anon is off for now

anonymous asked:

being a cishet girl on tumblr is literally the most unwelcoming feeling in the world lmao

being a lgbt girl in society is literally the most unwelcoming feeling in the world lmao

anonymous asked:

omg how come hippos give you the heebie jeebs!!

BECAUSE THEY BIG

THEY RUN 20 MPG THEY P FAST

THEY MEAN

LOOK AT THAT MOUTH WHAT THE HECK

WHAT THE HECK????

THEY KILL 3,000 PEOPLE A YEAR!! DUDE???????

THEY’RE BIG GELATINOUS BLOBS OF MURDER, DOG!!!!!


Aww, that’s actually really c-

YO!! NO!!!!!!!

The air is sweet tonight.

Less like sugar, and more like the clean, cutting scent of midnight and quiet and dew hanging heavy like teardrops on grass. It’s the type of night that calms, the type of night that begs to be listened to, and Alec listens, hears the sound of swerving cars and hot dog stands and Magnus, walking by his side, all gentle breaths and rustling fabric and everything Alec has missed so badly.

There’s a lot he wants to say, so many words lying heavy on his tongue. He wants to tell Magnus about how Max is doing, or about the way his parabatai bond feels off. He wants to talk about how much it hurt seeing Magnus at the council meeting, or how hard it’s been to fall asleep on his own at night. He wants to tell Magnus everything, to fill in every splintering crack that’s emerged between them in the past few days.

But for now… for now, he lets himself walk. He lets himself settle into Brooklyn and summer and Magnus’s fingers intertwined with his own. He lets himself relearn the feeling of Magnus pressed into his side, of matching their strides, of being one half of a whole again after spending too long wondering if that empty hollow thing in his chest was going to be permanent.

The loft is warm when they arrive, barely lit and hazy. Standing by the door, Alec stops and watches as Magnus saunters into the living room, smooth and slow, taking his jacket off in a graceful twirl before he turns around and smiles at Alec. A smile that says welcome home, a smile that asks why are you so far away?

In silent response, Alec wanders in slowly, eyes on Magnus the whole time, half a grin on his face. He blindly trails his fingers along carved chairs and glass-paned doors and the old desk, hands remembering the space and the notches in the wood, passing over neat stacks of books and bottles and –

Wait.

He tears his gaze away from Magnus and stares down to where his hand catches on a familiar strip of photographs lying front and center on the desk. He sees their faces staring up at him, smiling wide, and remembers Tokyo. He remembers cramming himself into that tiny photobooth, squished closed to Magnus, heart thrumming as the lights went bright and a woman’s voice started counting down. He remembers just laughing, laughing with Magnus, laughing because he was on a date with his boyfriend, and something warms inside of him at the knowledge that Magnus had been looking at the photos and doing exactly what Alec had been doing in the lonely hours of the morning, when he wanted to relive how good things had been.

In the present, he feels Magnus at his side, a solid wall of heat crowding gently against his arm, the beginnings of a question in the air.

Alec answers by reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a wrinkled, matching scrap. There’s a sharp crease down the middle and a corner is folded in, but he flattens it out the best he can as he lays it next to its twin.

Magnus and Alec. Alec and Magnus. Beaming and happy and immortalized in ink on a spring night in Shinjuku.

A low chuckle rumbles from Magnus’s throat. “You kept it with you, you sentimental sap,” he murmurs as he stares at the identical pictures for another slow, drawn out beat, studying the evidence of that night with a wistful gaze. He glances up at Alec’s face with an unreadable expression and then tugs at his arm, pulling them together until they slot in place in a simple hug.

Alec trembles. The feeling of Magnus’s face buried into his neck, the tender ache of it almost painful in his bones, the way he can’t help but dig his fingers into Magnus’s dark hair and soft skin…

Your sentimental sap, Alec thinks as he bends down to find Magnus’s mouth, smiling against parted lips and forgetting the pictures strewn on the desk in favor of living the real thing.

anonymous asked:

Jocasta Nu survives that bit with the murder (somehow) and winds up with Rebel Intelligence (where else). Post ANH she ends up teaching Luke and possibly also Leia. Certain truths may get told a sight earlier (cough*Vader*cough). On a completely unrelated note it's not exactly easy for sundry rebels to take Vader seriously anymore due to someone spreading Temple gossip courtesy of the de facto Jedi Grandmother.

Okay but why not go full AU here and drop Jocasta into the Double Agent Vader storyline.

She’s an intelligence agent, of course, and by the time we reach the OT period she’s probably working closely with Mon Mothma herself. And if we assume that Anakin shared a bit of Tatooine culture with her (though far from everything), then she might very well recognize the name Ekkreth. Especially since she already knows that Anakin is Vader.

If Jocasta survived, I think it would be because Anakin failed to kill her in the Temple. Which, realistically, would probably mean he knowingly let her escape. So she knows better than anyone, even Obi-Wan or Yoda, exactly what he did. She was there.

So it’s going to be difficult for her, to say the least. She cared a lot about this kid, and she did what she could to help him without fully understanding the situation and without having regular access to him, and obviously something went horribly wrong. She was there in the Temple. She knows what happened. She knows what he did. It’s not something she can ever forget. Sometimes the thought of it makes her physically ill.

But she also sees what he’s doing now, and she’s perhaps better equipped to work with him than most other members of Alliance Intelligence. When the Inquisitors’ lists of Force sensitive children start coming in, she knows what that means. And when his coded phrases reference Tatooine stories, sometimes she knows what that means, too.

Eventually she sends him a coded message directly. That wouldn’t be completely out of the ordinary - Anakin’s primary Rebel contact is Leia, but sometimes he communicates with Mon Mothma as well. But when he gets this message, he knows it’s not from Mon Mothma. She doesn’t usually send physical deliveries, and she certainly wouldn’t send something like this: a carefully wrapped package of biscuits, with a note included that says “Don’t forget again.” It’s signed “Grandma.”

It’s a pretty big risk, even if there is no directly incriminating information. But Jocasta’s felt alone for a long time now. She has a place in the Rebellion, but most of her life was spent surrounded by other Jedi, and now it’s just her. Just her, and on the rare occasions when they’re stationed on the same base there’s Ahsoka Tano, grown now and insisting she’s not a Jedi. And now Ekkreth, someone she once knew as a boy called Anakin. He’s grown now, too, and it’s no less strange than Ahsoka. She’s used to thinking of both of them as children.

And yes, there’s quite a large part of Jocasta that blames Anakin for the loss of the Order and the Republic. But he’s also the only one left, and sometimes she isn’t sure if she blames him or if she blames the Jedi or even herself. It would be easiest, and maybe best, to simply blame Palpatine, but Jocasta’s learned that logic alone can only get you so far. Her emotions are harder to tame. It’s funny, she thinks bleakly sometimes, that it took the loss of everything she’d ever known and believed for her to start questioning those beliefs.

So she doesn’t know how she feels, really. But a few weeks later, when a delivery arrives for her on the Rebel base on Settra, she lets herself smile about it. There’s a seemingly untouched package of biscuits inside. Beneath every biscuit there’s a datastick. She runs each of them through the decryptions. They’re copies - abbreviated, limited, but there - of the Jedi Archives.

Eventually, she hopes, they’ll meet again in person. She still doesn’t know what she’ll do. But this is something. It’s a beginning.

anonymous asked:

hey! so i'm fairly new too bootlegs and i don't have anything to trade with. how do i start if i have nothing? i don't want to trick someone into giving me something, i want to do it fair and square.

a lot of people are really nice and will try to give you a bootleg you want even if you don’t have anything in return and then you’ll have something to trade in the future!! if you message me off anon im sure we can work something out because i think that everyone should be able to see the shows they really want to 

heres a lil nina who knows that sharing is caring :)

anonymous asked:

for writing prompt: “Is that my shirt?” *whispers* iwaoi ヾ(^-^)ノ

“Iwa-chan, is that my shirt?”

Iwaizumi looked down at the shirt he was currently wearing and shit. No wonder the sleeves felt a bit too long. Honestly, he couldn’t believe the mistake he had made. The entire shirt screamed Oikawa and he wasn’t sure how he hadn’t noticed it until now. It had a small black alien head in the center of it and was fluorescent green. But… it was warm and comfortable. He looked back up at Oikawa. “Nope.”

“It is too!”

“Hmm, no,” Iwaizumi hummed. “I’m pretty sure it’s mine.”

“The sleeves come down to your fingertips,” Oikawa pointed out. Iwaizumi pushed the sleeves up to his wrists. “You don’t like aliens.”

“Sure I do. I’ve watched every single movie on space as many times as you have. If I didn’t like them I wouldn’t have watched them.”

“That’s literally the shirt you got me for my birthday last month.”

“This one is definitely mine. Maybe you’re remembering wrong.” Iwaizumi smiled, thoroughly enjoying how frustrated Oikawa was getting.

Oikawa moved closer, backing Iwaizumi up against the counter and caging him in with his hands on the counter. “I’m fairly certain my memory isn’t wrong, Hajime.”

“And I’m fairly certain this shirt doesn’t belong to you, Tooru.”

Oikawa’s hands moved from the counter to Iwaizumi’s hips, slipping under the shirt. He pressed a quick kiss to Iwaizumi’s lips before moving to a particularly sensitive part of his neck. His hands slid up farther.

“Is this just a plot to take off my shirt?”

“It’s my shirt.”

Iwaizumi smiled wickedly.

“Not anymore.”

legs gotta bend and RUN

anonymous asked:

to straights: the reason you expressing your "straight pride" is bothersome is bc the reason the lgbt+ community has stuff like pride parades is because straight people oppressed and hurt us for just being that way (and continue to). pride is our way of saying that regardless of people like that, were proud to be who we are, and "straight pride" is just straight people wanting to be included for some reason or another. also, straight people are not oppressed IN ANY WAY so stop acting like it

anonymous asked:

ok i just saw your schneep gifset (which was a++ btw) and it got me thinking - what if this is a jekyll and hyde situation between anti and schneep?? anti keeps telling us how 'weak' jack is and today's video showed just how strong /henrik/ is when it comes to resisting anti's control-- he could be the one to save jack and the other egos!!

can i get a heck yeah for strong henrik! i mean the jekyll/hyde vibes were really strong with the video for sure. i mean this shit right here:

that part was so fucking disturbing, anti trying to break through in any way possible, trying to look for weak points and openings and making henrik hang up on the “anticoagulants” (and the way henrik’s head starts to turn and his voice fades into a whisper was super heartbreaking and creepy at the same time.)
i do believe schneeps could be the one saving the day with the help of the community, tho i hope anti hasn’t planted himself into him and was just momentarily trying to take him out.