This shit right here is just too much @joannaliceevans-fanficblog


Two things here: 1. He looks soooooo fuckable in everyone one of those pictures.

2. @lovinevans that gif… I laughed soooooo hard! And it fits perrrrrrfectly!


OMFG I was not ready for these pictures


“jumps up and down” I am Italian and Sicilian so I know what he means by that…


“It’s why he looks so great in Armani and Ferragamo - If it ends in a vowel, he was made to wear it.”

(Lisa Evans after Chris says that his “whole family is as Italian as it gets”)



Brunello Cucinelli

Dolce & Gabanna / Prada



Yep, Mama Evans’s got a point!

Holy shit. That flippin gerbil thing bahahahaha.

ic_web Created with Sketch. cevansgirl
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The Marvel Juggernaut: With Great Power Comes Zero Responsibility by Megan White

This is so fucking beautiful. Makes me want to go get my master’s in Lit so I can write analysis all the time 😍

ic_web Created with Sketch. winterofthedarkestlight
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i would die for grinch.

Blair Braverman is hilarious. I love hearing about her dogs.

ic_web Created with Sketch. catchymemes
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Christian Boomer comics at Christmas: mean-spirited, a downer, whiny, “yelled about red Starbucks cups” energy

Jewish Boomer comics at Christmas: DELIGHTFUL

ic_web Created with Sketch. weaver-z
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Welcome Polyshippers


Have you ever looked at a shipping tag and been sad about the lack of content?

Have you wanted to create for a ship with 3+ peeps and been like “oh but what will I create? I NEED IDEAS!”

Do you need a push to make content for a polyship?

Do you like BINGO?

Have you ever wanted to own a limited edition fancy artwork called “Rocket Ship”, “Locked up”, “Too much Tea”, or  “Et Tu Brute?” ???


Link to the sign-up form: CLICK ME

Still need convincing?

Check out OUR FAQ: https://marvelpolyshipbingo.tumblr.com/FAQ

There are nice explanations on how to bingo, how we bingo, and what we allow (spoiler alert: we allow it all for fills)

Though, we do have some pesky little conduct rules: https://marvelpolyshipbingo.tumblr.com/Rules

Ready to join us? 

Link to the sign-up form: CLICK ME

If you still have further questions or wanna get to know us first: Join the discord.

And please, share this around and tag it with your top marvel polyship!

I am not a writer, but I am a beta :)

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how tho 😏

knife and fork.

Perfect tags

ic_web Created with Sketch. talesofsuspenses
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basically, i think the general rule of thumb is: if someone REALLY wants the blood that’s inside of your body, and they’re like… a vampire, or a dracula, or some sort of mansquito, then that’s probably okay. a dracula and a mansquito are made for removing things like blood and swords from inside your body. that’s basically fine.

if something wants to get at your blood, and they’re, say, some kind of murdersaurus, or maybe a really big frog, that’s where the problems start to arise. a really frog is not made for removing blood, and your blood knows this, which is why it is so vehement about wanting to stay IN your body instead of coming out. 

unfortunately this will not deter a really big frog, because a really big frog is full of things like prizes, and value, and quite a lot of hatred, and it would REALLY rather like to replace any and all of those things with your blood, and basically by any means possible.

These words scan with a fantastic degree of confidence considering that together they make no sense at all

ic_web Created with Sketch. slumbermancer
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Reblog If You Can Take Off Your Bra Without Taking Your Shirt Off.












































Girl’s are amazing

I think we broke the notes…

i feel like i’m reblogging history. “the post that broke the notes”



what the heLL



There are negative notes….



Its in the black hole of tumblr

At time of reblogging, this post has 1 note :’)

Uhm nothing was there then I hit the heart and 1 note popped up.. Guys I’m scared..

it has reset to 0 notes. what have you done?


now it’s floating in the middle of the thingy


There’s literally nothing there. 

What is this? 

I couldn’t scroll past this. I need to be part of history for this. There are no notes do you even realise

Let it be known I was here on this day of march twentieth twenty sixteen and I’m laying in bed at nine thirty am






Oh wow there are seriously no notes..

What the heck.

OH MY GOSH IT’S TRUE. There were 0 notes, now i liked and just one note popped up! I’m.. I’m not sure how this can happen..? But now I’m part of history YEAH
24th March 2016 - 03:05 am


I just had to see it for myself and it’s true. Holy crap.

On this day, March 24th, 2016 at 12:22 in the afternoon, I have made myself part of history.

it’s back


I’ll probably always reblog this

I feel like tumblr staff have been motoring this post and they put a special code in it so no notes ever show up

This post is historic

Always reblog the broken post 💪🏼

I don’t understand what’s happening

There isn’t even a point liking this, just reblog


Reblogging for historic post

Yep. No notes.


Broke post comes around again xD

Blep! It’s true.

It’s broken, we have done it

Holy fuck.

Love reblogging this post

don’t know what’s going on but…..

no n o t e s?

One note shows up when you like it :)

ic_web Created with Sketch. capnstarkey
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נתראה בבחירות הבאות 3>

ic_web Created with Sketch. poblacht-na-n-oibrithe
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things my mother has asked me about because of her students 

“Jess what’s a….visa girl?” 
“mom it’s VSCO” 
“oh. i don’t know what that is. what is it?” 
“it’s an app” 
“don’t say any more. i don’t want to know it.” 

“Jess is fortnite legal?” 
“It’s a videogame? Why wouldn’t it be?” 
“I just wanted to make sure!” 

“Jess what is a tiktok. are they not talking about clocks.” 
“no it’s another app where you make short, funny videos!” 
“like AFV?” 
remembers that i just saw a tiktok about depressive impulse buys: “Not exactly” 

“what’s a vibe check?” 
“i’m not going to explain that. it’s just vibes mom.” 
“oh. i’d say i have pretty good vibes jessie!” 

I love this. As a teacher I am sometimes in the same place, asking my 12 and 14yo things about their weird little cultures.

ic_web Created with Sketch. capnstarkey
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Science Bros throughout the years.

Is #sciencebros the cutest? Could be.

ic_web Created with Sketch. andthwip
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-by me

ic_web Created with Sketch. jrambles
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At 18, everyone receive a superpower. Your childhood friend got a power-absorption, your best friends got time control, and they quickly rise into top 100 most powerful superheroes. You got a mediocre superpower, but somehow got into the top 10. Today they visit you asking how you did it.

“Power absorption?” you ask him over your pasta, which you are currently absorbing powerfully. in the background, a tv is reading out what the Phoenix extremeist group has done recently. bodies, stacking.

tim nods, pushing his salad around. “it’s kind of annoying.” he’s gone vegan ever since he could talk to animals. his cheeks are sallow. “yesterday i absorbed static and i can’t stop shocking myself.”

“you don’t know what from,” shay is detangling her hair at the table, even though it’s not polite. about a second ago, her hair was perfect, which implies she’s been somewhere in the inbetween. “try millions of multiverses that your powers conflict with.” 

“did we die in the last one?” you grin and she grins and tim grins but nobody answers the question.

now she has a cut over her left eye and her hair is shorter. she looks tired and tim looks tired and you look down at your 18-year-old hands, which are nothing. 

they ship out tomorrow. they go out to the frontlines or wherever it is that superheroes go to fight supervillains; the cream of the crop. the starlight banner kids. 

“you both are trying too hard,” you tell them, “couldn’t you have been, like, really good at surfing?”

“god,” shay groans, “what i’d give to only be in the olympics.”


in the night, tim is asleep. on the way home, he absorbed telekinesis, and hates it too. 

shay looks at you. “i’m scared,” she says.

you must not have died recently, because she looks the same she did at dinner, cut healing slowly over her eye the way it’s supposed to, not the hyper-quickness of a timejump. just shay, living in the moment when the moment is something everyone lives in. her eyes are wide and dark the way brown eyes can be, that swelling fullness that feels so familiar and warm, that piercing darkness that feels like a stone at the back of your tongue.

“you should be,” you say.

her nose wrinkles, she opens her mouth, but you plow on.

“they’re going to take one look at you and be like, ‘gross, shay? no thanks. you’re too pretty. it’s bringing down like, morale, and things’. then they’ll kick you out and i’ll live with you in a box and we’ll sell stolen cans of ravioli.”

she’s grinning. “like chef boyardee or like store brand?”

“store brand but we print out chef boyardee labels and tape them over the can so we can mark up the price.”

“where do we get the tape?” 

“we, uh,” you look into those endless dark eyes, so much like the night, so much like a good hot chocolate, so much like every sleepover you’ve had with the two of your best friends, and you say, “it’s actually just your hair. i tie your hair around the cans to keep the label on.”

she throws a pillow at you. 

you both spend a night planning what you’ll do in the morning when shay is kicked out of Squadron 8, Division 1; top rankers that are all young. you’ll both run away to the beach and tim will be your intel and you’ll burn down the whole thing. you’re both going to open a bakery where you will do the baking and she’ll use her time abilities to just, like, speed things up so you don’t have to wake up at dawn. you’re both going to become wedding planners that only do really extreme weddings.

she falls asleep on your shoulder. you do not sleep at all.

in the morning, they are gone.


squadron 434678, Division 23467 is basically “civilian status.” you still have to know what to expect and all that stuff. you’re glad that you’re taking extra classes at college; you’re kind of bored re-learning the stuff you were already taught in high school. there are a lot of people who need help, and you’re good at that, so you help them. 

tim and shay check in from time to time, but they’re busy saving the world, so you don’t fault them for it. in the meantime, you put your head down and work, and when your work is done, you help the people who can’t finish their work. and it kind of feels good. kind of.


at twenty, squadron 340067, division 2346 feels like a good fit. tim and you go out for ice cream in a new place that rebuilt after the Phoenix group burned it down. you’ve chosen nurse-practitioner as your civilian job, because it seems to fit, but you’re not released for full status as civilian until you’re thirty, so it’s been a lot of office work.

tim’s been on the fritz a lot lately, overloading. you’re worried they’ll try to force him out on the field. he’s so young to be like this.

“i feel,” he says, “like it all comes down to this puzzle. like i’m never my own. i steal from other people’s boxes.”

you wrap your hand around his. “sometimes,” you say, “we love a river because it is a reflection.”

he’s quiet a long time after that. a spurt of flame licks from under his eyes.

“i wish,” he says, “i could believe that.”


twenty three has you in squad 4637, division 18. really you’ve just gotten here because you’re good at making connections. you know someone who knows someone who knows you as a good kid. you helped a woman onto a bus and she told her neighbor who told his friend. you’re mostly in the filing department, but you like watching the real superheroes come in, get to know some of them. at this level, people have good powers but not dangerous ones. you learn how to help an 18 year old who is a loaded weapon by shifting him into a non-violent front. you get those with pstd home where they belong. you put your head down and work, which is what you’re good at. 

long nights and long days and no vacations is fine until everyone is out of the office for candlenights eve. you’re the only one who didn’t mind staying, just in case someone showed up needing something. 

the door blows open. when you look up, he’s bleeding. you jump to your feet. 

“oh,” you say, because you recognize the burning bird insignia on his chest, “I think you have the wrong office.”

“i just need,” he spits onto the ground, sways, collapses. 

well, okay. so, that’s, not, like. great. “uh,” you say, and you miss shay desperately, “okay.”

you find the source of the bleeding, stabilize him for when the shock sets in, get him set up on a desk, sew him shut. two hours later, you’ve gotten him a candlenights present and stabilized his vitals. you’ve also filed him into a separate folder (it’s good to be organized) and found him a home, far from the warfront.

when he wakes up, you give him hot chocolate (god, how you miss shay), and he doesn’t smile. he doesn’t smile at the gift you’ve gotten him (a better bulletproof vest, one without the Phoenix on it), or the stitches. that’s okay. you tell him to take the right medications, hand them over to him, suggest a doctor’s input. and then you hand over his folder with a new identity in it and a new house and civilian status. you take a deep breath. 

he opens it and bursts into tears. he doesn’t say anything. he just leaves and you have to clean up the blood, which isn’t very nice of him. but it’s candlenights. so whatever. hopefully he’ll learn to like his gift.


squadron 3046, division 2356 is incredibly high for a person like you to fit. but still, you fit, because you’re good at organization and at hard work, and at knowing how to hold on when other people don’t see a handhold.

shay is home. you’re still close, the two of you, even though she feels like she exists on another planet. the more security you’re privy to, the more she can tell you. 

you brush her hair as she speaks about the endless man who never dies, and how they had to split him up and hide him throughout the planet. she cries when she talks about how much pain he must be in.

“can you imagine?” she whispers, “i mean, i know he’s phoenix, but can you imagine?” 

one time i had to work retail on black friday,” you say.

she sniffles.

“one time my boss put his butt directly on my hand by accident and i couldn’t say anything so i spent a whole meeting with my hand directly up his ass,” you say.

her eyes are so brown, and filling, and there are scars on her you’ve never noticed that might be new or very, very, very old; and neither of you know exactly how much time she’s actually been alive for. 

“i mean,” you say, “yeah that might hurt but one time i said goodbye to someone but they were walking in the same direction. i mean can you imagine.”

she laughs, finally, even though it’s weakly, and says, “one time even though i can manipulate time i slept in and forgot to go to work even though i was leading a presentation and i had to look them in the face later to tell them that.”

“you’re a compete animal,” you tell her, and look into those eyes, so sad and full of timelines you’ll never witness, “you should be kicked out completely.”

she wipes her face. “find me in a box,” she croaks, “selling discount ravioli.”


you don’t know how it happens. but you guess the word gets around. you don’t think you like being known to them as someone they can go to, but it’s not like they’ve got a lot of options. many of them just want to be out of it, so you get them out, you guess.

you explain to them multiple times you haven’t done a residency yet and you really only know what an emt would, but they still swing by. every time they show up at your office, you feel your heart in your chest: this is it, this is how you die, this is how it ends. 

“so, like, this group” you say, trying to work the system’s loopholes to find her a way out of it, “from ashes come all things, or whatever?”

she shrugs. you can tell by looking at her that she’s dangerous. “it’s corny,” she says. another shrug. “i didn’t mean to wind up a criminal.”

you don’t tell her that you sort of don’t know how one accidentally becomes a criminal, since you kind-of-sort-of help criminals out, accidentally. 

“i don’t believe any of that stuff,” she tells you, “none of that whole… burn it down to start it over.” she swallows. “stuff just happens. and happens. and you wake up and it’s still happening, even though you wish it wasn’t.”

you think about shay, and how she’s covered in scars, and her crying late at night because of things nobody else ever saw.

“yeah,” you say, and print out a form, “i get that.”

and you find a dangerous woman a normal home.


“you’re squadron 905?” 

division 34754,” you tell him. watch him look down at your ID and certification and read your superpower on the card and then look back up to you and then back down to the card and then back up at you, and so on. he licks his chapped lips and stands in the cold.

this happens a lot. but you smile. the gatekeeper is frowning, but then hanson walks by. “oh shit,” he says, “it’s you! come right on in!” he gives you a hug through your rolled-down window.

the gatekeeper is in a stiff salute now. gulping in terror. hanson is one of the strongest people in this sector, and he just hugged you.

the gate opens. hanson swaggers through. you shrug to the gatekeeper. “i helped him out one time.” 

inside they’re debriefing. someone has shifted sides, someone powerful, someone wild. it’s not something you’re allowed to know about, but you know it’s bad. so you put your head down, and you work, because that’s what you’re good at, after all. you find out the gatekeeper’s name and send him a thank-you card and also handmade chapstick and some good earmuffs.

shay messages you that night. i have to go somewhere, she says, i can’t explain it, but there’s a mission and i might be gone a long time.

you stare at the screen for a long time. your fingers type out three words. you erase them. you instead write where could possibly better than stealing chef boyardee with me?

she doesn’t read it. you close the tab. 

and you put your head down. and work.


it’s in a chili’s. like, you don’t even like chili’s? chili’s sucks, but the boss ordered it so you’re here to pick it up, wondering if he gave you enough money to cover. things have been bad recently. thousands dying. whoever switched sides is too powerful to stop. they destroy anyone and anything, no matter the cost.

the phoenix fire smells like pistachios, you realize. you feel at once part of yourself and very far. it happens so quickly, but you feel it slowly. you wonder if shay is involved, but know she is not.

the doors burst in. there’s screaming. those in the area try their powers to defend themselves, but everyone is civilian division. the smell of pistachios is cloying. 

then they see you. and you see them. and you put your hands on your hips.

“excuse me, tris,” you say, “what are you doing?”

there’s tears in her eyes. “i need the money,” she croaks.

“From a chili’s?” you want to know, “who in their right mind robs a chili’s? what are you going to do, steal their mozzarella sticks?”

“it’s connected to a bank on the east wall,” she explains, “but i thought it was stupid too.”

you shake your head. you pull out your personal checkbook. you ask her how much she needs, and you see her crying. you promise her the rest when you get your paycheck.

someone bursts into the room. shouts things. demands they start killing. 

but you’re standing in the way, and none of them will kill you or hurt you, because they all know you, and you helped them at some point or another, or helped their friend, or helped their children.

tris takes the money, everyone leaves. by the time the heroes show up, you’ve gotten everyone out of the building.

the next time you see tris, she’s marrying a beautiful woman, and living happily, having sent her cancer running. you’re a bridesmaid at the wedding.


“you just,” the director wants to know now, “sent them running?” 

hanson stands between her and you, although you don’t need the protection.

“no,” you say again, for the millionth time, “i just gave her the money she needed and told her to stop it.”

“the phoenix group,” the director of squadron 300 has a vein showing, “does not just stop it.”

you don’t mention the social issues which confound to make criminal activity a necessity for some people, or how certain stereotypes forced people into negative roles to begin with, or how an uneven balance of power punished those with any neurodivergence. instead you say, “yeah, they do.”

“i’m telling you,” hanson says, “we brought her out a few times. it happens every time. they won’t hurt her. we need her on our team.”

your spine is stiff. “i don’t do well as a weapon,” you say, voice low, knowing these two people could obliterate you if they wished. but you won’t use people’s trust against them, not for anything. besides, it’s not like trust is your superpower. you’re just a normal person.

hanson snorts. “no,” he says, “but i like that when you show up, the fighting just… stops. that’s pretty nice, kid.”

“do you know… what we are dealing with…. since agent 25… shifted….?” the director’s voice is thin.

“yeah,” hanson says, “that’s why i think she’d be useful, you know? add some peace to things.”

the director sits down. sighs. waves her hand. “whatever,” she croaks, “do what you want. reassign her.”

hanson leads you out. over your shoulder, you see her put her head in her hands. later, you get her a homemade spa kit, and make sure to help her out by making her a real dinner from time to time, something she’s too busy for, mostly.

at night, you write shay messages you don’t send. telling her things you cannot manage.

one morning you wake up to a terrible message: shay is gone. never to be seen again.


you’re eating ice cream when you find him.

behind you, the city is burning. hundreds dead, if not thousands.

he’s staring at the river. maybe half-crying. it’s hard to tell, his body is shifting, seemingly caught between all things and being nothing.

“ooh buddy,” you say, passing him a cone-in-a-cup, the way he likes it, “talk about a night on the town.”

the bench is burning beside him, so you put your jacket down and snuff it out. it’s hard sitting next to him. he emits so much.

“hey tim?” you say. 

“yeah?” his voice is a million voices, a million powers, a terrible curse. 

“can i help?” you ask.

he eats a spoonful of ice cream. 

“yeah,” he says eventually. “i think i give up.”


later, when they praise you for defeating him, you won’t smile. they try to put you in the media; an all-time hero. you decline every interview and press conference. you attend his funeral with a veil over your head.

the box goes into the ground. you can’t stop crying.

you’re the only one left at the site. it’s dark now, the subtle night.

you feel her at your side and something in your heart stops hurting. a healing you didn’t know you needed. her hands find yours.

“they wanted me to kill him,” she says, “they thought i’d be the only one who could.” her hands are warm. you aren’t breathing.

“beat you to it,” you say. 

“i see that,” she tells you. 

you both stand there. crickets nestle the silence.

“you know,” she says eventually, “i have no idea which side is the good one.”

“i think that’s the point of a good metaphor about power and control,” you say, “it reflects the human spirit. no tool or talent is good or bad.”

“just useful,” she whispers. after a long time, she wonders, “so what does that make us?”


it’s a long trek up into the mountains. shay seems better every day. more solid. less like she’s on another plane.

“heard you’re a top ten,” she tells me, her breath coming out in a fog. you’ve reclassed her to civilian. it took calling in a few favors, but you’ve got a lot. 

“yeah,” you say, “invulnerable.”

“oh, is that your superpower?” she laughs. she knows it’s not.

“that’s what they’re calling it,” you tell her, out of breath the way she is not, “it’s how they explain a person like me at the top.”

“if that means ‘nobody wants to kill me’, i think i’m the opposite.” but she’s laughing, in a light way, a way that’s been missing from her.

the cabin is around the corner. the lights are already on. 

“somebody’s home,” i grin.

tim, just tim, tim who isn’t forced into war and a million reflections, opens the door. “come on in.”


squadron one, division three. a picture of shay in a wedding dress is on my desk. she looks radiant, even though she’s marrying little old me.

what do i do? just what i’m best at. what’s not a superpower. what anyone is capable of: just plain old helping.

This is absolutely fucking remarkable.

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Stereotypes that people have for themselves, while still sometimes harmful, are always so much funnier than the stereotypes that outsiders have for them.

Like outsiders are like “Asexual people are prudes and will yell at you for having sex!” and actual asexual people are like “All ace people want a dragon.”

Outsiders are like “Californians all surf and say dude a lot.” and actual Californians are like “If There Is Not A Taco Shop Within Five Miles Of Me At All Times I Will Literally Die.”

Texan stereotype: yee haw

Actual Texans: W h a t a b u r g e r

Nonbinary stereotype: DiD yOu JuSt AsSuMe My GeNdEr???!??!!??

Actually being nonbinary: *looks into a rainy window* when will my gender come back from the war?

Goyim: Jews secretly rule the world

Jews: a group of Jews is called an argument

Bisexual stereotype: confused, promiscuous

Actual bisexuals: you cannot expect me to pick a restaurant; I’m bisexual *finger guns*

adhd stereotype: oh im so random xD LOOK A SQUIRREL

actual adhd people: i wrote down my tasks on a sticky note then forgot about the sticky note

ic_web Created with Sketch. what-even-is-thiss
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As yet another fanfic writer deleted all of their writing in the last couple of weeks, I wonder how many people are aware that you can disassociate and orphan your fics on archiveofourown once you’ve decided to leave a particular fandom.

“Orphaning is a way to remove your connection to your works without taking them away from fandom altogether.  We hope this account will be used by people who wish (for whatever reasons) to retire from fandom but are willing to allow their works to remain in the Archive.  Works orphaned in this way will be maintained by the Archive to be enjoyed by future fans; existing bookmarks and links will not break.  This function means that users can continue to share their contributions to fandom while having their privacy respected.”

AO3 has a great FAQ on how to do it here. 

Yes OMG please don’t delete fics, or art, or whatever fancreation you’ve made!! They MEAN something to people! We love reading/looking at it!

Sometimes it’s not about just clearing out your past works (which you may think are horrible) it’s about making sure those works can’t be stolen. Does it suck when an author removes their content? Yeah, sure! It’s sad to see them go.

But it might be that there’s no other way for them to reclaim what’s *theirs*.

ic_web Created with Sketch. redheadgleek
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// dominic calvani

+ instagram + twitter

Holy. Fucking. Thighs.

ic_web Created with Sketch. recrutas
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everyone: writing fanfiction is a great way to explore your various sexual fantasies 

me, through clenched teeth: what if they lived in a TINY house and took NAPS all the time

I truly had no idea this would pick up so much traction but i’m glad to know we’re all in the same boat of living out unrealistic fantasy scenarios re: intimacy and home ownership

me, sobbing: And they had game night with friends and everyone took turns hosting and everyone was okay.

omg everyone was okay

omg everyone was okay

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Car sex just got a helluva lot easier.

or homelessness

two kinds of people.

you could put a dead body there and put a blanket on it and people would think they were just sleeping and it would be a great way to transport dead bodies inconspicuously. 

* three kinds of people.



I agree, it is highly unnatural…

You might even say it’s ….. “Supernatural”
Uploaded with Imgupr

I haven’t seen a supernatural reaction pic exchange since the dark ages


*softly touches the ground* this place is……. ancient…

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Idiots on tumblr: GOBLIN CORE! I’m a goblin I protect,,, shinies… I am disgusting… WANT SHINIES

My Jewish ass:

I’d actually appreciate it if people could reblog this! Goyim especially but don’t add anything!

[Image Description: Gif of the 10th Doctor, brows furrowed, saying “No. Don’t do that.” End ID]

This Jew would like to suggest, for those who may not know why this is a bad thing (goblins are all-the-bad-stereotypes Jew caricatures and you can see why that’s bad) but have no interest in perpetuating that bad thing, that you adopt “corvidcore” instead.

(Corvids are the family that include crows, ravens, and blue jays.)

Crows and ravens are loud, ominous, traditional harbringers of omens, psychopomps. Fuckin’ love shiny things. CLEVER AS FUCK. Vengeful, vindictive, but can also communicate “hey, this person is nice, be nice to them” to others in the same species and may give gifts to favored humans. CARNIVORES. (Some of the shit they eat, man. Yikes.)

And then there are blue jays, which are very pretty assholes.

So you get all the same aesthetic without the gross baked-in antisemitism! Plus you get an added layer of cool just because fuck yeah, crows.



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The Addams Family renting out rooms in their huge mansion cheaply to broke college students.

The students digging it because the craziness and the bugs are pretty much the same as any other dorm house. Also, Morticia and Gomez treat them all like visiting cousins, not like tenants to abuse and exploit. 

One of the tenants is a creative writing major and Gomez and Morticia house them up in the tower because of the quiet and the inspiring view

They’re supposed to be working on a typical coming-of-age story but after living with the Addams for just a week the project is becoming a horror-Gothic-romance

They go to their room after classes one day and find Thing correcting the grammar errors in the manuscript with a red pen 

and yeah, the students pay roughly market value for their rooms, but that doesn’t stop gomez from shouting “capital idea!” and handing them wads of cash when they tell him about their weekend plans or what they’re researching, so they basically end up living there for free

In the same vein, half the them have to turn into exceptional fencers, because Gomez just doesn’t give a shit, and if he sees you in the library, its fucking Sword Fighting Time. 

Fester and Pugsley find out one of the college students is trying to get into chemistry and woo boy, there has never been a faster study of how to counter various acidic chemical reactions due to “water” balloons in campus history. 

Morticia and Grammy are keeping the horticulturalists on their toes with their Black Tulip/Rose hybrids, which can flick their barbs a foot away from their stem system. But it’s fine, one of the kids has managed to breed Aloe with the anti venom. 

Lurch makes sandwiches for everyone who’s too much of a coward for Grammy’s cooking. Any music major will find him looming over them, utterly stone faced as they practise until they finish, when he’ll smile, and slowly applaud. 

And the spookiest thing of all

Wednesday and Thing will find your thesis. They will critique it in every way imaginable. 

There is no escape. 

I especially love the idea of Gomez spotting a student in the library, throwing a sword at a startled student, shouting, “En garde!” and lunging at him/her with a sword of his own.

Student (later in life), when asked how she jumps from quietly doing research to handling a sudden influx of ER cases so quickly and easily, says, “When you have to snap out of deep concentration on biochem to fight for your life then get back to biochem without losing your train of thought…you learn or you die.”

This has made me laugh so hard-

I love it all and also desperately want to know what Wednesday and Thing would say about any given essay I’ve written.

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