you're on your own kid

[allmyinterestsworld]

Not me sending ESSAYS to @zclhes and @ijustmissyouraccenths about me adoring their writing. OOPS. but also very much not sorry. Okay bye: EVERYONE GO READ THEIR STORIES

[zclhes]

Thank you for your essays, and your support and for sharing the same views on things. 💕

[allmyinterestsworld]

I think i might be your long lost very emotional, angst disliking, healthy relationships in fics loving twin or something!!!

[allmyinterestsworld]

Not me sending ESSAYS to @zclhes and @ijustmissyouraccenths about me adoring their writing. OOPS. but also very much not sorry. Okay bye: EVERYONE GO READ THEIR STORIES

[greenishness]

i'm thinking about charlotte brontë spending her last years editing and publishing her sisters' writings and about christopher tolkien dedicating his life to the protection and meticulous reconstruction his father's life's work and about johanna van gogh publishing the letters between vincent and theo that would propel vincent van gogh into fame because she knew how much her husband had loved his brother, and about how so often art isn't just a reflection of the artist's mind and skills but a testament to the fact that they were loved

[greenishness]

My sister just quoted this post at me over dinner bc it was discussed in her philosophy class & I can't even smugly inform her of its authorship. Due to the mindhunter yaoi state of my most recent blog history.

[stylesdiscohoneyy]

Mexico City – August 8 | N5

via x

[myboyfriendpetebuttigieg]

All animals go to heaven is just illogical planning. You’re telling me every crocodile that ever lived is in heaven? Heaven must be swarming crocodiles. Does that sound like heaven to you? Thousands of millions of crocodiles?

[zooophagous]

*SLAMS FIST ON TABLE*

YES, DAMMIT

[rashkah]

[skidar]

And Steve Irwin is showering them all with affection

[hntrgurl13]

But does every Stingray go to heaven? I mean, what if Steve Irwin just randomly came across the Stingray that killed him?

[skidar]

Steve would probably pat it and say ‘Sorry I spooked you mate, gosh your a beauty! You must have grown three times since I last saw you!’ 

[tombquest]

live at the colony theater!

[tombquest]

SAMESTRA

[tombquest]

MELANOR TRUESTEEL

[the-real-team-starkid]

Ryan Garcia (Try Guys) reviews Starkid's newest musical Tomb Quest with guest Curt Mega on Big Theatre Kid Energy!

[the-real-team-starkid]

Ryan Garcia (Try Guys) reviews Starkid's newest musical Tomb Quest with guest Curt Mega on Big Theatre Kid Energy!

[tombquest]

LUCIAN HEARTSTRING

[hyper-alicee]

has anyone pointed this out yet

[shiorikinnie]

OH !

[thebugthatruinsyourpicnic]

earlier this year we got a bunch of starship short form content from the official starkid socials. now we get this. it's probably falsw hope but PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

[harryworldwide]

A drone shot of Together, Together Tour - Mexico City Night 3 - August 4, 2026 (via alex_parra_dron)

[underscore-jude]

the way starkid doesnt need props or visual effects to get a point across is such a testament to their physical acting skills like i know they're one of the greatest schools in the world but why does university of michigan not use the scene where draco and voldemort make the unbreakable vow as an ad for their acting program cause you can hear the audience reacting so viscerally when their hands go together BECAUSE lauren and joe are acting so grossed out by the notion you're like eww so gross because obviously voldemort just pantomined vomiting into his hand but then you look at the frame on screen and theres nothing fucking there they're just really good at making you imagine it is which cannot be said for a lot of propless acting

[ijustmissyouraccenths]

Ruin the Friendship

Two people spend two years being exactly what the other person needs, and somehow mistake that for not being in love.

Word count: 9.4k

The knock comes while you’re still balancing the bottle of red against your hip, your other hand occupied with the overnight bag Lucy insisted you bring because, according to her, “someone always ends up staying for breakfast after one of my dinners.” You’d laughed at the message when she sent it that afternoon, though now, standing outside her pale blue front door on a narrow Notting Hill street washed in the last gold light of early autumn, you realize she’d probably been right more often than not. Lucy had collected people the way old houses collected books. Nobody arrived intending to stay for hours. They simply did. By the end of the night there would be empty wine bottles lined along the kitchen counter, half-finished conversations waiting to be resumed next week, and someone inevitably asleep beneath the knitted throw on her sofa. She had built a life that encouraged lingering.

She answers before you’ve finished knocking a second time, cheeks pink from the heat of the oven, dark curls escaping the clip she’d shoved them into sometime earlier. The smell that greets you is warm enough to soften the cool evening air still clinging to your coat. Garlic, thyme, roasting tomatoes, fresh bread. Fleetwood Mac hums from somewhere deeper in the flat, low enough that the music folds into the conversations already filling the rooms instead of competing with them. Lucy beams the moment she sees you, reaches for the wine without so much as saying hello, then notices your expression.

“What?”

“You said a few people.”

“I said people.”

“You implied six.”

“I did not imply—” She steps aside to let you in. “Daniel invited two friends. Sophie brought her flatmate. James brought someone from work, and then Daniel texted me this afternoon about Harry because he’d just finished at the studio. Take your shoes off before you decide you’re annoyed.”

You blink.

“Harry?”

She looks over her shoulder as though she’d nearly forgotten she said it. “Mm. He’s in the living room somewhere.” She’s already moving toward the kitchen. “Don’t make it weird.”

“I wasn’t planning on making anything weird.”

“I know. That’s why I’m saying it.”

You shake your head, smiling despite yourself, and slip your trainers beside the growing pile by the radiator. The flat is louder than usual, alive with overlapping conversations that drift from room to room without anyone seeming particularly concerned about finishing one before beginning another. Lucy’s place has always felt like that. Every surface holds evidence of a life being lived. Paperback novels stacked beneath side tables. Records leaning against the wall because she still hasn’t bought another shelf. Plants spilling over windowsills with varying levels of success. A half-finished crossword abandoned beside the kettle. Nothing matches, yet everything belongs.

Read for free on my Patreon!

authors note: thank you to everyone who has been patient with lack of updates and new stories. I’ve been so busy and tired! I’ll be back on schedule soon ❤️

[allmyinterestsworld]

Your writing is truly incredible. The part about "not liking a quiet room" hit me right in the feels, cause SAME .

[djoispunkrry]

what is his problem 😭😭😭