Fascism thrives best in the cesspool of hopelessness. They want us so confused and hopeless that we give in. When you give in, you don’t fight back.

If you wait for life to look good to do the things that bring you joy; life will still be bad - you will just have less joy.

As someone who has struggled with my mental health a lot for the last thirty years, I know this struggle firsthand. And changing this belief system - the one where you spend all of your time expecting bad things so you won’t be surprised when they happen - it’s the hardest work that I have ever done. And I’m not perfect; I still have setbacks. I still experience really real fears about the state of the world and the US, in particular, because that’s where I live.

But I made a vow to myself that I will not let the choices of others ruin my life. When I made that vow, I was thinking of my parents - but it applies to the state of the government right now, too.

There are still flowers in my garden, and ripe tomatoes, and it’s almost pick-your-own apples season, and I have plans with my friends to go to as many cemetery ghost walks as we can find this October.

I still deserve to live. I still deserve to laugh. I still deserve to love. I still deserve to be as happy as I can be.

the way this could be about THREE 5s

Today, I went to a nearby lab and they told me that my condition and that of my children are critical. They told me that my entire family and I are suffering from malnutrition.

okay so forgive me its literally 2am and this is gonna be shit but this image is so fucking cute i gotta just drabble a lil bit kay? kayp.s. lmao its literally like three am, im so tired im sleeping idk what even happened but have some fic i guess???

PART 2

It’s way past midnight when someone starts pounding on the first door so hard, Stiles wakes up and flails his way off the couch.

“Ohmygod,” Stiles whispers, picking himself up and rushing to open the door, sending a worried glance upstairs. “Coming! Coming, cool your jets,” he huffs just as he rips his door open and finds Derek smiling goofily at him, propped up on Boyd’s shoulder and listing dangerously forwards.

“Stiles,” he croons, and basically leans forwards enough he falls face first on Stiles’ shoulder, grasping his shirt with clumsy greedy fingers. 

Boyd holds the back of Derek’s shirt, holding some of his weight for Stiles. “You got him?”

“Yeah, I got him,” Stiles mutters, gripping Derek’s hips and making sure he’ll stay upright when Boyd lets go. “Thanks for getting my husband smashed on a school night.”

Boyd shrugs and smirks a little. “Erica says she’ll make it up by taking you out and letting you get smashed.”

Stiles squints dangerously at him, which is probably dampened by the fact that he appears to have an oversize cat nuzzling him and pressing sloppy open mouth kisses on his shoulders.

Boyd raises his eyebrows; Stiles rolls his eyes and huffs. “Fine, just make sure you don’t do it on a school night. The kids are asleep. Was the pounding really necessary?”

“He was excited to see you again,” Boyd says and then turns, throwing a wave over his shoulder.

Stiles sighs and adjusts his grip on Derek, trying to gauge if he can take him to the bedroom or if he’ll have to settle in for tucking him on the couch.

“Come on, big guy,” he mutters. “It’s time to get some water in you, get you into your jammies and then bed.”

“Noooooo,” Derek whines. “Don wanna sleep. Wanna stay up ‘n look at you.”