Zen: Jumin sneezed and I accidentally said “shut the fuck up” instead of “bless you”
MC: How did you accidentally say “shut the fuck up”
Tag: Accurate
literally the entirety of cats in a single picture
Exactly me right now…only its 3:38 in the damn morning and I hate myself
Sorry if this has been done yet but I couldn’t resist
the US is unreal like girls cant wear shorts to school, you can literally lose your job for being gay, and unarmed black children are brutally murdered on the regular but old white ppl r still like “what a beautiful country. i can freely carry a gun for no reason and some of our mountains look like presidents. god bless”
THIS IS LITERALLY IT. THIS IS WHAT ITS LIKE
Having an anxiety disorder is like that moment where your chair almost tips or you miss a step going down the stairs but it never stops
This is the best explanation for it I’ve ever found.
holy shit i feel TERRIBLE for everyone with an anxiety disorder now.
walking thru the streets late at night would be so Good and calming if I didn’t have to be scared of every man and car I see after 8pm
Dazai’s evil clone: *Points at Dazai* Shoot HIM, he’s the clone!
Kunikida: *Aims gun at the clone* The REAL Dazai would never pass up an opportunity to die.
Making art is such a wonderful experience. Here are some of the thoughts I have while creating:
• AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
• I am an inadequate talentless being
• this tiny unnoticeable mistake ruins the whole drawing
• I tried to fix the mistake and I made everything worse
• oh god what have I done
• :^(
• I am garbage and is so is this drawing
• I am suffering™
Reading Grimmons fanfiction is like, you walk down a lovely little street, let’s call it Boner Street. You’re eagerly walking towards a building with a banner on it, on which it is written “FUN GRIMMONS CONTENT”. You don’t notice the street is empty, nor do you notice that streetlights flicker off as you pass them by. You reach your destination, and as you enter the building, the door shuts behind you. There is nothing in the entrance hall aside from a fanfic author. In their hands they are holding a baseball bat with “SIMMONS DIES” written on it, and they’re mockingly tapping it against their hand.
There’s an open door to your left, and you run into the room, hoping to barricade yourself there, but you run smack-dab into another grimmons writer. They’re wearing brass kunckles; one’s emblazoned with “GRIF”, the other with “DIES”. They’re smoking an oreo. You turn around and run again: you keep running through the empty building, and the authors are following behind you, leisurely, surely. There’s no point in chasing you. They’ve been following you for 13 chapters and you never noticed.
They’re closing in on you; in a fit of desperation, you run towards a window and jump out of it, hoping to roll your way to safety. But as you’re in the air, you realize you were foolish to hope. There’s a chasm below you, ten stories high, and on the ground, a third grimmons writer is just finishing writing “THEY BOTH DIE AND ALSO THEY WATCHED EACH OTHER DIE” in huge letters. They wave at you as you rapidly approach the ground. @a-taller-tale visits you in the hospital where you’re recuperating from your two fractured skulls and ten broken arms and brings you home-baked babyfic.
You leave the hospital three weeks later. You pass by Boner Street on your crutches. You could barely wait for the doctors to let you out already. You make a turn and enter it.
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