twisting light

He was standing all alone
Trying to find the words to say
When every prayer he ever prayed
Was gone
And the dreams he’s never owned
Are still safely tucked away
Until tomorrow he just
Carries on

See the Devil in the streets at night
See him running in the pouring rain
See him grinning beneath a twisted light
I’ll be back again
See the people standing in a row
See them nodding like a field of grain
No one sees the sickle though
Coming across the plain

And this he knows if nothing more
That waiting in the dark like destiny
Are those who kissed the dogs of war
And there is no tomorrow
No tomorrow
Take a chance
Take a chance

See the Devil he is so intense
See the Devil go and change his name
What’s the going price of innocence
It can’t be the same
Is it dark when the moon is down
Is it dark with a single flame
If there’s glass falling all all around
I am not to blame

anonymous asked:

Okay, so here I am, an innocent lurker, having just found this blog, when I see: "what if the skywalkers were cthulu-type monsters." excuse me??? please elaborate you just wrote that and nothing else im dying ex p la i n y o ur s el f

  • The Force is everything that ever was and ever will be, every storm and every silence, the hunting krayk dragon and cowering bantha calf: it is huge, all-consuming, completely inhuman. How, then, could its children be anything short of monstrous? (Wonders, yes. But monsters all the same.)
  • Anakin Skywalker is boy-shaped, but Obi Wan cannot bear to look at him. 
  • A clarification: he can look at him with his human eyes; but he must clamp down the extra eyes his Force-sensitivity gives him, because when he doesn’t – well. The first time he met the boy he hadn’t closed those eyes; he’d open them, wide and curious and seen –
    • teeth and claws and roiling shadows, a slipslide of features and starfire, the white blur of warpspeed and it hurts –
  • Anakin Skywalker is the son of the Force, half human and half something extraordinary. There’s a reason the Jedi don’t like him, why Yoda mistrusts him; they all have to close their extra eyes around him; and even when they’re white-knuckled with effort, clamping down so the Force can’t so much as whisper to them (and that hurts Jedi, of course it does, it runs counter to all their training about opening up and trusting in the Force) and even then they still feel the velvet quiver of unseen limbs over their skin. 
  • And more. And worse. When he is angry – which is often – his shadow warps into something awful, and even the least Force-sensitive being quails at the profound wrongness of the sight. His features warp and melt, teeth spiralling out from his pupils, his mouth cracks open wide, his tongue growing scales and feathers and catching fire and he smiles, oh how he smiles and –
    • nothing like him should exist and
    • and you blink, lose the moment, he’s just a young man glowering at you, and his shadow is the same, but the memory of that horror is seared into the back of your brain.
  • It is no surprise that Padme dies in childbed. 
  • The first child’s cry makes Obi Wan’s bones rattle. It – you could not call it anything but an it – is a twisting, squirming mess of light and dark. There’s a wing, a thorned branch: you cannot focus on it. You cannot pin a shape to it. Obi Wan wants to run away, run and never look back. But the Med Droid is offering it to him; and it is a child, of a sort; and Obi Wan takes it, and it coalesces into a soft pink baby girl. He places it – her – against Padme’s white breast. Padme cradles it. “She’s beautiful.”
  • The second is just the same: pushed out like any human baby, but a roling mess of lightening and thick syrupy cloud, one moment tentacled and the next furred, pure power condensed. Obi Wan takes it in his arms and it solidifies into another fat baby, small and squalling. 
  • He’s not like the other babies, Luke Skywalker. He’s a funny one. When he smiles, you have the sudden absurd impulse that he’s got too many teeth for his face. His hair is corn-gold, but when you see it out of the corner of your eye you swear that it isn’t hair at all, but fire and teeth. Looking at him too long is like staring into the sun. 
  • The other children are scared of him, Behu says to Owen, once. And Owen says: children always know. And Behu says: he isn’t a bad kid. Owen says: he’s a wonder. And that’s the problem. 
  • Jabba’s goons go to the Lars farm to collect water once. Only once. They return to Jabba’s palace gibbering nonsense, with their eyes burned out. Both mumble something about there’s something wrong with the boy and then jump into the ragnar pit. 
  • Don’t do that again, says Owen, but he hugs his nephew all the same, pulls him close, kisses his temple. He feels something hot-cold run over his spine, like something far larger than the child is trying to embrace him back. That night, Behu runs her fingers over the new white scartissue on her husband’s back, and says, he’s a good kid. Owen says, I know.
  • If I was there I could have saved them, Luke says to Ben Kenobi, years later, and in that moment he has a thousand thousand eyes and all of them are burning, and he has no limbs but a dozen wings bearing him aloft, and each feather is molten gold and each feather drips blood. Ben thinks of Anakin, screws his Force-sensitivity closed. Luke is a monster. A wonder. But first and foremost he is a boy, and he is grieving. 
    • Ben Kenobi holds him while he weeps. 
  • When Leia comes, she turns into a celestial horror with more teeth than Han cares to count. “Huh,” he says, after their first time. She’s so little in his arms, but so vast. He feels something gentle his back. He says, “Next time, I’ll wear a blindfold, princess. Don’t want to blind me, do you? Then I won’t be able to see when you’re doing stupid shit.” She titters, presses her face into the curve of his neck. 
    • Love comes to everyone, including monsters. 

Abandoned Bowling Alley Turns Into An Immersive Public Art Experience 

What a time to be alive. The former Silva Lanes Bowling Alley in Santa Fe is now the “House of Eternal Return” - a trippy Victorian house built to scale inside the bowling alley by pioneering art collective, Meow Wolf.

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Sam’s Reward

SPN FanFic

~Sometimes you need to flip the tables on your man…~

Sam x Reader

1,569 Words

Warnings: NSFW. PWP. Sub!(ish) Sam Smut! (he’s tied up) Just dirty, dirty smut.

A/N: This is a drunken tag-team effort between myself and my buddy Jess @wi-deangirl77​. We were chatting and this happened. Hope you enjoy ;)

He was just a little too long for the motel bed, but you made it work. With his legs and arms spread wide, he fit just fine. His navy striped tie held his wrists high above and the cuffs you’d lifted from Dean’s duffel had his ankles bound to the foot board. Thank God for old fashioned beds…

Although he knew he couldn’t move, he still tried.  His muscles bulging and twisting, and the light sheen of sweat that began to cover his body just added to that Greek God look.

He wasn’t one to submit, ever… but it had been a long day and you’d whispered promises every chance you got. He was more than ready to see what you could do. Ready to let you take control; ready to submit and let you play out your fantasy.

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A Different Type of Divination

Request: “Hii 🤗 Could I have a reader x draco smut. Where they both are just super horny over the day, and he fucks the reader after their lessons? Thank you 💚

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader

Word Count: 1791


Originally posted by perfectfeelings

Gazing into the foggy crystal ball, you tapped your nails against the glass, your head resting in the crook of your elbow as you released a bored sigh. Waiting for class to begin, there was a murmur of voices filling the room, Professor Trelawney seemingly conversing with an invisible entity as she waited for all the students to arrive. The air was thick with laziness, this class being one that not many came to with an enthusiastic longing. Although divination interested you, you knew that it was difficult to master, and if you weren’t a master it was a useless practice. Just last lesson you had predicted a sunny week ahead, only to have the next day shrouded with dark clouds. You grinned as you saw the reflection of a blonde boy in the ball you played with, his aggravated expression falling instantly as you lifted your head to greet him.

“I foresaw your approach.” You grinned, raising a brow as you poked at the crystal orb.

“We must have the next great seer in our midst then.” He joked along, sitting with a huff. You could tell by the tightness in his face that something was eating away at him.

“I also see…” You closed your eyes, rubbing your temples mockingly. “Something’s wrong.”

Draco shuffled in his seat, a slight blush dusting the tops of his cheeks as he struggled to hold your eye.

“I uh- tried to concoct a Sleeping Draught for myself.” He pursed his lips, refusing to go on.

“And…?” You pushed, frowning at him.

“I tried it last night. I think… I didn’t do it properly. There’s been some side effects.”

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Coloured Bricks, Pick Up Sticks

Or: Anything can be a superpower if you get it hot enough. 

Wordcount: 1,900+

Genre: Weirdly and unnecessarily specific diagetic meta/comedy/drama

Characters: Midoriya Izuku, Bakugou Katsuki, Midoriya Inko

Perks: (Pseudo-)Multi-Quirk Izuku, Quirk Experimentation, Quirk Lore, Izuku’s Extremely Tenuous Grip On The Basic Concept Of What Toys Are

Experiment One: Heat Resistance Is A Superpower

Midoriya Izuku is a very warm person.

Not his personality (though that’s also true). It’s his quirk. His quirk is that he’s warm.

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Will You Stay?

Bucky x Reader

Summary: Don’t let go of him. He needs you. He wants you stay, but he doesn’t know how to say it.

Warnings: Angst, all that good shit, it’ll end with a sort of cliffhanger idk i like to call it an interpretive ending but whatever floats your boat, also the obvious language warnings and mentions of baby buck not being okay :-(

Word Count: 9.1k (i’m SORRY)

Author’s Note: so, again, thank you to my inspo tag bc I saw this quote and it’s been churning in my head for so long but I’ve never had the chance to actually sit down and write it. This literally took me a full year to write so let’s see how it goes ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Also this could possibly go into a part two if you guys want it. I have an idea for it but if people want to use their imagination to create their own ending then by all means! Anyways, feedback is more than welcome and please leave requests; I’d love to see what you guys want to read :)

Originally posted by gliceria

It’s funny how easily someone’s world can come crashing down. How easily the bright colors that once painted your world turn to an ashen gray within a few short minutes. It’s sickening that love can raise you up to the sky and show you the world and the beautiful blues and golds of the sky. It’s intoxicating how drunk you feel off of the beauty and the glory of having it all, of seeing it all. How warm you feel, how weightless and limitless, like you’re the air. Twisting and turning, light and free. Young and spirited, wild and reckless and untamed.

Poets, authors and painters convey love with the prettiest words and the lightest shades of pink and yellow and white. They romanticize the fall, the moments before the leap and how wonderful it feels when you finally do.

What they never tell you about is after the fall. 

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inspired by a mood board by @anieekkjeeex

You always woke up holding his hand, he liked the contact. That was if you’d fallen asleep on the sofa, in his bed or really anywhere. He always found your hand, he said he didn’t know how it happened, but really he always grabbed your hand before he fell asleep because it grounded him.

When he was away, he’d send you a selfie in the morning, and if he forgot, he’d send you one in the evening. You always sent one back, usually of the view outside your window. He liked those because it reminded him that you were home, safe and unharmed. He also liked seeing the progress of the bird’s nest at the end of your garden. Recently, the chicks had left the nest. Tom had named them and constantly asked you how a specific bird was doing. Like you knew which one was which!

When you did manage to go and visit him on set, he’d take you on a tour of the location, arm slung around your shoulders as he pulled you close to his side. He always spoke too quickly and gasped for breath when he remembered he needed oxygen, but his excitement was contagious and you would tug him to different places and encourage him to explain a silly anecdote he has of the place.

He would transform his hotel room on his days off, sheets hung overhead isolating the two of you from the rest of the world. You’d marathon all the movies you could think of, and would only leave your little heaven to get some pizza. It was nice for Tom, he savoured these days more than he ever told you because it was just you and him. He wasn’t Tom Holland: Spider-Man, he was just Tom. Your loving, dorky Tom.

Tom had arranged for one of your dates night for a hammock to be set up, fairy lights twisted through the branches above. It was in the corner of a filming lot, not the most romantic place, but somewhere that it was private, just the two of you. Tom always tried to keep you away from paparazzi, by your choice. You were the one who didn’t want to be in the limelight, so you asked to stay as secret as you could. You just didn’t want everyone to know of your love life, and Tom appreciated that. So he called in a few favours and got this place sorted for you. The two of you swung gently in the breeze as he ran his fingers gently through your hair. Neither of you spoke as words weren’t needed, there wasn’t any awkward silence’s, not when it was just you and Tom.

At one of the locations, there were ducks. So, of course, Tom chased them as he is a child trapped in an adult’s body. He proudly strutted back to you and held a duck close to his chest as he beamed at you. You rolled your eyes, grinning as you took a photo. You then told him to put the duck down, neither of you knew if it had fleas! Throughout the next couple of days, whenever Tom saw the duck, he grinned and pointed it out to you, waving enthusiastically at it, as if it knew he was saying hey.

But before you knew it, you had to go home. The day came too quickly, and it was a sombre day as Tom kissed your forehead as he pulled you close to his chest. For a few minutes, the two of you stood in his trailer, swaying to the imaginary music. Someone knocked on the door way too soon, saying Tom needed to go for hair and make-up. With a heavy sigh as you pulled away, looking up at Tom as you kissed his lips with all the passion you could. He gripped your waist, as if afraid you’d slip away right between his fingers. You practically had to rip yourself away from him, and it felt as if you had left half your heart with Tom as you boarded his flight. Before turning off your phone, you saw he had sent you a selfie. Him and all the crew smiling at you through the screen.

When you got back, the first thing you did was visit Tessa. You set your sunglasses on her nose, grinning as you snapped a picture before sending it to Tom. He knew you were home, knew you were with his best girl. It was only two months before you saw each other again. It’ll fly by…right?


Comic book legend Jack Kirby’s concept art for an unmade film version of my favorite science fiction novel of all time, Roger Zelazny’s Lord of Light

The twist is that the Lord of Light movie this art was created for was all a cover story, a fake movie production to allow US agents into Iran in order to rescue the hostages at the embassy. Kirby’s art was a part of this cover story. The movie Argo was based on this particularly insane chapter in CIA history. 

Shame it was just a cover story. Lord of Light is maybe the most influential novel in Jack Kirby’s post-Marvel comics output, and while Kirby may have created some memorable concepts, all of his “space god” comics lacked the creative power and humor of the Zelazny novel that inspired them. 

Only You | 4

Overview: It’s junior year and Riley’s best friend develops a crush on her first love, Lucas. Not wanting to stand in between them she lies and says she’s okay with them being together. As it turns out, Lucas has an older trouble making brother that none of his friends knew about. One that just so happens to take an interest in Riley.
Author’s Notes: In this AU, the triangle never happened and Farkle never outed Riley’s feelings. [Italics indicate flashbacks.]
Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3
Chapter Three: “Weekend.”
Word Count: 4,271

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

After lying to her parents, Riley immediately puts her attention towards her closet. Looking down at her outfit she decides it won’t work for whatever was going to happen tonight. Of course she didn’t actually have even the slightest bit of clue as to what would happen or what she and Jackson were going to get into but looking down at her floral skirt and wool top she knew she had to change.  

She rummages through her things, finally deciding on the plainest thing she has. A long sleeve black shirt and ripped jeans. Her mind is already running wild with possibilities by the time she decides what shoes to go with. In the end she opts for her converse and as she’s pulling them on she hears a tap at her window.

In the three months she’s known Jackson he’s never once climbed her fire escape or crawled through her window so instantly she freezes, thinking it’s one of her friends. She slowly turns her head and lets out a breath of relief when she sees that it is in fact Jackson, crouched down on the other side of her window with a sly smirk on his face.  

She walks over and slides it open, stepping to the side for him to come in while she looks for a jacket. Jackson looks around, not bothering to hide the amused look on his face. This was his first time in Riley’s room and it’s exactly what he thought it would be like: full of light, just like her.

“I’m guessing the ‘rents aren’t home considering you’re letting me come inside.” He coos, picking up one of her framed pictures of her and her brother from her nightstand table. Riley smiles at him, pulling on her denim jacket that’s lined with fur on the inside. “Good guess.” She teases, grabbing her house keys and phone before walking back over to her window. “Come on, Country Boy.”

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A Thief’s Creed

Request: “Can you please write an imagine for Credence based off of the song Take Me To Church by Hozier?”

Paring: Credence Barebone x Reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: Angst n implied smut

My lover’s got humour

She’s the giggle at a funeral

Knows everybody’s disapproval

I should’ve worshipped her sooner

A petty thief and a devoted child of God. On Sundays, while Mary-Lou was busy preparing for the early morning service, he’d find you sitting above on the fire escape, just a street away. You swung your leg, taking a bite of your apple while staring him down. Your eyes pierced him so intensely that at times he felt compelled to check if he was still whole; that the dark shadows he sometimes billowed into were not making him transparent in that moment. You gave a quick glance at the church and then a wry smile, followed by the clattering sound of the red ladder descending after it was given a sharp kick.

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