half ships it

You will notice that Mac and Dee are the ones who have the “Dennis wants us to talk about ~feelings” talks … and Mac talks about Dennis and Dee talks about Charlie … like obvious parallels, talking about the other half of their ships.

The prophecy has been set in motion.

(Also seriously Dee was tearing up over Charlie’s song and shit, dude, she’s like so in love with him and Mac is so in love with Dennis and for real like???? Chardee and Macdennis are getting some play, yo.)

Theories and Headcanons #1

you know how people are always like “durr hurr zoro stopped laughing when sanji joined the crew! that has to mean something riiiiight?” which either hints at zosan or god knows what but actually… in my opinion…

well what else happened at the time sanji joined? what, zoro was fighting mihawk and almost died? he lost to the person he considers both greatest enemy and goal to overcome by defeating him? im sure that wouldnt have ANY effect on his motivation and determination, riiiiight? (/sarcasm.)

I dont think Zoro really stopped laughing anyways, but hes not shown laughing after the baratie arc very much, or at least not like before. I think that maybe, losing to mihawk and making a vow to both his captain and his enemy to never lose again made him take things a bit more seriously. He probably also realized that there are a lot more dangers in the world they dont know yet (see: people cutting ships in half) so I think he started watching out more both for him and his captain amd crew, because he knew luffy isnt exactly danger-aware at all times. maybe that made him more serious and I guess, mature?

and not, you know, luffys Random Crew Member Recruit Of The Week™.

a series of conversations with, and about, my mother:

she tells me that the only things that matter to me are the things that matter to me, and that since I don’t have anywhere else to go, I’d better find somewhere else to go.

all the usual cliches, tired metaphors, stock characters:
the kindly psychiatrist nudges me onto the couch and asks me how that makes me feel.
like bashing my head off a brick wall, the ouroboros eating its own tail, Sisyphus and the boulder.
hats dropped, hell and high water, bridges and ships half-burnt.

she tells me I’m my father’s daughter, and it’s not a compliment. promises me I won’t get away with silence. digs her heels in, catches me between her teeth and shakes until she hears my neck snap.

my whole life people have been telling us we look alike and she says, “really? I don’t think so.”

(the first person to have named my mother for what she is hears the knife in my throat and says, “you know what you sound like right now, don’t you?”)

I write until my hands cramp and can only ever seem to conjure the familiar, the same worn images.
bricks and circles and apples.
I think of blinders and of funhouse mirrors, and of doing the same thing over and over while daring to hope for different results.

I ask her to stop acting like the ongoing car crash in my head is somehow worse for her than it is for me, and she says, “well, isn’t it?”

she doesn’t have to tell me there isn’t space for me in this house anymore: my bottles get crowded out of the shower rack, my mugs shoved to the back of the kitchen cupboard.
I packed up a life in cardboard boxes to return here with me and it sits untouched in the garage.

a well-meaning someone cheerfully asks about my weight loss and I tell them the truth -
spout off the numbers I’ve collected and keep in my pocket along with the strands of my hair that have fallen out and the bones of my wrists.
two winters ago, six weeks and thirty pounds lost with the leaves on the trees when the frost came. a story about hibernation and a black dog.
“people don’t need to know that,” my mother says.

when she’s run out of ways to argue with me, she says, “when you were twelve, you said -”
and I want to ask her if she’s numbered all the selves she’s been since childhood, counted the nights spent digging up the backyard looking for hatchets.
I don’t.
she and I don’t know how to ask each other questions unless they’re projectiles.

we’re in her car when I tell her I’m gay. the word exits my mouth like a misfired bullet and there is a silence.
I think again of cliches, eye of the hurricane, calm before the storm.
she says, “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

I am re-teaching myself to write so it doesn’t hurt, correcting my grip on the pen like a child. learning to relax my jaw before I grind my teeth into dust.

for years I’ve stubbornly held onto the habit of defining myself in opposition, labeling myself without, circling all the gaps where my missing pieces should be.
my mother has cities inside her and all my maps are saltwater-stained and half-legible: even the streets I walk daily are sometimes impossible to navigate.

it’s been a long time since I first learned to fill her silences myself; found a life in hanging art on blank walls and turning my music up loud to fill an empty house.

anonymous asked:

Trying to work out a new anon hate idea: you're a hypocrite because you like warmth and the tropics and don't like high latitudes, but you ship Elsanna, which is set in Denmark around 55° N of the equator or something, and half of the ship has supernatural powers which makes her surroundings even colder and more miserable and less tropical than normal. Do you think this anon hate concept has potential?


I mean, I am super into Elsa as a character because she is isolated as fuck and shoves everyone away from her. Given my extroversion, I feel like there’s a stronger contradiction here than whether the cold ever bothered me anyway.

anonymous asked:

totally different anon from the last but snowbarry is just some stupid ship from that show the Flash. I haven't watched the Flash but from what I've gathered the snow half of the ship is some white girl (villian???) who these people ship with barry despite his relationship with Iris. (who happens to be black.) Idk if you REALLY wanted to know what snowbarry was but you know. bam now you do. also, really loved your response to that other anon! really well written and put together.

oh okay thank you! 

is the girl called The Snow aqgsdhjsklhdjs

I watched the ep twice today like I usually do (once with my brother and once with my best friend and I’ll end up watching it multiple times before next week) but when I watched with my brother we steadily moved closer to the tv bc of chardee. by the end of the episode we were less than a foot away, wide eyed and jaws dropped, and we kept going on about how Dee and Charlie were in love and then the ending with mac and Dennis got us and when it ended we were like … omg the fucking prophecy … just like whoa dude such a great episode. Crazy to think the ships we half heartedly jokingly noticed ten years ago are actually Things now.

  • Take a moment to imagine Noctis in an oversized sweater and leggings???
    • Bare feet and sleepy eyes and a bedhead, the ultimate lazy day attire
  • Now, imagine, Prompto coming by to hang out, and Noct not bothering to change cause they’re closer than best friends and he’s so comfortable that he doesn’t mind not looking his best
  • Imagine Prom turning beet red as soon as he laid eyes on Noct because ??? Who gave him a right to look that cute???
    • Be still his beating heart, he wasn’t ready
    • So many sneaky pictures will be taken, gotta capture this cute moment forever, it’s not like this happens often
  • Now, imagine Noct stretching when he yawns, sweater pulling up and showing off a sliver of his stomach
  • He looks so warm, and before Prom even realizes what he’s doing, he’s running his hands under that sweater, fingers fanning out over the others ribs, marveling at the warmth radiating from his skin
    • Noct doesn’t pull away, wouldn’t dream of it, he was used to the touches, the skin to skin contact that they both seemed to crave
  • Imagine Prompto realizing what’s happening and jerking his hands back with a blush, only to be pulled back down, hands returning to their rightful place against Noct’s ribs and his head against his chest, listening to his heart beating
  • Finally, imagine them staying like that for the rest of the day, feather light kisses shared between them, and soft words of praise and devotion
    • Only, probably, being interrupted by Iggy coming in to let them know about dinner 
  • Just, imagine them soft and warm, and most of all, happy