quietly home


The difference in intimidation between these two is staggering.

#srsly tho the set up and dialogue and tension in these scenes are FANTASTIC #THIS small moment alone is gr9 #Tarkin barely budges as krennic is stomping towards him in fury #while krennic almost turns into a shuffling flustered mess of a boy as tarkin just casually strides towards him #tarkin has faced actual monsters head on in his youth #this boy is nothing

Jewish Holidays in one sentence

Rosh HaShannah - Happy new year, now eat this apple with honey.

Yom Kippur - Sit quietly at home and contemplate your mistakes

Sukkot - Build weird huts and buy weird lemons.

Hannukah - Lights and oily food.

Tu BiShvat - Eat dried fruits and fight deforestation.

Purim - We avoided a genocide, go put on a costume.

Passover - We kinda avoided a genocide, stop eating bread for a week.

Lag BaOmer - Celebrate this failed rebellion with bonfires.

Shavuot - Dairy foods and Moses.

Tish’a BiAv - Romans fucking suck.

Tu BiAv - Jewish Valentine’s Day

It’s fun to poke slime and play with glitter and mix paint, but here’s a shoutout to the people whose stims aren’t considered trendy, cute and socially acceptable.

Here’s to the autistic people, the people with adhd, the people with schizophrenia, the people with sensory processing disorder.

Here’s to the people who flap and rock and spin and bounce and chew and make sounds.

Here’s to the people who don’t just stim quietly at home - here’s to the people who stim so much and so publicly that they are visibly disabled/neurodivergent.

Here’s to the people for whom stimming isn’t a trend or choice, Here’s to the people who have to stim to regulate their sensory processing, or to express themselves, or to feel good. 

Here’s to the people who attract weird looks and mean comments for the way they move and express themselves by the very same people who run stimmy aesthetic blogs with slime and pretty pastels.

Your stimming is healthy and beautiful and you should never be shamed for it. 

{ five’s company // ch. 13 }

a/n: continue yelling at me

t/w: none. just a lot of yelling tbh

inbox || masterlist 


As you got into your car, the rain started to fall. It was heavy on your windshield, was relentless as you drove. You wanted to enjoy it, but it made you sad. 

You drove a little slower, always afraid that your wheels would be too wet from the rain and cause you to spin out. You robotically turned your signal on, looked through your mirrors, and turned down your street. Ignored the voice that wished you’d get into a car accident.

You hoped the boys weren’t home. You quietly prayed to God above that for once they’d be out of the house and away from you. Lately, you’d just felt so ashamed when you were around them. If they knew what you had done, you feared they’d never want you–or at least not like they wanted you before. 

You knew their love for you was based on more than just your physical features, but knowing that you were tainted almost made you sick. Having a daily conversation with the boys suddenly became a chore. There were times when you couldn’t sleep, afraid something or someone would come and hurt you. 

You just wanted to take another long shower, crawl under the covers, and hope for a better day tomorrow. 

You unlocked the door with a heavy sigh once you made it home. You pushed it open. Peeked through.

You felt everything crash down on you at once. 

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headcanon: m’gann is the reason the alien bar is flourishing again. they opened again soon after the attack but the community was too fractured, people too scared. then m’gann returns. she doesn’t give some grand, inspiring speech about survival, but she’s kind, and she’s genuine, and she listens. she knows all the regulars, knew all the victims, and she’s always there with a smile and an ear for anyone that needs it. word starts to get around that she’s back and more of the regulars start to return. it’s not that she can protect them, really, but they just feel safer with her around. and with her presence, with her quiet steadiness and steal, the place starts to feel a little bit more like home again. quietly, she organises little events: a memorial to give the survivors the space to grieve and remember, happy hours to encourage people to return, darts and pool nights to start repairing and rebuilding their community. slowly, always from behind the scenes, she coaxes their little bar, their community, back to life.

Black Coffee and Bad Pickup Lines; Chapter 4

Chapter 4: To Dance With The Water

At least four times a week after work (if not more than that), Moana takes the time to visit her grandmother. A twenty minute drive from the town, for most of which was on a dirt road through possibly jungle terrain (thank the gods she drove a slightly beat up truck) towards the coast, lead her to a small, secluded beachfront hut.

Moana pulled up beside her grandmother’s home and quietly got out of her car. She could see her Gramma Tala dancing by the waves, a good fifteen feet away. The older woman turned her head quickly to find her granddaughter walking leisurely towards her and grinned wildly. She turned back to the water, beckoning Moana closer as she continued her dance.

“Hey Gramma,” Moana smiled as she joined her grandmother’s hula.

“Hello, my darling girl. How have you been?”

“Eh, work is okay I guess,” I’m also kinda-sorta falling increasingly hard for an increasingly beautiful barista who continuously writes increasingly endearing pick up lines on my coffee cups- which I’ve been collecting in my apartment, no big deal.

“Really? No big story?” Tala raised an eyebrow suspiciously.

“Why’re you acting weird?” Moana laughed awkwardly as her Grandma grinned knowingly.

“Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“Wha-I- Gramma! Would I lie to you?” Moana tried (and failed) to keep the discomfort out of her voice, trying (and failing) to focus more on the wide stretch of blue in front of her. The water hugged her ankles, almost like a greeting. Tala shrugged.

“You seem… brighter. Radiant, even. You’re not pregnant, are you?” She joked, elbowing her granddaughter in the ribs. Moana laughed again before the two women fell into a comfortable silence as they danced by the ocean.

A/N: Hey strangers! Long time no see, huh? I know, I know, this chapter is pathetically short, but I just wanted to churn something out quickly for you guys. Sorry about my absence over the last few weeks, today was the last of a period of constant mock exams I’ve been doing at school, so most of my free time had been taken up by revision. HOWEVER, I hope you liked the tiny exchange we see between Moana and Tala!

  • *in the lab*
  • Sherlock: *sitting at the microscope*
  • Pathologist: *watching Molly*
  • Pathologist: *nudges Sherlock; whispering* Wow, she's really cute...isn't she?
  • Sherlock: *working* Mmm *frowns* Who?
  • Pathologist: *nods at Molly* Doctor Holmes.
  • Sherlock: *smiles* Ahh.
  • Pathologist: *nonchalant* Do you know if she's single?
  • Sherlock: Ummm...
  • Pathologist: *ogling Molly's arse; distracted* Do you know or not?
  • Sherlock: I don't think you should waste your time *sees Molly moving closer* She's far too beautiful for you.
  • Pathologist: ...
  • Molly: *ruffles Sherlock's hair as she passes* Someone wants sex tonight.
  • Sherlock: *to her colleague; smug* I'm someone *shows his wedding ring* Sherlock Holmes, the husband.
  • Pathologist: ...
  • Pathologist: *flees*
  • Molly: *confused* What was that about?
  • Sherlock: *quickly* No idea. Lunch? *holds out his hand*
  • Molly: *holds his hand, grinning* Starving. But then, I am eating for two.
Eternal: Part 1.5 (M)

Genre: Vampire!AU series with the whole package of eventual fluff, angst and smut!

Summary: Short smutty scenario where Jimin strokes himself thinking of making love to you in the shower.

Word Count: 1179

Written by: Admin Smuttyfairy

Parts: Prologue (M) | Part 1 (M) | Part 1.5 (M) |

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viktornykyforov  asked:

What about like Victor going out to eat with Yuuri and yuuri just teases him all night, touching him under the table and whispering to him how much he wants to fuck him when noones looking, and then pretending nothing happened when victor begs yuuri quietly to go home, asking victor why he's so desperate all of a sudden while running his fingers over victors inseam, and it just drives victor that much more crazy, not only will yuuri not just fuck him but he wont even acknowledge that he's (1/2)

teasing him, so victor suffers through the whole dinner and ride home without yuuri even giving any indication that he knows anything. victor is just about to give up and resign himself to being teased all night when they walk in the door and yuuri pushes him to his knees and makes him beg, but finally gives it to him like he’s wanted all night (2/2)

god, i don’t even have anything to add to this, it’s perfect 😭

It has so quickly become acceptable practice within mainstream web publishing companies to reuse people’s tweets as the substance of an article that special tools have sprung up to help them do so. But inside these newsrooms, there is no apparent debate over whether it’s any different to embed a tweet from the President of the United States or from a vulnerable young activist who might not have anticipated her words being attached to her real identity, where she can be targeted by anonymous harassers.

What if the public speech on Facebook and Twitter is more akin to a conversation happening between two people at a restaurant? Or two people speaking quietly at home, albeit near a window that happens to be open to the street? And if more than a billion people are active on various social networking applications each week, are we saying that there are now a billion public figures? When did we agree to let media redefine everyone who uses social networks as fair game, with no recourse and no framework for consent?

Public is not simply defined. Public is not just what can be viewed by others, but a fragile set of social conventions about what behaviors are acceptable and appropriate. There are people determined to profit from expanding and redefining what’s public, working to treat nearly everything we say or do as a public work they can exploit. They may succeed before we even put up a fight.


What Is Public? - Anil Dash

This is very very very important writing by @anil

Gone To War

Pairing: Alexander Hamilton x reader

Words: 434

Warnings: none

Request: Requested by anonymous: 227 with either Hamilton, Jefferson or Lafayette it’s your call. Thank you

Prompts: “Look, I don’t have much time, but I wanted to say I love you.”

A/N: Ok so my birthday is in 4 days on the 13th so that whole day I’ll be inactive because I’ll be with friends but I’ll try to maybe queue something? I should start queuing things honestly, to keep my posting regular or something idk.

You sat in a small chair in your home, quietly reading a book. You had borrowed it from Alexander’s library, since he was one of the few people who accepted you reading as a girl.

You heard the door to your home open from the next room, causing you to look up. You carefully set the book down on the table, walking to the door. You froze when you saw Alexander there, in a uniform for the revolution.

“Y/N, there you are!” You nodded slowly, not taking your eyes off his outfit.

“Alexander.” You breathed.

“Look, I don’t have much time, but I wanted to say I love you.” You were speechless. Alexander showed up at your door, about to fight in a war, and now he’s confessed to you? You were convinced this was a dream.


“Oh, sorry.” You apologized quickly.

“Well, I guess I should go.” Your eyes widened when you realized what was happening.

“Wait!” You jumped forward, grabbing his sleeve. “Don’t… Don’t leave yet.” You sighed, staring at him.

“Y/N…” Alexander stepped closer to you.

“I love you.” You whispered, not daring to look him in the eye. You knew that he would be leaving for war soon, but you couldn’t lose him yet.

“I have to go to war, but I’ll write to you.” Before you could protest, he was already out the door. You watched through the window as he disappeared down the road.

As promised, Alexander wrote to you as often as he could, and he only got more persistent when you wrote back.

You saved all the letters he wrote, keeping them in a drawer in your dresser.

Eventually, the day came.

Alexander was coming home.

You waited with bated breath for him to arrive at your door. You almost lost courage as the clock stuck midnight, but a sharp knock rejuvenated your hopes.

“Alexander!” You opened the door, happily greeting the man. “I was worried you wouldn’t come home.” You murmured, hugging Alexander.

“I’ll always come home for you, my love.” He whispered, returning the hug.