“WRITE IT BADLY. Write It Badly, Write It Badly, Write It Badly, Write It Badly. Stop What You’re

The things the Hargreeves each say to Vanya in the brain eating scene match up perfectly with how they see themselves/who they are.

Klaus accuses her of faking it, when we see a performance from him for the entirety of the show. He fakes almost everything the family sees from him.

Luther accuses her of not trying hard enough, and we know that Luther thinks he wasn't a good enough Number One. He pins this on himself completely.

Allison accuses her of using her powers too much and not being able to handle the consequences. This TOTALLY follows with her s1 plotline and her decision to use and use of her powers in s2.

Ben says that she isn't ready and it isn't her fault. This is how Ben views his death, we know from s1.

Diego and Five don't say anything because they don't REALLY know themselves at all. These two have declined getting to know themselves in favor of dedicating themselves to saving others. Diego literally says he doesn't have daddy issues. Diego. And Five does not know who he is without an apocalypse, or what to do with himself when it's over.

I think this is interesting. I dunno. I don't think any of these people (except Ben) ACTUALLY feel this way about Vanya. It's an analysis on them, done by Vanya in Vanya's head, but because Vanya is the way she is, it gets directed at her.

me as a writer: Oh no I can’t write that, somebody else already has

me as a reader: hell yes give me all the fics about this one scenario. The more the merrier

*saving this for later 😎*

queer books that didn’t disappoint me the way everything else has. please enjoy.

The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers (2002) dir. Peter Jackson

Nobody understands the bond between a girl and the mediocre book she read when she was 13 years old.

Im a bit drunk, its 3;00am. But Why does Bebe yoda give the uppy arms.. Why does mister mandalorian immediately pick him up .. why does no one involved with this production car e about my well being

i knew i was going to die when i saw you for the first time in twenty-seven years. 

your voice, first—oh, that voice—and then i turned and saw you, across the room, across the great divide—and i swallowed hard because i knew. i was going to die for you because i would always die for you. remember? all those times i ran for you, jumped off the quarry for you, drove your truck fast down the highway because you liked when i got reckless—all that stupid shit i did for you, no question (a little pushback, maybe). i would die for you, simple. and i knew when i looked to you and you looked back to me that i was going to.

but i didn’t want to. i fought it every step of the way. i could see—if i just made it through the dinner, if i just made it through the pharmacy, if i just made it through the ritual, if i just made it through the sewers—there was a life with you, waiting patiently.

i wanted to make it.

we have lived a life of should-haves. all of us—and it goes back further than that summer: we should have turned left on jackson instead of right when we were just kids and maybe we never would have found ourselves in it’s path. and i should have told you, so many times. i had every chance. i should have followed you, gone wherever you wanted, driven west in that car i saved up for and forgotten all about new york, forgotten all about anything that wasn’t you. but we never really got it right.

when the claw went through my chest, it didn’t hurt. when i said your name and my mouth filled with blood, it didn’t hurt. when you laid me against the rock and pressed your hand to my stomach, it didn’t hurt. 

but it hurt when i laughed and it hurt when you smiled that split-second smile. (that’s when i knew i would not last much longer). it hurt when your smile fell. it hurt when you walked away from me. it hurt knowing i could not get up and follow you. and it hurt knowing that when you came back to me, you would have to find me dead and i could not hold you—i would never be able to make the pain go away anymore and i would be the cause of it.

i knew i was going to die for you a long time ago. i had just forgotten for a while. i didn’t know it would be like this—i thought maybe you’d hold me a little longer, maybe i’d tell you then.

i don’t know what i said while i died. i wanted to say, i wish you wouldn’t go. i wanted to tell you i was sorry i would not keep my promise to hold on. i hope you know i wanted to. i remember the blurry and fragmented image of you, walking away after slipping your pinky from mine. most of all, i wanted to tell you that tomorrow, we should get up early and go back home to our place, how about it my love?

but the last thing i remember is you, behind me on the cliff at the quarry on a summer day, reaching out to take my hand before we jumped, your voice shouting my name. and then—

would it be a nice day tomorrow? would the sun be shining on you, the way i always liked? 

i wonder. 

Nothing to see here just some tua pilot script highlights

Is it ok to mock teenagers for bad/mediocre writing & artwork?