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I think some people forget that some literature and some media is meant to be deeply uncomfortable and unsettling. It's meant to make you have a very visceral reaction to it. If you genuinely can't handle these stories then you are under no obligation to consume them but acting as if they have no purpose or as if people don't have a right to tell these stories, stories that often relate to the darkest or most disturbing parts of life, then you should do some introspection.

I’m proud to identify as morosexual. I’m attracted to dumbasses and dumbasses exclusively. A guy asked me what the Spanish word for tortilla was once and now I dream of kissing him under the moonlight

Magrat: "He will make friends easily" she whispered. It wasn't much, she knew, but it was something she'd never been able to get the hang of.

Nanny Ogg: "A bloody good memory is what he ought to have," she said. "He'll always remember the words."

Granny Weatherwax: "Let him be whoever he thinks he is," she said. "That's all anybody could hope for in this world."

“Must have reliable transportation” = “this is how we legally discriminate against poor people who take the bus”

this blog hates donald trump

Look how many people hate him. I’m pretty damn happy about that 😁😁😁😁😁😁

Whispers: How would you go about a Naruto grows up out of Konaha Au? Like imagine in the orphanage/his home he falls through the floor to a forgotten tunnel system from War time that's been dug further by animals and he losses his way and stumbles out, outside of Konoha's walls and he just decides to keep walking away. Maybe a encounter lets him know about Uzushiogakure and he just decides rather than being alone in Konoha he'd be better alone in Uzu.

Naruto is quiet when he’s born, is red faced and blue eyed and golden haired and silent.

Kushina stares down at him, at her little maelstrom made up of all of the colors that have come to define her life, and all she can do is ache.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.  None of it was supposed to be like this. They were supposed to be happy.

“My little prince of eddies and tides,” she murmurs, tears dripping down her face to land like raindrops or sea spray on his whiskered cheek, “Mama’s little storm.  I’m so sorry.”

“Kushina,” Minato’s there, eyes bright with love and agony as he trails one calloused fingertip down Naruto’s now damp cheek with an exquisite sort of gentleness.  “Look at him, he’s beautiful.  My son.  Our son. Our little bud finally bloomed.  It’s so good to finally meet you, Naruto.”

“Minato,” Kushina half sobs, arms curling tighter around her baby, “Minato we can’t …”

“We have to,” Minato grits out. “The village.”

“They’ll be cruel to him, Minato,” Kushina insists brokenly, viciously, a half feral sort of thing gnawing at her heart.  It feels like a promise. Like premonition.  “My baby.  Our son. They’ll be so cruel.”

“No,” Minato refutes softly, voice certain and strong.  “No.  They’ll love him like the hero he is.  This has to be done, my love. He’ll have a good life, I promise you.  Sensei will be here, and Kakashi-kun.  You just have to have faith.”

And, in the end, Kushina loves Minato and she loves their precious Naruto, but she also loves Konoha.

It’s the only home she has left.  It’s where she found love. Where her little maelstrom will grow and learn and be.

So she gets up, fresh from the birthing bed, and she tightens her headband, and with Minato’s faith and her love in her heart she goes to do her duty at her husband’s side.

‘Protect him,’ Kushina prays silently to the old spirits from her childhood, to the things of salt and sun and deep deep waters. ‘Love him, protect him, keep him safe for always.’

Left behind, left alone and cold, Naruto wails.

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god forbid 5000 year old girls do anything