(…should i stress everyone out and post a screenshot of my google drive that has exactly zero folders and almost every document is called Untitled Document….?)
If you post yours, I’ll post mine with 800 folders
(okay, so technically i have a few folders. “Stuff and Things” which has nothing in it, that i think i created in an attempt to be organized; one for my grad school documents and one for my Thesis. The document names blacked out are because it has my identifying info. welcome to the chaos.)
okay I’m not calling you out for “untitled document” but I am calling you out for using the tile view instead of the list view???? what fresh hell is this???? is that what everyone’s google docs looks like????
Oooh@greyeyedmonster-18 we are the same!! (sorry @impishtubist!) I have no folders, and I counted and I have 211 untitled documents in my Google docs (which runs on tile display) and whatever isn’t untitled is usually a song title or lyric that I don’t remember the significance to later. Behold:
(This is all older stuff because my new stuff is real spoily, but yeah.)
You’re hurting my brain. This feels like looking at Kylle’s desktop
Maher was talking about decreasing polarization (which is a huge problem in American politics) when he said this, not arguing for politics-free turkey.
He’s encouraging people to see each other as humans, rather than walking political pamphlets. And honestly, I’ve found people to be far more empathetic to my views and struggles when they know more about me and my life than my political talking points.
I agree he’s privileged. He certanly doesn’t always have my support. Regardless, the context of what he said is important.
my favourite adhd / general executive dysfunction feeling is when you become very consciously aware that you are bored and there is nothing interesting left on the 5 social media apps you’ve been cycling around for the past hour and finally a small logical part of your brain goes “hey! perhaps at this point it might actually be more fun to do one of the productive things you’ve been putting off!” and you’re this close to going oh huh yeah maybe that’s true! and getting up to do some housework or read a book or something when a far louder part of your brain goes “NO WAIT!!!! maybe THIStime when we refresh tumblr…. it will be interesting again” and you’re like “ohhhh right sorry for doubting you boss” & promptly get right back to doing fuck all
Idk about you all but personally I think I’m ready to hold down someone smaller than me by their neck after I cum in them, still panting and pulsing, and ask them “Is this what you wanted? Huh? Huh? You wanted me to make you mine? All the fucking way inside?”
rules: name seven comfort films and tag seven people
I don’t usually do these things, but I love movies. Here’s a handful in no particular order. Obviously my taste is all over the place in terms of consoling films.
1. Hot Rod
2. Don’t Tell Mom The Babysitter’s Dead
3. Tommy Boy
4. Conan O'Brien Can’t Stop
5. Blow Dry
6. The Big Lebowski
7. American Psycho
Honorable mentions: Center Stage, Casino, Hedwig and the Angry Inch, I Love You Man
your spells and curses are riddled with osha violations, your wizard tower isn’t up to code, and you’re not even forklift certified. come back when you’ve passed your whmis test, loser
Written for the @wolfstarmicrofic prompt ‘Library.’ TW for memory loss
He walked in. And he took Remus’ breath away. Dark hair, surely woven from the black heavens, fine strands of spacetime and starlight, porcelain skin, the silk of white rose petals and piercing grey eyes, the flight of the dove in the cloud-filtered storm light.
Amnesia, they told him, when he woke, his head thickly bandaged and his body strapped to a small hospital bed, the silver buckles blistering a brand into his skin.
He was scared of people now, scared of people who he was told loved him, unable to deal with the intensity of their emotions. Most of the time he felt lost with not a single place feeling like home, not a voice to cradle his mind in familiar sounds, or a set of warm hands he would let hold his own.
He has a sense of the memories, he is aware when he is forgetting, when there is something close yet hidden, but he cannot in those moment fathom what they could be. It’s as if he were following a bread crumb trail and it ends, sudden. So he stops too.
But this man, with the dark hair and the porcelain skin and the grey, grey eyes, he makes Remus want to remember.
‘Hi.’ The man says softly, as he approaches Remus’ bedside and sits down on the straight backed chair.
Remus smiles but doesn’t say anything. He glances at him, anxious for recognition, cataloguing through the library of glossy images as they pass through his fingers, distorted and discoloured.
Brave.
Impatient.
Passionate.
Reckless.
Arrogant.
Benevolent.
Friend.
Brother.
Lover.
And then, with one hand pulling him back and the other pushing him forward, a memory comes flooding in. A Word. Always as words. Stark and jarring and burning.
