#mobile phones all

[holoship]

s1 phone post 😌

hotch - motorola i850

derek - motorola razr v3 (original version) + motorola i830

elle - motorola i830

jj - palm treo 650

spencer - motorola i325

gideon - palm treo 650 (in a little belt holster)

[sonichedgeblog]

Shadow Goes All-Star Tokyo-To 'Sonic & SEGA All-Stars Racing' JAVA Mobile Phones

[noodlehaku]

Recentering (& willing away your b0ner) after the most annoying boy in your class calls you lan er-gege

[ghostorbz]

A buncha invader zim stamps I found (with credits!! Awesome cool!!)

Other characters:

cupcake - tak is awesome - insane fandom - purple - red

Dib centric:

big head - squee - happy - paranormal head

Zim centric:

never lie to zim - cute - head pigeons - the bucket - mine - taco human

zadr centric:

support - space - con 1 - con 2 - zadr - hmm... - not a stamp but im obsessed with it

Other...

everything - stare... - "i love irken letters" - drop

[doyeons]

ireh — 'ping pong' @ bxx tour in seattle

[sleep-nurse]

i think discord should invest more in making an actual functional app instead of those fucking bad looking profile customisations that cost more than a burger at my school's cafeteria and that no one gives a flying fuck about

[the-lonelybarricade]

The Longest Night

A short glimpse into the lives of Rhysand and the Inner Circle on the Winter Solistice, 30 years into Rhys’s enslavement Under the Mountain.

For @officialfeysandweek Day 5: Fated

Inspired by one of my text posts from 2022

Word count: 1k

Read on AO3

-

It was the longest night of the year.

And, by any conventional standard, they had assembled the perfect Solstice dinner.

Someone had lovingly donned a woven table runner across the long dining table in the House of Wind. It's golden thread stood out starkly in the dim faelight, cutting across the dark blue fabric like streaks of lightning on a clear night. Cassian recognised the stitchwork. Its seamstress had threaded her needle through his own skin enough times, tenderly patching him up after long, brutal days in the Illyrian training camps.

His heart ached to stare at her handiwork for too long, so he averted his eyes elsewhere—to the pillars of candles, which rose among the countless platters of food, twining cinnamon and cypress with the scent of roasted meat and spices that was not overall unpleasant, just…

Unwelcome.

Not because Cassian minded the candles, or was ever one to turn away a hot meal. Particularly a spread as fine as the one before him, prepared by the best cooks in Velaris, who had dipped into the preserve of spices that were only saved for special occasions such as this.

No one could claim his discontent was the result of meager effort, or that this was a poor rendition of a Solstice Celebration.

He just couldn't summon any cheer as he snagged his fingers around the stem of his wine glass, watching the dark liquid swirl as he twisted it this way and that. It almost felt like mockery to drink wine, of all things.

Not that he would say such a thing to Mor, who was decanting the final drops of her glass into her mouth. They hadn't started dinner yet, but he couldn't blame her. Instead, Cassian wordlessly slid his glass across the table, wedging it between the fingers of Mor's rested hand, where it splayed nostalgically across the table runner.

When Mor offered him a small, grateful nod, he pushed to his feet. He needed something stronger, anyhow.

Who's idea was this, again?

As he began pouring himself a drink from the decanters at the sideboard, Cassian glanced over his shoulder. His friends were all seated at the dining table, staring mutely at their food or at their drinks. None of them were speaking.

It was a nice attempt, he thought, taking a large swallow and grunting at the heat that spread through him. He felt it burn down his chest and settle heavily in his gut—strong stuff, though he hadn't a clue what it was and didn't think anyone was in the mood to tell him.

Rhys would have known.

That thought slid in like a dagger. Lingered, as Cassian's eyes drifted unbidden to the head of the table.

A place had been set there. A knife and fork and freshly polished plate, waiting patiently beside a full glass of red wine.

But the chair was empty. Just as it had remained for the last 30 years. And no one would be coming to claim it.

For a moment, he considered dashing his drink against the prestine fucking floor and diving out the nearest window to escape this facade they were putting on, as if everything were normal. As if there was anything worth celebrating.

The only thing that subdued the impulse was the sight of Mor's trembling lip as she, too, slanted her gaze to the head of the table. And when that tremble split into a soft keening sound, it was Cassian's heart that shattered on the floor, not his drink.

"Sorry," Mor sniffed, darting her eyes to the faelight overhead as she dabbed at tears and smeared khol with the tips of her fingers. "I know we said no crying—"

"We never said that," Cassian said, sliding back into his seat.

Azriel cast an assessing eye over the admittedly generous pour Cassian was bracing in his fist, but Az reserved his commentary.

"I told myself no crying," Mor acquiesced with another sniff. "I thought 30 years would be enough time for it to not feel so… so…"

Raw, Cassian thought. Mor shrugged without concluding the thought and if anyone else mentally filled in the rest, they didn't volunteer it.

At least until they fell back into silence, and Azriel glanced towards the head of the table and rasped, "Empty."

Empty. Like Rhysand's seat, and his throne, and his bedroom.

Like the training ring in the mornings, when there was no buffer between Azriel's bouts of silence and the static in Cassian's head.

Like the bi-monthly meetings with the people of Velaris, where he watched Amren and Mor act as steward to their people's hardships and concerns, which grew more pressing each year.

Like the market squares in the city center, which were once flush with traders and merchants who were now blocked from entering or exiting the city, stranding them all in this crowded, isolated place.

Or like every aching moment over the last 30 years where Cassian glanced over his shoulder after making some smart comment, expecting to see the smug, if not exasperated, smile of his friend. His brother.

And finding nothing. A ghost of a memory, at most.

Yeah, empty was a good word for it.

-

It was the longest night of the year.

Not that Rhys would know. He spent it inside, between Amarantha's legs. Hardly given a moment to consider the time of year, or how his friends might be celebrating without him.

Amarantha told him, of course. She wanted him to know what she was taking away from him, even as he pretended that he didn't care. What interest did a Dark Lord have in petty little festivities?

Rhys didn't usually invite thoughts of his friends into Amarantha's bedroom—for his own sake, he tried to keep those parts of his life firmly compartmentalized.

But he did take a moment to send a plea to the stars he couldn't see: that his friends were okay, that they could forgive him, that they were happy.

And if the stars could offer leniency to a male who hadn't gazed upon them in years, if they had the capacity to perceive his actions with pity instead of scorn, then he saved a risidual wish for himself:

That this eternal Hell would end before he found a way to end it himself.

-

It was the longest night of year.

Unbeknownst to all of them, across Prythian, in the Mortal Realm, a human girl was born.

As if the stars had listened.

[veeveepower]

do dragon type trainers just know eachother by default or

[perrigoaway]

So have you ever heard of cookie run Kingdom cause there are these 2 cookies a defensive attorney and prosecutor and I'm wondering what you think or draw? What would happen if these cookies met phenox and miles Edgeworth

I have zero knowledge about this game, but I imagine it might be something Maya might play LOL

[ashtcnirwin]

we lose the chase for nothing

[bumblebeebats]

How come almost every rechargeable device in the world has a lithium battery which will one day, at the end of its life, swell up into a ticking time-bomb full of fire and toxic gas, and yet whenever this happens and I phone up my local council waste management department/recycling center/fire safety advice hotline like "Hi, i have a bomb, who do i give it to" they're all like

[sonichedgeblog]

Slimed Seaside Hill 'Sonic & SEGA All-Stars Racing' JAVA Mobile Phones Support us on Patreon

[blackkatdraws]

Love Plague AU Narrator (Black) draw in Magma.

[futurequibblerjournalist]

narcissa lucretia black < 3

it’s not your fault your bows were so cunty your husband had to steal them

[beloved-daydreams]

I read chapter 1 of The Prisoner's Throne yesterday and LISTEN I will NEVER get over the fact that Oak was/is canonically an anime kid. Even paragraphs later when he was all like "I'm horribleeee I'm a manipulatorrr" I just couldn't take him as seriously anymore. Like baby, you probably watched naruto or demon slayer or some shit, you're not evil.

I can never see Oak as a genuine threat anymore I'm so sorry, everytime he'll kill someone I'll keep thinking "this dude watches my hero academia"

[sage-nebula]

SLINGER SAYING "PEW PEW" AND SMITHY LAUGHING EVERY TIME . . . CRIES