#and [squints at writing on hand]

[hrokkall]

DIVINE LIGHT SEVERED

[catsandcatci]

thinking about color symbolism in Star Wars.... thinking about beskar’gam colors.... how the 212th colors are called gold (vengeance) but are really visually more orange (freedom)... how to the jedi yellow/orange is traditionally the lightsaber color of sentinels, and may symbolize loyalty.....

[thewiglesswonder]

Another thing that I appreciate about TFA StarOp is the sheer comedic potential of it all. Yes from the Autobot “you’re dating WHO” side, but also from a Decepticon perspective. Like, you have Air Commander Starscream, who is considered to be one of, if not the most attractive flyer in the entire Armada. He’s like the pinnacle of Seeker aesthetics, huge wings and all that, and you hear that he’s apparently found himself someone. Oh, you think, damn, wonder who the lucky guy is, only for the news to be broken that it’s this random, tiny-ass red and blue spacebridge repair crew Autobot, in other words, just some guy. And there he is, with his arm wrapped around your Air Commander’s waist because that’s how fucking short he is. What the fuck.

[violasmirabiles]

when i say all my fic drafts are written in two languages. this is the kind of nonsense i mean

[hella1975]

‘how’s studying going’ i got 2 minutes into a video of a guy explaining a concept before realising he was speaking another language. i took notes

[rainofthetwilight]

me, having so much freetime today: ooh freetime!! aight time to write fellas!!

*opens notes app*

*finds chapter i still havent even started on properly, a wip of a new fic with a scene i'm stuck writing on, and a draft of a oneshot i didnt even start writing yet*

me: okay that's enough for today

[abcwordsurge]

other ways to say "I love you"

"is that a new shirt?"

"your eyes sparkle in the sun."

"how long have you slept this week?"

"do you want to come with me?"

"it's ok, you can go."

"I thought you would like this."

"if you're committing fraud, I won't tell."

"ooh, I wanna come with you!"

"I wish you were more careful."

"how's your sister doing?"

"where you are, I'll be."

"I made this for you."

"just wait till you hear what my coworker said!"

"I want you to be there."

"ok, I'll go."

[ceruleancattail]

REASONS YOU (YES YOU!) SHOULD BE MOOTS WITH ME✨✨✨

1. I have a big hat!!!!!

2. I literally have a big hat, what else do you need-

[sleepdepravity]

Summary:

Reigen and Serizawa explore intimacy.

Excerpt:

“We haven’t gone on a date yet.”

“Of course we have,” Serizawa murmured into his hair.

Reigen pulled away slightly to look at Serizawa’s sleepy face. “What? When?”

Serizawa frowned a bit, probably from the sudden lack of warmth due to the absence of Reigen’s head on his chest, but still didn’t open his eyes. “When you opened the joint bank account.”

“That is not a date.”

“You told me I would need to be there to open the joint account and to make sure to bring my ID. And I said I had a study group after work for the big test coming up. And you had a full schedule for the next few days, so we figured out a time we could both be at the bank and you said, ‘It’s a date, then.’”

[itissadbutitsmy-artblog]

as everyone else finishes their pre-fionna-and-cake rewatches here’s my two cents: you SHOULD watch wizard city LAST because it’s best watched through the together again tears

[lloydfrontera]

ppodong is lloyd's favorite child pass it on

[hua-fei-hua]

it's definitely extremely funny that after i start writing a smut For Real (not clickbait) i proceed to receive. a fucking nosebleed. like this is anime.

[hawnks]

You know, I like to think that I can manage my language quirks pretty decently, but historical fiction specifically has had a profound effect on my primary cortex.

My cat just knocked something off the table and I shouted at him with no hesitation, “Your conduct is unbefitting of a gentleman!!!”

[writing-good-vibes]

you are now leaving illinois

before the weird sex and the american dreams and the realisations that only the open road can bring, there was the beginning (well, almost). or: corey and michael leave illinois for the first time.

WARNING for mentions of shoplifting, carjacking, smoking and very mild angst, but this is actually pretty mellow. idk corey cries a little bit but that's not out of the ordinary for him.

taglist: @slutforstabbings @ethanhoewke @voxmortuus (if anyone else wants to be tagged in corey related things, just let me know !!)

The first stop they make since leaving Haddonfield is at a Walmart about 20 miles from the state line. Corey goes in, hood up and head down, just to grab some essentials for the road.

Bags of chips, cans of soda and bottled water. An armful of cup noodles and a loaf of bread. A half-gallon of chocolate milk. First aid supplies because he knows he's not the powerhouse that Michael is; rolls of bandages and gauze, a bottle of painkillers, antiseptic cream. He grabs the cheapest electric razor they sell.

He thinks about 'lifting his haul, but he doesn't want to draw anymore attention to himself than he has to -- not before they make it over the state line, anyway -- so he pays at the checkout. It'll make a dent in his wallet, but he'd saved enough to last a while, and it's an expense he's willing to spend for now. He's sure Michael won't mind them scrimping a bit in the future. Hopefully.

The checkout lady tries to talk to him, those empty niceties that he was so scared of before now feel maddeningly absurd after the week he's just survived. Even so, he tries to act as normal as possible, giving her a tight smile that has no chance of reaching his eyes.

Michael waits in the car, parked in a dark corner of the lot. He's wearing the mask, of course, he'd put it on as soon as he'd wrestled it back off Corey. He knew he was going to be in big trouble over that one, but Michael would have to wait a while to exact whatever revenge he wants on his new... accomplice? Amid the raging sea of emotion that is churning his gut, Corey feels a sick sort of thrill at that thought, at taking whatever Michael will deal out to him once they're in the clear.

Jogging back to the car, Corey throws the grocery bags in the backseat before sitting up front. Corey slides slightly across the bench when Michael makes a sharp turn out of the lot and back towards the highway.

Darkness surrounds them on both sides again, as they head out of town. Corey reaches back and routes through the bags until he finds the razor. He unboxes it in his lap, finding the charging cord and plugging it into the port on the dashboard.

"They're gonna be looking for us," he says, slumping in his seat and watching the side of the road where their headlights just about reach.

Michael doesn't say anything, but Corey knows he understands. Michael's been on the run before, he should know what he's doing. Although he has no practical experience, Corey had wiled away his adolescence thinking about how he could run away, far enough that Momma would never find him. There are worse people to worry about than Momma now.

At the next gas station they make another stop; a run-down mom-and-pop place, the type that Corey had assumed didn't exist anymore. The type of place he assumes won't have company policies or CCTV that backs up to a cloud.

Corey leaves Michael in the car again and heads into the garage. The burning adrenaline is starting the wear off, and he buys fresh pack of cigarettes to soothe his obliterated nerves, then makes a beeline for the bathroom, a single stall with a toilet and basin.

Corey's hands grip the edge of the sink and he looks at himself in the cracked mirror, the aged silver surface mottled around the edges. He'd never thought much of his looks, never had anyone to impress or any real reason to care, especially after the accident. But now, oh god now he feels like this is the last thread connecting him to his old self to everything he's done and did not do, and it's not as easy to cut as he expected.

He picks up the razor, clicks it on and feels the vibrations through his hand. Watching, eyes fixed on the halo of curls around his head, he brings the razor up, runs it through his hair, just above his ear. A tuft of hair drifts into the sink. He looks down at it, and even as he squeezes his eyes shut, the tears make their way out anyway. Pathetic, he thinks.

The sink fills up, tawny like a birds nest, and when Corey is finally finished, he almost doesn't recognise himself. He looks so different like this. Running a hand over his buzzed hair, Corey steels his gaze.

Corey had never been to Missouri before. In all fairness though, there were a lot of places he'd never been. Michael doesn't seem too affected, as they cross the state line, the Mississippi River raging beneath them. Missouri didn't even seem much different than Illinois, though in the dark of the night, he supposes he can't really tell. He's heard there are more cornfields, maybe, but other than that, the long stretches of highway felt the exact same as back home.

Home. Shit.

He wondered what home even meant anymore. It felt strange to even think they'd never be going back to Illinois, though he was pretty sure at this point they never would. Michael's home was gone, razed to the ground in a bid to wipe him clean off the face of the town that had ruined him; Corey had nothing to go back to either, nothing that hadn't ruined him, nothing he hadn't torn to shreds and set a blaze before leaving behind.

For the first time in his life, the open road seemed like the only real, tangible thing. Not just a pipedream or a childish fantasy anymore. He'd been stagnant, wasting, for so long he'd forgotten what it felt like to really move. Corey felt alive and he wasn't going back to the way things were, not ever.

Just on the horizon, Corey can see the watery grey-blue of the sunrise approaching. He doesn't notice that the white-noise rumble of the road beneath them is soothing him to sleep until his head drops to Michael's shoulder. Michael's eyes stay firmly on the road, and Corey decides, like most things about their partnership, that as long as Michael will let him have this indulgence, he's going to make the most of it.

[altosk]

　　　Lord haveth mercy.

❝ my young lad. ol' raven's talents extend far n' wide, ta the stars n beyond! there isn't anythin' this old man couldn't do. includin' - uh - workin' with 'railways'. ❞

Raven is sweating.

[king-ratboy]

It’s just a Halloween costume.

There’s nothing more to it.

Steve’s going to be here in less than ten minutes, thick hair styled back and the one-size-too-small black shirt they’d found on the clearance rack at Melvald’s tight across his chest, and when they show up at Wheeler’s house everyone will laugh and joke and groan and it’s fine. It’s supposed to be funny. It is funny. Billy had cackled for what felt like an hour when they came up with it two months earlier, grinning up at the Dirty Dancing poster outside the Hawk.

Billy stares at himself in the mirror, fingertips playing with layers of pink chiffon, gaze darting up to his mascara-lined eyes and hurriedly averting to the ground, and feels nauseous. It’s just a joke. It’s a costume. That’s all. There’s no reason why his heart should be so tight in his chest, why the sleek fabric should feel so soft and free on his thighs, why the black lining his eyes should make him feel anything.

Behind him, Robin stays silent, sitting on the edge of her bed and giving him a tight-lipped smile that’s a little too knowing for his liking, and when she stands Billy can’t suppress the tiny, involuntary flinch, the rush of danger danger danger she knows she fucking knows get out get the fuck out FIGHT, Neil’s voice roaring in his ears —

faggot

pussy

goddamn queer

what in the hell do you think you’re wearing 

get that shit off your face

you’re a disgrace to my goddamn name

— but then Robin’s awkward smile is expanding, spreading out into a megawatt grin, and when she tosses Billy a tube of lipstick that definitely isn’t hers, he only fumbles it slightly.

“You look smokin’ hot, Frances,” Robin says, still grinning, and the fluttering flare of panic in Billy’s chest quells a bit, allows him to glance back at himself in the mirror, at his carefully-crafted hair and the mascara Robin had clumsily applied and the – the dress, fuck, and the panic and nausea are morphing into something else, something he can’t put a name to, isn’t ready to name, and then there’s the flash of headlights through the window as the beamer rolls into the driveway and Billy looks at himself, draws himself up, and leans forward to press the tube to his lips.