"why can't they just be friends?" not in the homophobic sense, but in the "in your need to center romance in everything you are missing the whole point of the media in question" sense

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@sublimeloverwobblercalzone
"why can't they just be friends?" not in the homophobic sense, but in the "in your need to center romance in everything you are missing the whole point of the media in question" sense
just identified a behavioral pattern within myself
Some Project Hail Mary as text posts because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about this book or movie
part two | part three
You make first contact with an alien and they’re so strange. Tall and thin, with too few limbs. Porous. Frail. So cold. They can only see/hear things that are right in front of them and they get disoriented when you’re even a little to the side of them. You have no idea how these things even survive, but once you learn how to decipher the alien’s strangely harsh chirping language you discover that they’ve been exploring space much longer than you have. Apparently it’s because they can sense signals that you only recently discovered, and they rely on those signals for every part of life. You are Rocky the Eridian and you have just met a human.
the aroace read of ryland grace is so personal and haunting. "you don't even have a dog." was it not enough to love the world for the sake of living in it. was it not enough to live for the thrill of discovery. was it not enough to smile at your students. was it not enough to be afraid.
Love love love that Grace is staring at the "who would I die for?" line on his whiteboard right before Rocky shows up in his xenonite container. Yes hello here is someone so important to you that you would sacrifice your life for him. He's in a hamster ball on your doorstep and he's about to run into your spaceship and insult your house and wreck your shit. You would die for him in every lifetime, and only because of that do you end up living.
ex best friends are just. i will never love anyone the way i loved you. you hurt me so much in a way only you could. i still think about you on your birthday and wish i could be there celebrating with you. i hate that things ended the way they did. i don’t think anyone will ever understand me like you did. i miss our inside jokes. i’ll never forget you and i wish all of the dreams we talked about come true for you. i hope i never hear anything about it. i miss you. i never want to see you again.
Pain
i dont have a stand for my wigs, just a styrofoam head and everytime im styling a wig, i end up cradling it close to my chest feeling oddly maternal
Girl help my younger sister who hasn't read the books was theorizing that Tyson was one of the cyclops chasing after Luke, Annabeth, and Thalia
reblog if you love archive of our own and how they firmly refuse to let censorship have any place on their platform
It's the finale of the next life series. There are only a handful of people left. The Winners Soulmate theory must be true, right? Etho takes a deep breath and catalogues his opponents. He sharpens his sword and reads the death messages in the chat. Something rustles behind him. Etho turns around. It's LDShadowLady with a gun. She shoots him off the edge of the cliff and his body falls dramatically and gracefully over the edge, hitting the last two people left and killing them on impact. Lizzie cheers. Shen then immediately falls off the same cliff by complete accident. She wakes up in the Winners realm, inside a car, and blinks. "Lizzie," Joel tears up next too her in the drivers seat. "Do you want to run the other Winners over in a car for all eternity with me?" Lizzie tears up and says yes. They drive off into the sunset and immediately hit Scott Smajor
true friendship is sending your friends a google form where everyone can majority vote on everyone's omegaverse dynamic
Me when tumblr decides to randomly start putting a bunch of porn bots on my for you page:
unfortunately i am returning to fanfiction writing
and by returning i mean all i have are Ideas
unfortunately i am returning to fanfiction writing