#you piece of shit die

[gl1tt3rv0id]

scrolling through tiktok, watching all these moments from trump inauguration… I feel sick. I feel sick to the core of my soul. I feel sick and want to throw up. It’s not just America. It’s the whole world. I want to throw up so bad… this is bad. Oligarchs. Media control. Censorship. Dumb dumb dumb dumb DUMB DUMB DUMB AMERICANS WHO VOTED FOR CHEAP EGGS AND LOW GAS PRIZES AND KILLED EVERY HOPE THEY COULD EVER HAVE!

[koukouture]

WAIT CHAT HOLD ON-

SENTINEL HAS WINGS!!!!!

"Yeah obviously he turns into a jet-" NO!!!!!

Initially I thought they were like angel wings (which yeah, they are) and it's great symbolism because of his whole false Prime thing. He has this façade about being a noble leader and all that and he probably thinks that he's Primus' gift to the universe. The Devil disguised as an angel. Or something something the Devil was once the most beautiful angel of all. Idk lotsa places you can go with the angel symbolism.

HOWEVER

They're GOLDEN. You know who else had golden wings? Icarus. Who flew too close to the sun. Who's entire myth is about hubris and how pride can be your undoing. Does that sound familiar to you guys???

Sentinel flew too close to the sun believing that he could kill the Primes and seize all that wealth and power with no consequence. He thought that he was sooo great and nothing bad would ever happen to him because he won!!! And then he got too comfortable and sloppy and everything he built fell apart in just one day.

Whoever was on the design team for Transformers One you cooked hard with this one

[ajthecrocodile]

IT’S A RAINBOW OF BILLS! A BILLBOW! RGBILL!!!

The clip of Bill saying YELLOW was all over my FYP and it inspired me…

[hypertechnica]

star trek as a concept is completely sexless. it is utterly devoid of sex. not one drop of convincing sexual tension has ever graced the screen on any star trek show. the weird unintentionally homoerotic psychosexual mind game shit on the other hand,

[yourlocalabomination]

Giving the people what they demanded

[smokingcitrus]

Birkin is an ugly crier.

He sniffles and sobs, moans and wails as his face reddens and scrunches up until he's almost unrecognizable, strings of snot uncontrollably leaking from his nose. He wipes it over and over and over, trying to get words out but never quite getting past the hurdle of keeping his mouth clean enough. He resigns himself to curling in on himself, shoulders hunched, and he holds his elbows as if hunkering down to ride out the emotion. In that moment, his world shrinks, incapable of accommodating the impossible size of his distress. It explodes in size, its growth exponential as it rips and tears through him, gouging the edges of his repressed mind like sandpaper in a bullet wound. Frantic thoughts follow it like freshly torn sinew, incomprehensible and indistinguishable from each other, barely forming before snapping in half with a static-like spark that causes his trembling shoulders to jolt anew.

His meltdowns are far and few in between, major stressors acting as a wrecking ball against his mental state where inconveniences have only been able to wear away at the edges like water erosion. The only constant in all of them has been the conviction that he might just die where he lays, wailing and clawing at himself until he bleeds: Wesker presence is always an afterthought as his soul unravels.

Wesker has never been able to do anything other than observe: when he's unfortunate enough to witness another one of Birkin's episodes, he can't do more than stand before him, mentally measuring the distance between his straightened back and Birkin's folded one as he waits for him to be coherent enough to continue working.

The first time this happened in his company, he was young and naive enough to think that he, Albert Wesker, could comfort him. A stiff hand had reached for Birkin's shoulder — a gesture he'd practiced since seeing it in a movie all those years ago — which was promptly smacked away, paired with an incoherent gurgle from a snot-filled throat. When physical comfort didn't work, he tried reassurance, but his words fell on deaf ears.

He didn't know what he expected. Spencer's golden child, someone who had been hand-picked to be as close to perfect as a human could be, was everything but the right person to be doing this. He had never received comfort. He wasn't supposed to give it. So he stood up, steeled himself, and returned to his side of their tiny dorm room. He didn't acknowledge his roommate for the rest of the night, patiently waiting for his palm-muffled screams to subside to sniffles.

He's in a similar situation now. Wesker only watches as Birkin looks up at him, the telltale lip quiver almost making him groan. The fact that he doesn't is enough to snap him out of the déjà vu, uncomfortably conscious of the change in his own breathing pattern. Where irritation would have picked at him, a bud grows in his chest instead, sucking away all of his energy like a tumor until all he can do in his uselessness is meet Birkin's watery, reddening eyes. The bud blossoms. It shoots through him and into nothing as thorns rake his insides. His face hasn't moved, and he only realizes that his vision has started to blur when Birkin brings a shaking hand to his face, wiping his flinching eyes with a tenderness that almost warrants guilt.

Birkin smiles at him through all of his ugliness, as if Wesker is the one that needs reassurance. Birkin whimpers, shudders, and wipes his face, but his eyes train themselves on Wesker's face as if afraid that he would disappear. "I missed you, Al."

He knows Birkin's fear is justified. Wesker's throat croaks, but he isn't trying to speak. He blinks, and Birkin's calloused hand brushes his cheek a second time, then a third, and then it gets so bad he needs to use both hands.

Despite how badly he wants to share the sentiment, Wesker can't bring himself to respond.

[mildmayfoxe]

i think “weight loss” ads should be fucking illegal

[spaghettiandart]

that fucking tv that i hate

[lilithofpenandbook]

Sometimes Severus comes up to Minerva. Right up behind her when she's busy. He'll stand there for a good minute as she works on marking assignments and cursing the boy's youthful energy and brilliant eyes- both of which directly responsible for his finishing his work in half the time it takes her.

"What is it, Severus?" Minerva sighs. Might as well get the obligatory nonsense over and done with, she was due a dose of Severus's antics by now (Merlin forbid he go more than three days without bothering her with nonsensical questions or infuriating wit).

"Am I ugly, Minerva?" he asked. Never there was a being with such innocence in their voice.

Minerva took a moment to take in a breath and silently call on all her patience and all her strength. "Yes, very." Her tone was blunter than the knives used to decorate at Halloween- an incident with some particularly idiotic third years had them ban anything sharper than the corners of a book during the Halloween celebrations.

Severus gasped as if stabbed. "What? Minerva, I thought we were friends!"

Minerva snorted. "Any time we interact, it's completely against my will."

"Minerva! you lie so shamelessly it shocks me." Severus made as if to swoon, a hand clutching the right of his chest.

"You must be shocked; your heart isn't where it should be."

Honestly, Minerva had to admire the fact that the insolent little kitten did not falter in his dramatics with her pointing out the key flaw in his act. If anything, he seemed to be encouraged.

"Ay! The pain of the shock, it has spread throughout my chest! Ah, I cannot breathe!" Severus swayed on his feet, leaning against the chair that Minerva was sitting in. "Oh, how your lie shocks me!"

"Well, then, you had better tell me what exactly I lied about," Minerva said briskly, "before you gasp all the air out of your skinny little lungs, laddie."

"You said," the boy said, a sudden glint in his eye and none of the apparent weakness, standing to face her and one of those long, delicate fingers pointed straight at her, "you said, that our interactions are without your will."

"That is no lie, what part of this looks like it's my will?" Minerva replied, knowing full well she wasn't going to appreciate the cheeky answer Severus had prepared for her.

"Why, the part where you remain for my company, mother," Severus replied, his voice light. "Surely, if you didn't want this, you would have, in your infinite wisdom, simply have employed your great power and assumed your famous feline form and just walked away from me."

Minerva fought her smile. His cheek was infuriating while his logic impeccable. "Perhaps I am simply conversing my energy, you arrogant wee rascal."

"You? Too lazy to avoid a nuisance?" Severus scoffed. "Minerva, you wound me. Don't you know how I know you? You've done much more to avoid the mildest of annoyances, do you truly think I believe that you are here against your will merely to converse your energy?"

Minerva let him see the flicker of a smile disgusted as a smirk, letting the bothersome raven have a little treat for his cleverness, hinting to him that he had essentially won this particular argument. "At my age you no longer have the patience to waste on annoyances. You learn to value your peace. You will understand that some day, I hope, little one."

"And if I die, my hair still black and my skin still smooth?"

Merlin, did the child have a turn towards the morbid. Minerva ignored the voice in her that told her that this would have been a retort of her own had she been in a similar conversation.

"Then you'll die a fool."

"A fool, perhaps, but my funeral will be the biggest," he replied, moving to sit on her desk and grabbing the biscuit jar. Minerva intercepted, lifting it from his grip and replacing it with a towel. His protests died in his confusion at the towel, and Minerva huffed and began to wipe his hands as if he was a child. She did not trust him to correctly clean his hands after handling goodness knows what when experimenting with his potions and she didn't care if he knew it.

"Aye, and how did you figure that?" she asked.

"Surely if I die young, I shall be the first. Therefore you all will be part of the funeral-"

"What makes you think I would want to attend your funeral, you little rascal?" She let go of his hands, almost satisfied that they weren't contaminated.

Severus ignored her and instead took a biscuit from the jar. "You will all be there, therefore I will have the biggest funeral. If I die old, you all shall be gone, so my funeral will be the smallest."

Minerva tried not to think of how depressing that sounded, how lonely it seemed. For a brief moment she felt guilty for being so old and he so young. She involuntarily could see him in her mind's eye, going through their funerals until he stood alone. She and the others- Rolanda, Pomona, Poppy, even Fillus and Hagrid- they were all of an age, weren't they? They could expect their lives to reach the end around the same time, surely? Severus was but a child next to them, he'd stand alone one day.

Minerva tried to ignore the ache in her chest at the thought of him standing alone. Merlin, no. He was far too young. No.

"You truly are besotted with the morbid and the miserable, you melanchonic masochist," she said, her tone just a trifle too sharp to be a simple retort.

Severus paused, swallowing the biscuit. Then he answered. "Ah, but the morbid is much more fascinating, the forbidden has a certain thrill, dear mother." His voice was a little softer, and his fingers, slightly coated in crumbs, were gentle when he tapped her forehead. He was sorry he upset her.

"You and your thrills," Minerva scolded, "yet you cannot even eat a biscuit without making a mess of yourself." Yet even as she spoke, the hand that she used to swipe the crumbs away, was gentle, almost tender, in its movement. She had quite forgiven him.

How could she remain angry? At this boy who looked at her with a scowl of indignation yet whose deep, dark eyes twinkled with mischief and cleverness and brilliance, who stood taller than her, yes, yet was far more delicate in his build than she had ever been, whose hair was as dark as hers had been in her youth, carelessly falling across his forehead. No, she could not remain angry.

If only he had been in Gryffindor, perhaps then she would have noticed him sooner. Or rather, if only her eyes didn't only open for her Gryffindors. How this boy could ever look at her without resentment and anger, she didn't know. Then again, he had been so incredibly isolated and lonely, was it any wonder he let go of his rightful grudges and instead accepted her friendship?

Minerva blinked as if soot from the fireplace got in her eyes. She didn't want him to notice the tears that almost inevitably formed whenever she thought about him. Who would have thought that she'd cry so much for the little devil?

"I'll leave you to your work, dear mother," Severus said cheerfully, hopping off her desk.

"Aye, after you've cleared out my biscuit jar, you villain" Minerva grumbled, looking into the empty jar. Severus shrugged.

"You ought to see it as a compliment towards your taste, really," Severus said. "But I see I have taken the last of your patience"- for indeed, Minerva looked ready to strangle him- "so I shall take my leave. Good night, my good Headmistress, and may you have peace in the silver embrace of the moon!"

And with a laughing twinkle in his eye and a boyish bow, Severus Snape left the room.

Minerva sighed. She wasn't sure if it was out of relief, or because she may have felt some sorrow at his departure.

The door opened again, and a rather meek Severus poked his head in.

"Er, Minerva?" he asked.

"Yes, Severus?"

"Er." Severus stepped in, looking away from her, walking with the awkward gait of a newborn foal, and the nervousness of a deer. "Er, Minerva?"

"Yes, Severus?"

"Am I really ugly, mother?" His voice was a whisper. His raven hair curtained his face, hiding his shame at asking such a pathetic question, and his fingers picked at one of the cuticles of a nail.

Minerva smiled, and walked to him. Softly she brushed the boy's hair out of his face and gently tucked it behind his ear.

"Only as long as you let yourself believe it, dear heart."

[asvidema]

the squire and his lord

[shima-draws]

Ghost Cora AU where he’s actually been following Law around ever since he died but nobody has been able to see him, so all he’s able to do is watch Law get hurt and suffer in silence. UNTIL, miraculously, the battle of Dressrosa ends, and for some strange reason—through some supernatural bullshit or maybe just fate—one person is finally able to see him.

Law is sitting on the deck of the Yonta Maria watching everyone party when Luffy comes trotting over to him. And Luffy plops down beside him and says, “I’ve been meaning to ask, Torao, but who’s that really tall blonde guy with the funny makeup that’s been following you around?”

And Law’s just like

[mrsdickey]

i want him to spit on me

i think i deserve some unwashed incel dick

it has come to my attention that i did not finish bills facial hair in the second one i refuse to go back and finish it

[stop-breaking-my-heart-dragonage]

Every time I see someone earnestly say that Carver hates Hawke, I have to exercise such restraint to not scream.

Every day I get closer to writing a deep dive about him because that's my guy. He's so interesting. He feels so much. He tries so hard when talking to the other companions and some of the dynamics he has with them are so good. He can be so fucking funny and sweet and awkward. He so badly wants to be wanted and appreciated and to protect everyone he loves.

Carver Hawke, they could never make me hate you.

[trustymikh]

may I interest you in Emperor Sigma being a menace

[maxdibert]

"I don’t understand how you can defend Snape if he literally didn’t give a damn that Lily’s husband and son were going to die."

You're right, I shouldn't defend him. If I were in his place, besides completely ignoring a kid I’d never seen and couldn’t care less about — who, by the way, is the actual main target and beyond saving — I would have also begged, sincerely and as part of my pleas, that Voldemort not only kill but torture to death the guy who made my life hell for seven years. Severus Snape was a real nice guy, full of trauma and guilt. I don’t have that much Christian conscience when it comes to abusers, guys, you’re trying to moralize the wrong person.

[mjrtaurus]

The bit of Iva telling Sabo that none of the Revs ever once believed he’d killed Cobra, and it cutting to Dragon with his eyes shadowed over as he drinks his wine is painful to me because he did suspect Sabo. As supreme commander of the RA, he had to.

Trust and loyalty are important things to have, but what happens when somebody you trust becomes dangerously apathetic, or can’t temper their anger with empathy, or turns out to be an infiltrator? What happens when they know everything because you trusted them?

The cause dies.

And for a man like Dragon, who’s been at this shit for almost a quarter of a century, he’s probably had people he trusted lose all empathy, or succumb to the rage, or end up being traitors.

He’s probably had to cast out or put down a few of his own friends over the years so that the revolution doesn’t lose sight of it’s goal and become just another authoritarian regime to take over for the last.

And when that News Coo came out, he was ice cold stoic, wondering whether or not he would have to kill the little boy he pulled from the bay.

And Iva drops that line and you can see the guilt