* UN / STOPPABLE

❛ look, all i’m saying is there should be less shame in ordering pumpkin spice lattes. its a good drink. you can’t change my mind !! ❜ was fallon intentionally starting rants about pointless things to avoid homework? absolutely. 

                          ‘ oh, i agree. 100%.’    a half hearted comment,  quirked eyebrow faltering a second, ‘ but, trying not to sound like an   old  grandma or anything -- but what is a pumpkin latte  ? ‘ 

What do ants and wasps have in common? What do this ant and this wasp have in common? An emptiness…? An aloneness…? An unbearable sense of loss…? … do insects love? … these two do.

tales to astonish #44-45

“y’know, janet - i actually enjoy having ‘em.” its not a dig. not an intentional one, anyway. scott had more respect for the woman before him than he had EVER had for hank, and that was really saying something, when the latter had been his mentor. he just didn’t see the benefit in that no emotions life. they could suck, sure - but sometimes things had to be felt. that was life. “not everyone gets to be an unreadable pillar of absolute strength. we can’t all be you, is what i’m saying. i’ve got cassie, finn…- i never really knew what made a good dad, ‘til i realized it’s all just… empathy.”

              ‘ if you’re constituting that i’m unreadable  -- ; ‘ she stops a laugh in her mouth // it’s forced, a dramatic.    perhaps her real emotions are unreadable because she doesn’t acknowledge them / or manufacturers them ( you spent enough time alone, you become great at one man plays ).  ‘ you have another thing coming. ‘        the groan ( borderline sign ), her cell slammed on the table. she has too much pride to explain what’s up / but just lacking enough to complain to whatever poor ear was nearby.      ‘ also, you need more than just empathy to be a good bah, which also doesn’t constitute as feelings  by the way   --         god ! first people call me the ‘feelings’ avenger, like THAT means anything, and now i’m not allowed to publically denounce them? bull .’ 

it was easy for hope to forget that for most of her life, she didn’t have a mother. janet was just a collection of pictures, blurry memories, and stories that were half-true, half-produced by hank to “ protect ” hope from the truth. it was easy to forget that the years had passed, and both women had aged, and grown, and changed. hope was just happy to have her mother back, but her words, although far too poetic for hope’s taste, were a reminder of how foreign everything could be to jan. how her perception of the world must have changed completely while she was “ dead ”. ❝ you’re getting a little too flowery, mom. ❞

          it was an out-there comment from janet; unprovoked. an observation,    she’d become used to musing out loud ( with no one to hear her; too small to even be heard ) she had forgotten now that people didn’t expect her melancholic comments, her notes of happiness, though still somewhat okay with her outbursts of aggression.    her daughter’s words snapped her back to reality / what would normally garner a snappy comment, was instead met with the softest of smiles.          ‘ sorry, sorry;       i didn’t know stargazing was now a banned conversation topic between us.’     with so much left unsaid between them / or never said in the first place / finding a ground for conversation can sometimes be tricky between them.      ‘  is ghosts a better subject for you?’

Charlie’s Angels (2000), dir. McG

“Okay, bye!” Estela said before hanging up the phone. She ran a hand through her hair and sighed. “I’m an adult, and phone calls are still terrible.”

        she wasn’t exactly listening in on the situation / but had simply been seated nearby idly flicking through some magazines.   her smile is light as she replied, ‘ oh come, they’re not really that bad are, they ? i mean, unless the person on the other end is an absolute -- ‘ she catches herself before a curse stumbled out, but her harsh grimace of a smile effectively conveyed her message.

        the flashing light and humidity of the club comforted the boy, in a very weird way. his eyes flickered between the sea of bodies and his turntables, there was sweat dripping down his forehead as he finished his set. when malcolm finished he gave his audience a bright smile and thanked them for coming out. “ i’ll be here all week.” he gave the ladies in the front a smooth wink before packing up his equiptment and headed to the bar. a low sigh escaped him as he plopped into the seat and ordered himself a water, wiping his forehead slightly. “what a night,”

                  you’d have to forgive a girl of her vices.          sober for 20 years - not of her own choice - was enough of a break for a lifetime.         clubs weren’t her scene,    bars however were.  wherever there was some kind of cocktail she could be lured there; like a horse to water, or ... a wasp to something.       she glanced up,    an outline of a smile.        ‘ and yet you still ordered water.    either you have a low standard of what a night is, or, ‘ eyebrows raised in conjunction with glass.