My Friend And His Team Are Working On A Fantastic Game I’ve Had The Pleasure Of Trying Out. You Can

All diamonds have their own pearl Pink diamond confirmed

the suffering never ends

I CANT BELIEVE THIS

I wish that ao3 had an option to filter warnings (and tbh certain authors) out like I will never ever want to read it and just seeing it puts me off so much that often I end up closing my browser because that content upsets me so much lmao

On their first month on the Stan of War II, Stan and Ford both come down with terrible colds. They insist they’re fine, even though they show up to the family’s weekly video chat sniffling and bundled up in every blanket they own. Mabel glares as the screen, hands on her hips. “Grunkle Stan? Grunkle Ford? Do we have to run away to look after you? Have you been taking care of yourselves?”

Stan laughs, while Ford blows his nose so loudly it only comes across as static. “We’re fine, sweetie. It just takes a while to get used to boat living. Can’t say this is quite how I imagined things starting out.”

“Funnily enough,” sniffs Ford, “Being cold and wet all the time is not an ideal situation for one’s immune system. But never mind about that, we’ve made some fascinating discoveries …”

When the call is over, Mabel purses her lips. Cold all the time, huh? She knows that her Grunkles won’t take care of themselves, so it’s up to her to keep them warm. The sweaters that Mabel knits for herself are mostly acrylic, because it’s cheap and sparkly, but she saves up to buy heavy wool yarn, even though it’s rough on her fingers at first. She learns how to knit double-layered fisherman’s mittens, the kind that can keep a man’s hands warm even when he’s drenched with sea water, making sure to modify the pattern so Ford will have room for his extra fingers. She sends them thick socks with reinforced heels and a stern note telling them to let her know when they need replacements. 

Stan and Ford are no good at remembering to dress warm on principle, but they wear everything Mabel sends them. She beams when she sees her knitwear in their photos.

“Are you warmer now?” she asks during one video call, still sounding slightly worried.

Stan looks down at the Icelandic-style sweater he’s wearing, at the enormous mittens lying next to him, at the heavy socks covering his toes, and at Mabel’s concerned, loving face on the computer screen. He smiles.

“Warm as toast, pumpkin.”

Me on October 31st, 11:59 PM:

Me on November 1st, 12:00 AM:

When you’re a writer and you’re trying not to spoil your story to your friends...

Very

Quick, You now live your icon's life, HOW SCREWED ARE YOU?v