Imagining Trying To Explain To My 12-year-old Self That John Green Is Your Favorite Non-fiction Author

You can tell Percy Jackson was written for a kid with ADHD because every important item in the series gets teleported back to its owner when it gets lost.

tumblr is the abyss and I really need it to not stare back

I love that Brennan's dynamic DMing for his wife is "Yes, absolutely, anything you want an I'm also going to make sure you never die" and Murph's dynamic DMing for his wife is, "No, you're absolutely fucking insane and I'm going to make you suffer for it."

It’s called DropOut because I have two tests today but I stayed up until 1am watching Burrows end. Even now, with my test in 20 minutes, I sit here on dimension 20 tumblr

What an extremely innovative and insane commentary on consumerism, technology and what society expects women to be

Don’t understand how John Green could write something like “I’m stressed about work, even though my work is absurdly inessential.”

There’s a reason I return again and again to all of his work. I deeply feel that my life has been saved with the hope and wonder and joy he has given me. Art is not a luxury. It’s a necessity.

Every episode I think “surely, things will get better. Surely, they—at the very least—cannot get worse.” Every episode I am somehow proven incorrect

driving all night and into the morning with your head lolling in the passenger seat. i don't want to romanticize cars because henry ford is evil; but i am in love with you and therefore everything feels romantic, even gas stations. i tell you i don't like the car-obsessed infrastructure of america; the same old rant about public transportation and energy costs and how racism and bigotry work together to hasten the End Times. you nod along and make sure i eat.

the sun putting down gentle feelers onto the winter sticks of massachusetts. feeling your hand in mine while we listen to a new album, ranking each song quietly. your jaw limned with the red-green passage of streetlamps. your hands around the large order of french fries we split between us. without comment, you pass me the biggest one. somewhere in maine, we stop randomly for a walk and are overwhelmed by the beauty. i'll never be able to find that place again, and it's okay. everything with you feels new to me.

spring is coming and the car is a stick shift and needs oil often and makes a concerning clicking if i turn left. we sit and watch the ocean come in, eating takeout quietly while the wind whips up and over the rocks. facing forward and feeling-rather-than-seeing you listen; i tell you things that are real and important and are hardly-ever spoken. the engine ticks as it cools and our voices get quiet. the hour gets small and i'll be sleepy on the drive home but as long as i don't have to leave yet, i can stay for the moment. let the moment linger on.

in the backseat my dog lets out a little sigh while he stretches. the gps says 354 miles until we hit home again.

a car is not a pure thing, no charming aesthetic. and then you tilt back your head and howl along to julien baker. and i think - oh god, oh god, i'm so in love that even the drive is romantic.

On my cop arc (have to proctor an exam)

Most nerve racking scenes of Neverafter, the horror season of D20, are hands down any time Gerard has to speak to his wife