youre all right

Secondhand smoke kills, but not as fast as firsthand hammer. 

How Dan and Phil probably broke up #34
  • <p> <b><p></b> <b>Dan:</b> do you wanna make out?<p/><b>Phil:</b> sure-<p/><b>Dan:</b> cornflakes<p/></p><p/></p>

“Eyelashes” - Digital Oil Painting

Extreme closeup of Sebastian Stan to showcase those completely unfair eyelashes. I wanted him to look soft and kissable, but it wasn’t difficult, because he very much IS. The funky lighting was just a bonus, LOL.

If you enjoy my art, please consider subscribing to my Patreon! I am saving to buy a wheelchair lift.

anonymous asked:

Bucky, have you ever seen a ghost? Have you ever fought a ghost?

does steve count? he was dead. he has a tendency to–well, not walk, but run through walls. 

although by the same standard im a ghost too. 

which would make every fight steve and i have a ghost battle. thats kinda awesome

Lord Zash: Here is my old lightsaber, a gift for you for your success.

Darth Baras: You want a lightsaber, apprentice? Go rip it off a corpse cause you’re not getting anything from me.

[lmaooooo so i stumbled across this blog two days ago and immediately fell in love. I may have accidentally contradicted established canon in here b/c i haven’t read everything and i really wanted to join in, so i really hope i’m doing this right.]


You think it was, perhaps, a bad idea to name yourself after your characters. You think it was, in fact, a bad idea to go to Elsewhere at all. It wasn’t even the university you wanted to go to; you had wanted somewhere close to home, where you could maybe visit on weekends and call up your mom whenever you managed to fail at doing adult things like laundry, as you knew would inevitably happen.

And yet…when you found Elsewhere University, it was in your state. It was not thirty minutes’ drive from home. And it was intriguing. You still probably wouldn’t have gone, would have chosen the college you’d been dead-set on for two years, would have slipped the net and been normal

Except you saw one of Them. You saw a flash out of the corner of your eye, and you didn’t know the rules, so you spun to do a doubletake, and you saw it, saw Them.

You aren’t sure what happened after that–it gets a bit blurry–but the next thing you knew you were sitting at orientation, your things already in a dorm guarded by salt and an iron horseshoe.

You have been told you’re one of the lucky ones.

You major in animation. Or you had wanted to. The memories of your classes don’t stay in your mind all that well, but you manage to churn out the same A-to-B grades you had produced in high school. You aren’t sure how you’re doing it.

You try to follow the rules. You try to remember. You have seen the consequences. For once, instead of trying to stuff everything into your head and hoping your shit brain won’t forget something, you write them down in a notebook that never leaves your backpack.

This is probably a bad idea. It may even be a disastrous one, but if it is, you haven’t heard the rule that warns away from it, and you are scared enough as it is that you, with your autism, might miss a social cue or be unable to pick up an unspoken rule and end up offending the Gentry anyways.

You once read a tumblr post that said changlings were the explanation people came up with to explain kids with autism in the far distant past. Obviously, this is not completely true, because the Fair Folk are real and real changlings are too, but you take some measure of comfort in that post and pray your own autism will endear you to the Gentry instead of offending Them.

But the real problem is, you became an animator (or wanted to, at least) because you are a creator. You invent things, weave worlds, and when you came to Elsewhere University you came already carrying a large, elaborate tapestry of a world, filled with magic and a fey that had its own internal systems, thought out, explained in depth, and with the sketches and maps to go with it, formed over four, five years of loving care and writing and drawing.

You have your own magic, and your own fey, and they do not mesh well (they barely mesh at all) with that of Elsewhere. Nobody knows about this, and you have put your world to the side, because everything in you screams DANGER at having something like this around the Gentry. You keep all you have of it in your closet, and you salt the edges of the closet plus a circle around the bag you keep it in, then scatter iron nails inside the circle. That world is precious to you, and you will take no chances with it.

So it was probably a stupid idea to name yourself after one of the characters in it.

That isn’t even the only problem, or necessarily the true problem. The true problem is you put yourself into the characters you create, and this makes that name almost as dangerous as a True Name after you get used to it.

You didn’t realize this until you looked into the mirror, and your hair was several shades lighter than it should be. You were able to puzzle out the problem, fortunately, and in a spasm of panic you switched your alias to a different character before it got too far and you became your character.

Except, because you’re a moron, you switched it to a character just as close to you.

This carried on for a while, and your eyes got bluer, and then your skin got darker, and then you got taller, until finally, in desperation, you ran a name generator until you found something with no association to your characters, but still felt nice as a name. Not too nice, of course.

By then, though, you didn’t look much like yourself anymore. You curse your idiocy, but the only way you can think of getting your original appearance back is to use your real name, or else the name you used on the internet. You aren’t that stupid. And it’s nice, sometimes, the way you look now.

You really, really hope the name you generated doesn’t end up being a True Name for this other you.

You are learning the true dangers of being a writer, artist, creator, in Elsewhere University. You are far too close to your stories. And if you write yourself into them, you worry that story will become Truth.

The Gentry are like that, you’re fairly certain.

So you watch your words and make sure your characters don’t resemble anybody (or anything) too closely when you sketch them idly in class, and when you write, you do it inside a circle of salt. It isn’t exactly comfortable, but you need your words, your art, your stories.

You do not know if you are doing this right.

You really, really, really hope you are.