reach out and help her. (Except Eric, but what is a literal teenager supposed to do to help when the adults don't do anything) Am I supposed to believe that Jenny is the worst person on the show when characters like Chuck and Blair exist????
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My new OC Brittneigh Bubblepop, a college gorl just tryin to keep her hometown safe from spoopy scaries and whatnot. I've been trying to get drawing again, so why not do a lil doodle?
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current status: reading dune messiah and ready to fistfight frank herbert over what he's doing with alia.
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I'm not a Barbie collector at all but I saw this as a child and I have not been able to get it out of my brain since. Today, that itch has finally been scratched.
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Grim went off her food today. vomited up breakfast, and then refused to touch anything further. I thought the vomit was Pangur’s at first, so I spent the whole day babying her and hand feeding, until dinner when it became clear Grim was the one with nausea.
I’ve been doing my best to keep Grim from the kitten food, because the high fat content can give adult cats pancreatitis, but there’s been a couple times where I’ve put the food somewhere I thought was inaccessible only to find Grim up there accessing it. I didn’t think she’d stolen more than a couple mouthfuls, but her symptoms today seem very pancreatitis-y.
I’m so angry at myself for not having done a better job keeping the kitten food out of reach. I took her to an emergency vet (my regular one was closed) and they’ve decided to keep her overnight. the bloodwork tomorrow should show whether it’s pancreatitis.
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katsuki plays with your son's ears.
without thinking, really. it started when he was a newborn, and katsuki was unable to get over how soft your son's skin was—so squishy and tender and fresh, made of velvet—and it's followed the both of them all this way. whenever they're sitting together, either at the table or on the couch or with your little boy in his father's lap, you'll always see katsuki's hand come up to lightly fiddle with your son's little earlobe. tug on it, pass it back and forth between his thumb and his pointer.
you think it's an absent-minded comfort thing, for katsuki, like how he plays with the clasp of your necklace, sitting warm at the nape of your neck, or how he drums his fingers against your arm when he's waiting too long for something. how he keeps a hand on his chest when he's laying down, like he wants to feel his heartbeat beneath his skin, or how he rubs his hands on his pants even when they shouldn't be sweaty, just to be safe.
you notice your son doing it to himself when katsuki's out of the country, and then you notice him doing it to you, too.
just the same way—without thought, a little habit; after a bath, you're trying to wind down for bedtime by letting your son sit in your lap and lean back into your chest, his full little belly from dinner poking out under his pajama shirt. and then he rubs at his eyes and yawns and plays with his hair for a second, before reaching up to find your earlobe. to feel it softly between his fingers as he sighs, relaxed and sleepy.
(you'll remember to tell katsuki later, after you've tucked your little one in and are propping your phone up in the kitchen for a quick facetime chat. when the call finally connects, he almost immediately leans closer to the screen, to see you better, and you see his elbow prop up, his hand raise and the tendons of his wrists shifting as he fiddles with something you can't see—but something you know, anyway.)
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