BRO.

BRO.

CW - flowers from 1970: chapter 18

I’m literally shaking and crying 

the image of dream slowly putting down the old telephone and collapsing on his bed after holding the phone in his hands for 5 minutes straight. Knowing the cord had been cut, he starts to cry while trying to redial George’s number with no response. He wants to hear his voice one last time. He wants to kiss him. He wants to see him. 

SOBBING. 

“Olive.” He pulled her closer, pressing his lips against her forehead. “It doesn’t matter. Whatever it is that you’re crying about, I will fix it. I will make it right. I—”

I LOVE HIM SO MUCH!

Thinking about how my mom tried to “seduce” my dad when they were in college together by sneaking oranges into his backpack, because she grew up food insecure and feeding someone/sharing food was a big deal with her upbringing with a lot of emotional meaning–

and meanwhile my poor dad is just convinced that he’s been haunted by some citrus poltergeist because why the fuck are there always oranges in his bag he swears he did not put there???

i have a type and his name is Adam Carlsen

x x

mangoball’s reinvention of modern satire will go unrecognized in history due to it being entirely fucking incomprehensible to anyone even remotely normal