#this is a FANTASTIC line

[austerulous]

◈   @tlacehualli  //  cont.

Sombra was electric.  Next to the desert bloom of fuchsia and ultraviolet, even cobalt blue, siren red and acidic shades of yellow paled.  Odessa’s cherry irises were pulled to her, time and again.  First when she applied her bright war-paint, again when she denounced the devil in their moonshine, and now that they were in the thick crush of the mosh pit.

It was all distraction, the briefest of respites.  For the queen, and for her subjects.  Close threadbare curtains, block out thick columns of pyre smoke.  Forget the incurably sick with radiation, vomiting viscera in understaffed subterranean wards.  Music filled the head, filled the empty spaces in the heart, leaving room for nothing else.  There was only the crowd moving in tribal unison, a mass made into a writhing, many-headed monster.  Short-lived, too – as they all would prove to be.

Showered harmlessly by angle-grinder sparks, Odessa dissociated in the crackle of speakers, in the shifting patterns of neon lights.  Liquor burned a hole in her gut, drowning out the ghosts she carried with her always.  This was the domain of the living, it left no room for the dead.  The Australian government and the world at large had forsaken them, turned a blind eye to the poison and bloodshed at its irradiated heart – but Odessa would never abandon her post, her people.  The Junker Queen moved among the denizens, drank with them, moshed with them.  Bled and laughed and screamed and grieved with them.

Sombra was not one of her subjects, but for her Odessa was prepared to make a shield from the meat of her body, to protect from the waves of inebriated Junkers.  There was no need.  Her vibrant, enigmatic guest was agile, her reflexes undimmed by the booze. 

Music eventually folded under its own weight, swallowed by silence save for the murmur of the crowd and its drunken revelry.  Static thrummed, the familiar high-pitched whine of tinnitus droning on in Odessa’s ears.  Her voice was hoarse, bruises mottled the acres of exposed, sun-struck skin.  They evacuated together in the tide of tired, dusty, sweat-shining bodies that leaked from the arena. 

Carry me.  For a moment, it seemed like Sombra was already there.  All lilac and magenta.  Modified, featherlight, feminine.  Perfumed with a scent akin to flowers that no longer grew.  Open arms folded to find it had been a command made in jest.  Typical.  Any time Odessa imagined Sombra, she was always walking away, always just out of her reach.  Dull disappointment was diluted by a flood of incredulousness.

“Fuck off – you’re forty-three?”

Perhaps the secret to a baby face lay in the creams and elixirs Sombra swore by like a snake oil salesman.  Odessa snorted at the thought.

“No cryin’ for bed then.  Clearly you don’t need your beauty sleep.”

Stairs constructed from steel grating creaked beneath their boots as they peeled away from the masses, staggering along desolate stretches of echoing corridors.  Where most of the merrymakers would retire to the rusting lean-to houses in the shanty town, they were destined for the familiar sprawl of the royal quarters, tucked away in a lacklustre and windowless wing of the Omnium.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

At your side [End of Season 2]

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[fictionadventurer]

I love libraries.

I'm browsing the WWI shelves (as you do) and notice a very old book about the war. I glance at the first pages that talk about how one day the war will be over and we'll look at this place and not see any signs of the battlefield.

Then it hits me. And I check the publishing date.

This book was printed before the war's end. Not written. Printed. The physical object was created in 1918, while the war in question was raging and the end was as yet uncertain.

Now I'm standing on the other side of the apocalypse, with this physical link to that era in my hands. I'm living proof that the war did end and life did go on and we can all look at the end of the world as a long-ago memory.

Reading old books is cool enough, connecting our minds and hearts through the ideas of people who lived long ago, but there's something extra profound about holding a copy of the book that comes from the time that it was written. It's a physical link between the past and the present connecting me to those long-ago people. A piece of the past come into the future that gives me the chance to almost take the hand of some long-ago reader, to hold something they could have held, connecting not just mentally but physically to their era, a moment of connection across more than a century.

Excuse me while I go weep.

[requinum]

misa misa + last verse of please please please (sabrina carpenter) inspired by this post

[lil-lemon-snails]

"I can't ignore what's under dancefloor boards, The rhythm of my heart a dead-as-disco beat, But I still move my feet, to slip out of this groove, I'm free" ~ 2econd 2ight 2eer, Will Wood, The Normal Album

I have been plagued with visions of LDR Sun every time I listen to this song and I NEEDED to get this out of my system @spadillelicious when do we get to smooch the boy pLEASE

v textless version and close ups under cut!! v

[doortotomorrow]

cooper howard the moment I fell in love with him

[jennyfromthebes]

hey guys by the way the audio recording of the show where john darnielle read out someone's divorce papers before no children is up on the internet archive collection and you should definitely go listen to it

[dynamitekansai]

"The last time we wrestled, I walked away a champion... and you didn't walk out at all."

[murderandcoffee]

the venom in gwen's "shut up" at alice's stupid cookie pun has me giggling and kicking my feet

when are they gonna kiss

[theactualsunshinechild]

I think Aventio and Screwtio shippers shouldn't fight. After all, Ratio has two hands!

That's right. Two hands.

One for his chalk.

One for his codex.

Both of which he's holding in an embarrassed death grip as they chat away with each other about him.

[thegraininessofitall]

[majorproblems77]

Hi all! Me again!

This time with one of the amazing pieces from the amazing @sraksha, featuring everyone's fave Veteran, Legend.

I saw this one and knew he needed stained glass vibes as soon as possible. I even tried to put in the little gold details on his tunic which I think actually worked out alright! :)

Please go and check her out, her stuff is amazing!

Thank you so much for putting your amazing work into the colouring book! I'm having a great time with these. I love it so much and I hope I've done it justice! I hope it's alright for it to go on the wall! :D

(also found the signature kinda faded with my brown marker so I've gone over it with something to make it a little clearer.)

Alternative lighting under cut

[correct-hermitcraft-quotes]

Tango: I'm gonna need to make the door bigger to this truck so that Impulse can fit his head in, if that's okay.

[theriu]

———

I hope @fantastic-nonsense won’t mind, but I found this in a reblog on another Batman post, and the origin post had swearing in it so I couldn’t reblog (my blog is dedicated to only PG content). But this part was a counterargument and is so good it works as it’s own post, so I really wanted to share it. This is an excellent breakdown of various valid reasons for this foundational element of Bruce Wayne’s character! Frankly, I don’t think this even has to be a “pick one” scenario; I could easily see all of these motives being applicable at once.

[pine4pple-b0i]

alrighty folks, finally back at my hotel! i literally waited for about nine hours to get these photos, but it was 100000% worth it. the cast is literally the sweetest ever

bonus points for alex posting my map on her story. extra bonus points for jo quite literally telling me i looked hot and deserved to be there and nearly bringing me to tears.

[chaotic-cheshire]