Not “Only My Reading Of Canon Is Correct” Or “Interpretations Are Subjective And All Valid” But

once my brothers friend walked into his room and just started sniffing the air and went “oh i smell a quarter” and then walked over to a pile of clothes and moved it and picked up a quarter and i literally can’t stop thinking about it it’s been like a year and it haunts me to this day

#funniest moment in the episode for me #cosmic levels of jealousy #because he doesn't know it's gabriel yet #he thinks it's a human one night stand who won't leave #and fully and immediately #our boy AJ was like "okay. today's the day I kill some guy."

A lot of people ask me what my biggest fear is, or what scares me most. And I know they expect an answer like heights, or closed spaces, or people dressed like animals, but how do I tell them that when I was 17 I took a class called Relationships For Life and I learned that most people fall out of love for the same reasons they fell in it. That their lover’s once endearing stubbornness has now become refusal to compromise and their one track mind is now immaturity and their bad habits that you once adored is now money down the drain. Their spontaneity becomes reckless and irresponsible and their feet up on your dash is no longer sexy, just another distraction in your busy life. Nothing saddens and scares me like the thought that I can become ugly to someone who once thought all the stars were in my eyes.

cheer up!

It is not the prettiest but here is a little chart I made of skin tones.

The idea is to eye-drop anywhere on the chart to get a unique skin tone instead of getting stuck in the loop of “white, tan, dark”.

i love it when characters are unfair, actually. i love it when they’re uncouth and cranky and hypocritical, i love it when they have cognitive dissonances, i love it when they make good and bad choices for the wrong reasons. i love when they’re short to anger and hard to understand. i love it when they’ve destroyed themselves for nothing but can’t even see either part of it yet. i love it when they’re messy and selfish and bad at communicating. i love it when they get convinced of their own ego and stuck in a feedback loop regarding their own warped paranoia. i love it when characters actively make their lives unknowingly harder for themselves. i love it when characters don’t know they’re in a story. i love it when characters are like real people

Thirty love letters? That’s...wow. Whoever they’re for must’ve lit up something rare in you. Kinda makes me wonder what it’d be like to be written about like that

I didn’t write them because I was full of love. I wrote them because I was starving for it. Because I kept trying to turn pain into poetry and it still tasted like blood in the end.

Each letter is a small funeral, a small place to bury a dream that never got to live. I wrote to hands that never reached back. To eyes that never looked at me like I mattered, to ghosts that haunt the shape of love but never stay long enough to be real.

I wrote them because no one told me how quiet heartbreak could be, how it doesn’t always scream, how sometimes it just sits next to you like a tired friend and watches you rot from the inside out. They were just things I needed to say before they drowned me.

Things like:

I miss you even though there was never a you.

I love you even though no one ever stayed long enough to be loved.

Don’t go even though they already did.

I wrote thirty love letters and someday, someone will find them and pretend they were about them but I’ll know the truth.

They were for the hollowness, for the version of me that begged for someone to stay and learned that no one does.

My heart aches a little every time I see someone grieving a person who's still alive. Someone’s staring too long at a contact they’ll never text again. Someone’s walking a familiar route slower than usual, as if the past might catch up and hold their hand. Someone’s deleting pictures, only to check the trash folder ten minutes later.

Healing is cruel, isn’t it? It asks you to carry silence like it’s a gift. It asks you to remember without falling apart. It asks you to be okay with never getting an apology.

But mourn. mourn fully, if that’s what you need. Cry on the bathroom floor. whisper their name in the dark if it helps. just promise me you’ll learn the shape of your own hands again.

And next time, hold your own heart a little gentler.

I promise I didn't disappear, I just don't have any impulse control and started several at once again haha