with these idiots and myself

really, really love the sudden overwhelming feeling that I’m faking all of this and definitely neurotypical ™ just because I can’t fully empathize with one or two symptoms from a disorder I don’t even have

Janeway and Voyager

I feel for Janeway as Captain of Voyager. I mean, she’s given a brand new state of the art ship and she goes and gets it lost on its first major voyage. That’s some pretty high end technology to lose!

If I had been Captain, I’d have been useless. For a start, I would have parked it in the furthest point of any space dock to ensure no plonker dings it as they get out of their ship.

Secondly, I would not have been chasing any radical group. I mean, the insurance must be insane! Imagine the price tag?!

I literally crap myself parking my car anywhere for fear some idiot will scrape it and I had a heart attack when I had to tell my OH I’d reversed into the wall by mistake.

I clean my car meticulously. Poor Voyager literally endures the worst treatment over the years. It must have been in serious need of a good polish.

So, yeah, Janeway’s guilt? If she’s anything like me, I bet she shat herself every day over that ship.

  • (somewhere in a space rebel base idk)
  • Lance over the comms: Pidge come quick! We found your brother!!
  • Matt: ...... what the fuck's a pidge
  • [Camila and Lauren at a restaurant on their first date]
  • Lauren: Uh...I thought this was a date?
  • Camila: It is.
  • Lauren: Well, why is Dinah here? [points to Dinah next to Camila]
  • Camila: Oh, she's just here to make sure I don't make an idiot of myself.
  • Lauren: And Mani? [points to Normani next to Dinah]
  • Camila: She's here to make sure Dinah doesn't make an idiot of herself.
  • Lauren: And...Ally? [points to Ally next to Normani]
  • Camila: She's here to babysit Mani and Dinah.

It scares me; what words can do to people. They can tear people apart, yet with others build them up. They can condemn. And they can make people look idiotic all at the same time.

They’ve made me look idiotic; well I made myself look idiotic; and I don’t know what to do about it.

—  booknerd107 
…I hate myself. I feel like an idiot saying it because, blah, blah, teen angst, boo hoo, but I do. I hate myself. Almost all the time. I try not to tell anyone because I don’t want to burden them, but I feel like I’m falling farther and farther away from them. Like the well’s getting deeper and I’m running out of energy to climb it and any minute now, any second, it’s going to stop being worth even trying.
—  The Rest of Us Just Live Here
  • Jimin: You've heard of Murphy's Law, right?
  • Hoseok: Yes.. why?
  • Jimin: It states that anything that can go wrong will go wrong, but have you heard of Cole's Law?
  • Hoseok: No...
  • Jimin: It's thinly sliced cabbage
  • Hoseok: Did you just wake me up to tell me a joke about coleslaw?
  • I either choose a bias as soon as I get into a group and stick with them as my bias forever...
  • or literally go through 20 biases before I finally choose one.
  • There's no in between.

the-delivery-god  asked:

provide me with cuddle kink

(anything 4 u)


Hiyori woke up.

She thought she had been dreaming. But if she had, it had been an unsettling one. The night seemed to have tipped slightly on its edge, transforming the familiar forms of her desk and closet into eerie shapes that listened.

Next to her, Yato raised himself up on his elbows, his eyes gummy with sleep.

“Sumfngthematter?” he slurred.

Hiyori turned her neck to look at him. Drool crusted one corner of his mouth and his eyelids hung at half-mast. An imprint of the pillowcase’s wrinkles clung to his cheek.

“No,” she whispered back.

She flopped back down onto the mattress, making the springs complain beneath her. Yato scooched closer, burying his nose in the side of her neck. He sighed, throwing an arm across her stomach.

Hiyori was still working to throw off the hold of her dream. It loomed next to her bed, as intangible and faceless as the dark. Her breath stuttered.

“Yato?”

“Mmph,” he muttered. He pushed his face deeper into her neck. The arm across her body tightened.

“Will you switch places with me?”

She waited. After ten seconds or so, she wondered if he had just gone back to sleep.

Then, quicker than she could squeal in surprise, Yato hauled her into his arms. He flipped her over his body so she landed on the other side of the bed, her back to the wall. As though the interruption had never happened, Yato snuggled his face back into her neck. In flipping her, he had flung a leg over her hip, and Hiyori found herself all but immobilized. His arms slunk around her ribcage, pulling her into his chest. Yato hadn’t moved, so the space between his body and the wall was barely enough for her to lie comfortably on her side.

“Okay?” Yato asked. His voice was soft and rough with sleep.

Hiyori pressed her nose into his hair.

He’d begged her to let him use her shampoo. The hints of feminine strawberry and vanilla tangled with his distinct Yato-smell. She freed her hands from between their bodies, sliding them up his chest to cup his jawline. Her fingernails tugged through the soft hairs at the nape of his neck, her thumbnails inscribing circles on the delicate skin of his throat.

Yato’s lips brushed her collarbone, and he sighed deeply. The little wrinkles between Hiyori’s eyebrows relaxed.

“Yeah,” she breathed. “Yeah, this is okay.”