Some cosplay I saw at AnimeNEXT. This was my first time at any sort of convention, so it was definitely a learning experience. I have wanted to cosplay for years, and I’m still a bit apprehensive, but seeing these folks express themselves thusly was really cool.
If you know any of these cosplayers, tag them; their outfits were amazing.
In October 1975, Ted Bundy mailed a letter to Richard W. Larsen, Seattle Times political writer, asking him to publish it :
I address this letter to my many friends and acquaintances who have offered their prayers, concern and support on my behalf. When time permits, I shall do my best to reply personally to each of you. You are truly beautiful people. Your encouragement is the light at the end of the tunnel.
I think of you constantly. I think of our beautiful state and the incomparable loveliness of our Seattle. The breathtaking vistas, which are for you a part of your daily life, are, for me, mind-woven tapestries which color they grey walls. I envy you.
The law is a curious animal. To a law student it becomes highly abstract and impersonal. To a defendant, in my position, it offers incredibly new perspective. The excesses of the system are slight in comparison to the protections it affords each of us, defendant or not. I have great confidence in its ultimate product: Justice.
request: can you write a jughead x fem!reader where she’s from out of state for the summer visiting archie (maybe they’re cousins or something) and archie introduces her to jug, and she ends up telling him these stories about her home and whatnot so she’s just waving her hands around and there’s like pure happiness on her face and it just makes jug smile and when she leaves later in the summer they both get sad and she says “thanks for a great summer, jughead,” and it’s bittersweet? thanks, i love you!!!
a/n: I love you too!! and I also kind of changed this a little. I just didn’t realise it, my fingers kept typing whatever they wanted to.
But not in the way you would think. I am jealous of the sheets on your bed that entangle themselves with you each night; the glass that feels the kiss of your lips in the morning; the morning light that illuminates your face, making it glow; the doorknob that feels the grasp of your hand every time you enter a room. I envy the walls that resonate the sound of your voice; the seat that feels the warmth of your body; the brush that runs itself through the locks of your hair; the air you breathe that gives you life. I am jealous of the things that experience what I cannot with you. That should be me wrapped up in your arms at night, kissing you in the morning, holding your hand until the break of dawn. I wish to hear your loving whispers and earnest laughs, feeling the heat of your proximity to mine as I comb my fingers through your tussled hair. I hope to be what breathes life into you, giving you a reason to see the beginning and end of each day.
I often find myself just staring at you. Sometimes you catch me, but there are many times when you are asleep where I just look at how peaceful you are. I watched you sleep for an entire night on a few occasions. Watching you toss and turn, and wake up coughing. I watched you turn your back to me and I envied the wall you turned to face, because I wish that even in the dead of sleep you would want to face me.
I wish you believed me when I tell you how beautiful you are
Robin Locksley is not, by nature, a morning person. There was a time, years ago, when he was still married, that he would have been up with the sun - or up with the son, rather, as Roland has never been a late sleeper. He takes after his mother that way. But years of living without a child, of teaching 11:30 classes - or even better, 2:30 classes - have left him lazy. What temporary insanity led to him agreeing to teach not one, but two early morning courses this semester, he will never know.
I don’t get jealous,” I said before I met you.
Now, I am jealous. Of the landscapes you take pictures of. Do they know how lucky they are to have your attention?
I envy the walls you lean against when you’re too tired to stand, and the car keys you bring on your adventures, and the necklace that rests against your collarbone and warms to your skin.
I am jealous of the girl who studies your eyes as they change colors, without having to hide her gaze.
I ache to be your late-night craving, your early-morning thought.
I burn when you gift her with the smile I can’t stop writing about.
“I never got jealous,” I say.
“Not until I found something to be jealous for.