i know people who can't

Can we take a minute and talk about how fantastic Harry’s voice sounds on this song?  It’s rich, it’s not strained, his technique is on point for rock.  his falsetto is clear and pure. The beginning in particular is clean and precise.    His belt at the end is open and fully supported.  His breath control is spot on.  And the little details like the way he transitions from chest voice to falsetto in the bridge on “will we ever learn?” is SO SMART.  He’s using such strong dynamics.  He has grown so much and I’m just so incredibly impressed.  And so incredibly proud.  

he’s gonna start reciting a poem any minute.

‘The Adventure Zone’ is such a trip. The McElroys seem like an amazingly cohesive family - I can’t imagine playing D&D with my own. The rules would likely confuse my parents to the point of giving up. My mom would likely play a regal Tolkien elf ranger but would not have a sense of humor, and might be insulted if my dad didn’t play an Aragorn to her Arwen/Eowyn combo ripoff. My dad would not take it seriously at all and would just mock me. My uncle would be too technical about it and critique my DMing with constant interjections about other stories and cool ideas that take twenty minutes and three graphs to explain. My godsister would agree to play, but wouldn’t show up. The next day I’d find out that she’d ditched to hang out with cooler friends.

popular tumblr post: don’t date or be friends with people who [trait i have because of my personality disorder]

me: :-)

A tiny growing strawberry with his arms crossed

Kise Mido Mura

You know what? Fuck you if you think “Russians deserve it”! Fuck you if you don’t show your solidarity with russian people because you don’t like russian government! Fuck you if you think “it’s not a big deal, cause it happened in Russia”
I am sick of people blaming my country for everything.
We are people too! And some of us need sympathy and support

I’m crying laughing because I haven’t drawn anything in almost two weeks and what is this crap?

Date a boy who worships you. Date a boy with talent, intellect, and snark. Date a boy with an angel’s voice. Date a boy who knows more languages than you. Date a boy who can sing. Date a boy who can serenade you with music and roses. Date a boy who kisses the hem of your dress. Date a boy who’s tall, dark, and mysterious. Date a boy who can teach you. Date a boy who would kill and kill for you again. Date the phantom of the opera.


but it’s better if you do // panic! at the disco

If you haven’t watched Soul Contract, YOU SHOULD. It’s on Youtube, subbed by Bayi Subs. 

Reasons to watch:

  • An interesting story with supernatural elements
  • Surprising twists
  • The humor (lots of meta and self awareness!)
  • BL flavor that goes beyond baiting
  • Relationships that change and evolve 
  • Character development, whooho!

It took me some three or four episodes to get into it because at the beginning it felt weird and now I’m suffering because it’s over. I NEED MORE.


Stay with me, safe and ignorant—just stay with me.
I’ll hold you and protect you from the other ones—
the evil ones don’t love you, son.

Pain is nothing new. Pain is life. Pain is the thing that wakes him up in the morning and the way the sun rises and how his blood beats through his veins and is absolutely nothing that could ever scare him, but this—this fucking hurts.

“I really don’t know why you’re going through with this,” Dean says. Sam’s facing away from him, fiddling with the blood on the table, and his shoulders are high and tight in that stupid sling. Weak-ass bitch. “Your brother’s not coming back.”

Sam sighs. “Would you stop with that,” he says.

He sounds—he sounds bored. The black licking fire behind Dean’s eyes rages and he swallows with difficulty, puts a smile on. “What’s the matter, Sammy,” he says, lingering over the name. “You don’t like the truth, I know, but someone in this family’s got to stop the lying, sooner or later. Might as well be me.”

He earns a disgusted glance over the shoulder, for that, and he forces his smile a little wider. Sam turns and plants his ass on the edge of the little torture table, folds his good arm under his screwed-up one. “Are you hearing yourself?” Sam says, giving him a fake little smile back. “You’re a demon. All you know how to do is lie.”

“Is that right,” Dean says, leaning back in the stupid chair. The rope chafes over his wrists and the Mark pulses hot and dangerous, tucked up under the pin-prick wounds inside his elbow, and the blood singing through him is a constant burn of acid, fever-hot and distracting, but not distracting enough from the pure pleasure of the thought that occurs, with Sammy smiling at him so smug and superior. So certain. “So it doesn’t matter what I say. I’m hurt.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Right,” he says, and goes back to filling syringes, or whatever the hell.

Dean licks his lips. The last traces of holy water sting on his tongue. “Too bad, you know. Let’s say this works. Let’s say you change me, and you get your brother back. Poor sucker’s better off buried, as far as I’m concerned.” Sam gives him another hard look and Dean shrugs, makes his expression beatific. “Let’s face it, the real reason you want me back is you want to make me your bitch, all over again.” Sam stands up straight, mouth open and face all shocky. Dean smiles, and nods at the sling. “I guess it’s hard to do the five finger shuffle with the bum arm, but come on, buddy, this is kind of going the extra mile for a piece of ass. Can’t you train another dog to go ass-up for you?”

“That is not what—“ Sam cuts himself off, swallows, but he’s all pale. Yeah. This’ll work. “Shut up,” he says, eventually, “I’m not talking about this with you,” but Dean’s just getting started.

“All these years, letting you do whatever you wanted? It’s pathetic. I couldn’t wait to get away from you as soon as I turned, did you notice? Crowley offered me an out and I took it. I don’t think you can really blame me. Even the King of Hell is a step up from letting your little brother fuck you over, and I mean that in every sense of the word.”

Sam’s shaking his head, rigidly upright but looking down at the floor. “This isn’t you talking,” he says, and fixes Dean with a bright-eyed stare. “It was never like that.”

“Oh, you don’t think so,” Dean says, lifting his chin, and then Sam steps forward and stabs in the next syringe and the wave of bloody pain rolls over him like a goddamn tsunami, mind-blanking, agony so deep it feels like his cells are breaking apart. The world goes hazy and he feels like screaming—maybe he is screaming—and sweat breaks out fresh, the stinging salt just another ripple of pain in a shocked-apart world. His vision flickers and he can’t see Sam, for a second—Crowley’s there, smiling at him, running a hand through his hair. Smug prick that he is, it still feels good. Crowley always gave him what felt good. No strings, not ‘til the end. He tries to focus. How is he going to get Sam to kill him, if he doesn’t do his part—and so through the roaring haze of blood he clears his throat and feels it tear and he licks his lips and hurts and he opens his mouth and hopes that his voice works and says: Letting you fuck me, that was simple self-preservation. You’d do whatever you wanted anyway, and it’s not like Dad was ever around to keep you in line, so hey. Carrots are easier than sticks, you know? You think, maybe we didn’t know any better, and so it was just two kids messing up, messing around, and it’s something normal, now? Something that’s precious? Please. I fucked Crowley the first night we left, in a hotel outside Lincoln. Nothing’s special about fucking, Sammy. Oh—what, you going to get jealous? Baby gonna cry because someone got a piece of your pie? Come on, that ship sailed a long time ago.

“What? What are you talking about?”

Dean blinks and the world swims. His veins hurt. He didn’t know that was a thing that could hurt. He keeps talking, his mouth sore, his throat a dry wracking spasm. “What, you think you were the first,” he says, to the spots dancing in front of his eyes. “I was fucking guys twice your size before your dick even worked right, dumbass. There’s nothing about me that’s all yours, and there never has been.”

“Dean—what? Wait, what do you mean—when—“

He swallows against the dryness and there’s Dad, standing tall and forbidding and staring at him, and Dean smiles as wide and fucked-up as he knows how and says, “Yeah, you wanna hear about it? How I was putting food in our mouths? Where did you think the money came from, idiot?”

Dad frowns at him, shakes his head, and Dean closes his eyes, tips his head back. No point to it. His father was a piece of shit and his brother’s no better and Crowley’s a pathetic shitstain who can’t be trusted, even with Dean’s mouth on his dick, even when they were having the best time of Dean’s life, absent all guilt and everything that tied him to the earth, and Sam—Sam needs to stab him, okay, Sam needs to dig a knife in deep and carve into Dean’s heart and make all of this blinding pain just—stop. It’s the least he could do.

“Stop, stop it,” he hears, and Sam’s got a big skinny-fingered hand clamped around Dean’s wrist, where it’s slippery, and he blinks open his eyes to find that he’s rubbing his skin raw, bleeding up against the ropes. Whoops. Blood’s supposed to be going in, not out. “You’re hurting yourself.”

“You’re hurting me,” he says, voice a weird rasp, and Sam looks right at him, eyes deep dark wounds in his pale face. Good. “You’ve always hurt me. Nothing’s left, kiddo. You’re a monster and I’m a monster and we’re all going down together. Some of us just got there a little earlier than others.”

“That’s not true,” Sam says, kneeling up close. His eyes are earnest on Dean’s. “I’m going to get you back. I’m gonna save you. I swear, Dean.”

If he leaned closer Dean could bite into his throat, where the heart pulses strongest. Get his dose of human blood the old-fashioned way. He smiles at Sam, instead. “You swear, huh.” He closes his eyes, lets the fresh ripple of pain roll through. Tastes the sulfur at the back of his tongue. “Well, I swear too, Sammy. We’ll see who gets to keep his word.”

(read on AO3)