My Favorite Thing To Do Right Now Is Imagine The Hargreeves Children On Saturdays From Noon To Half Past

friendly and gentle reminder that if there is a thing you’ve been wanting to make and have been putting off because you don’t know if anyone will like it

DO THE DAMN THING

we doing self indulgence 2020. make stuff. put it out in the world. it don’t get notes? who cares, you put a thing that literally did not exist before out there. keep doin the thing. do what makes u happy

Suffering from writer’s block? Why not develop your character a little bit more? 

note to self: just because someone did the thing you were thinking about doing, and did it way better than you could ever hope to do, doesn’t mean it would be stupid or pointless to go ahead and try to still do the thing anyway. 

“True heroism is remarkably sober, very undramatic. It is not the urge to surpass all others at whatever cost, but the urge to serve others at whatever cost.”

(the avengers + defining moments + schools of ethical thought)

Five: Dont mess with the timeline!

we talk a lot about Shauna being ruthless and violent and resentful, and not to say she isn't those things but also--

Shauna, who risks burning alive to save Van.

Shauna, who pauses to comfort the reunited Tai & Van after the latter is found safe

Shauna, who consoles and looks after Javi all through season 1 while his older brother is busy being misogynistic and getting fucked

Shauna, who takes on the job of butcher despite not necessarily wanting or enjoying it and never complains or slacks off even when the task becomes traumatizing

Shauna, who tries to get Jackie to eat, to keep going, when everyone else has given up on her by that point.

Shauna, who has to be goaded, essentially given permission before she becomes violent

Shauna, who loved her baby in spite of the stress her pregnancy added to an already precarious situation, who spoke to him and cradled him and futily tried to keep him alive, who buried him away from the others to keep him safe in death

Shauna, who kept her daughter's favorite childhood toy in her car long after she'd outgrown it, to always keep a piece of her close by

Shauna, who sees Tai struggling and invites her to stay over, so that Tai won't be afraid to sleep

Shauna, who goes along with Jeff's boring, milqtoast furniture salesman fantasies because while she doesn't love him the way she did Jackie, she does care about him and wants to make him happy

Shauna, who was the only one of the group to show up to Misty's how to get away with murder seminar and thank Misty for going to the trouble

Shauna, who is soft-spoken where Jackie is loud, conciliatory where Jackie is pushy, helpful where Jackie is lackadaisical, proactive where Jackie sulks.

Shauna, who's not a perfect friend or mother or wife but who's still quietly one of the nicest, most empathetic of the Yellowjackets and yet because she got drafted into being the group's butcher, wrote bitchy journal entries, and did one fucked up thing behind her best friend's back (which she immediately regretted and agonized over) gets rebranded by fandom as caustic, overly-snarky and quick tempered when it takes her 10 episodes to get pissed off enough to raise her voice

How many brain cells the Hargreaves Siblings have

- Diego and Luther share one brain cell (ie: Ölga for Ölga)

- Ben has two brain cells (he is a philosopher and a scholar)

- Ben tries to share one with Klaus, but its often rejected so Klaus has none

- This typically ends with Ben having one and a half brain cells and Klaus having half of one, but then sometimes Klaus has brief moments of genius so Klaus gets two brain cells in those moments (this doesn’t happen a lot)

- Vanya has one brain cell (it’s been through a lot)

- Allison has one brain cell (this brain cell is a mother)

- Sometimes they share

- Five has the other 95 brain cells

- Grace is a perfect being she has 100 brain cells

- Reginald infortunately has a lot of brain cells but he uses them for evil

- Pogo has like 85 (he’s smart but he supports Reginald so that knocks him down a lot)

I don’t know if any of this makes sense but it does to me

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. 

straight people will never understand how therapeutic it is to hear the words “her girlfriend” or “his boyfriend” or how I ascend to heaven when I hear “her wife” and “his husband”

you were raised in comparison.

it wasn't always obvious (well. except for the times that it was), but you internalized it young. you had to eat what you didn't like, other people are going hungry, and you should be grateful. you had to suck it up and walk on the twisted ankle, it wasn't broken, you were just being a baby. you were never actually suffering, people obviously had it worse than you did.

you had a roof over your head - imagine! with the way you behaved, with how you talked back to your parents? you're lucky they didn't kick you out on your ass. they had friends who had to deal with that. hell, you have friends who had to deal with that. and how dare you imply your father isn't there for you - just because he doesn't ever actually talk to you and just because he's completely emotionally checked out of your life doesn't mean you're not fucking lucky. think about your cousins, who don't even get to speak to their dad. so what if yours has a mean streak; is aggressive and rude. at least you have a father to be rude to you.

you really think you're hurting? you were raised in a home! you had access to clean water! you never so much as came close to experiencing a real problem. sure, okay. you have this "mental illness" thing, but teenagers are always depressed, right. it's a phase, you'll move on with your life.

what do you mean you feel burnt out at work. what do you mean you mean you never "formed healthy coping mechanisms?" we raised you better than that. you were supposed to just shoulder through things. to hold yourself to high expectations. "burning out" is for people with real jobs and real stress. burnout is for people who have sick kids and people who have high-paying jobs and people who are actually experiencing something difficult. recently you almost cried because you couldn't find your fucking car keys. you just have lost your sense of gratitude, and honestly, we're kind of hurt. we tell you we love you, isn't that enough? if you want us to stick around, you need to be better about proving it. you need to shut up about how your mental health is ruined.

it could be worse! what if you were actually experiencing executive dysfunction. if you were really actually sick, would you even be able to look at things on the internet about it? you just spend too much time on webMD. you just like to freak yourself out and feel like you belong to something. you just like playing the victim. this is always how you have been - you've always been so fucking dramatic. you have no idea how good you have it - you're too fucking sensitive.

you were like, maybe too good of a kid. unwilling to make a real fuss. and the whole time - the little points, the little validations - they went unnoticed. it isn't that you were looking for love, specifically - more like you'd just wanted any one person to actually listen. that was all you'd really need. you just needed to be witnessed. it wasn't that you couldn't withstand the burden, but you did want to know that anyone was watching. these days, you are so accustomed to the idea of comparison - you don't even think you belong in your own communities. someone always fits better than you do. you're always the outlier. they made these places safe, and then you go in, and you are just not... quite the same way that would actually-fit.

you watch the little white ocean of your numbness lap at your ankles. the tide has been coming in for a while, you need to do something about it. what you want to do is take a nap. what you want to do is develop some kind of time machine - it's not like you want your life to stop, not completely, but it would really nice if you could just get everything to freeze, just for a little while, just until you're finished resting. but at least you're not the worst you've been. at least you have anything. you're so fucking lucky. do you have any concept of the amount of global suffering?

a little ant dies at the side of your kitchen sink. you look at its strange chitinous body and think - if you could just somehow convince yourself it is enough, it will finally be enough and you can be happy. no changes will have to be made. you just need to remember what you could lose. what is still precious to you.

you can't stop staring at the ant. you could be an ant instead of a person, that is how lucky you are. it's just - you didn't know the name of the ant, did you. it's just - ants spend their whole life working, and never complain. never pull the car over to weep.

it's just - when it died, it curled up into a tight little ball.

something kind of uncomfortable: you do that when you sleep.