#my brain won't let it go

[painted-bees]

Tumblr, I love you so much. Thank you for being good and usable again 🙏

[antisocialcactusfriend]

On Acho's stream a couple weeks ago, a few people in chat were joking calling p!Acho "Acho Kenway" and I have not stopped thinking about it, it makes me want that to be his canon name

[hansoeii]

crowley!

[hdawg1995]

man can you imagine if digimon existed in the fnaf universe?

[casual--scare]

He is so silly I can't stop drawing him

[winkle-pickers]

Inspired by this post, a really good discussion about it, and reassurance that life doesn't end after your twenties - quite the opposite in fact. Happy 43rd birthday Kaiba <3

[spookythesillyfella]

GET OUT OF MY HEAD . GET OUT OF MY HEAD . GET OUT OF MY HEAD . GET OUT OF MY HEAD . GET OUT O

★ [ original image under cut]

[sleepinglionhearts]

Kana may, in fact, be named Kana because it is a simple name but also I know where I started, I'm borrowing that name with great respect u___u

[piratekane]

(post-3x05 kacy scene)

Warm fingertips press down against the thin skin on the inside of her wrist, a melody she knows that she knows but can’t quite place in the early grey of the morning, the sun rising, muted, through the low clouds outside the window. She was asleep a minute ago and there’s a dream quickly fading away as her eyes open slowly and the room shifts into focus.

“Morning,” Kate whispers, still sunken in her pillow.

“G’morning.” Lucy pulls the words from the back of her throat like she’s pulling cotton from a cattail. “Time s’it?”

Kate doesn’t roll over to check her phone. “Early,” she guesses. “Too early for our day off.”

A day off. A present for her jungle excursion, courtesy of Tennant. A whole day to let her body come down from the high of being chased through thick vegetation with a life hanging delicately in her hands. Lucy lets her eyes close again and sinks back into her pillow. She goes back to focusing on Kate’s fingers looped carefully around the wrist between them. Tap, tap, taptap. Tap, tap. A song, then. One that she knows but can’t quite place.

“Is that Boot Scootin Boogie?”

Kate exhales a short laugh. “Taylor Swift.”

“Who else would it be?” Lucy feels the bed shift as Kate slides a little closer. She can feel the soft heat coming off Kate’s bare arms and wants to reach for it, pull it back over her, close her eyes and slip back into sleep for just a little bit longer.

It was a long day yesterday, her nerves pulled to their breaking point. When she stepped over the threshold to their apartment, the weight she had been working so hard to push off came crashing down on her. She doesn’t remember tasting the pizza Kate ordered, doesn’t remember picking Love is Blind on the TV or queuing up where they left off. She doesn’t remember brushing her teeth or turning out the light.

She does remember Kate’s body warm behind her on the couch, her own body pressed to Kate’s front as they sat wrapped up in each other. She remembers Kate’s arms and how they wrapped low around her waist in bed and held her tightly. She remembers soft lips to her bare shoulder and I love you against her skin as she let the exhaustion take over.

She remembers the Kate of it all, the steady and warm and loving presence she’s come to need like oxygen in her lungs. She remembers the overwhelming feeling of love—one she thought she’d never find in a million years.

“I could sleep another hundred hours,” she admits, eyes still closed.

She feels Kate’s smile against the back of her hand. “You can. We have nothing planned today.”

The thought is so tempting. She could pull Kate’s arms around her, drape them over her like the light comforter they’re sharing, and let herself sink back into sleep. It’s not too far off; she could reach for it and be asleep in moments.

But Kate is awake and tapping out a Taylor Swift song against her pulse point and that usually means banana pancakes and a Golden Girls marathon and pressing Kate against the counter edge and kissing her until either their lungs start to burn or the pancakes start to smoke. Lucy loves those mornings and the way Kate tastes like the bites of bananas she snuck before mixing them into the batter.

“Did I dream yesterday?”

“Only if we were having the same nightmare.” Kate’s free hand pushes back some of Lucy’s hair. “Otherwise, it was real.”

Lucy slides her foot forward, curling her ankle around Kate’s calf. “I thought so.” She opens one eye, studying Kate’s profile. She’s committed it to memory by now. “I feel like a truck ran me over.”

“It did,” Kate murmurs. “That very much happened.”

Lucy sighs. Yesterday wasn’t a dream. She can see it vividly in her mind and she closes her eyes against it again, trying to fill it with Kate—Kate so close and so warm.

“I’m not ready to talk yet,” she admits. She isn’t. She can’t. She’s still working through her family in her own mind; she can’t possibly put into words what they’re like and what they’ve done to her and to each other.

“We don’t have to talk.” Kate’s voice is soft and genuine and Lucy thinks again—again and again—how lucky she is. “We can just lay here. We don’t have to do anything at all.”

Lucy knows Kate isn’t lying. She knows Kate won’t push and she won’t prod and she’ll let Lucy set the pace for when and where and how. And it sounds perfect—a whole day in bed with Kate and their bodies pressed close together, hidden away from the world.

But someone told her to live her life yesterday. Someone who had the courage to throw theirs to the wind and start over from scratch. Someone who proved that there are still good people in the world who want to do what’s right for the sake of doing the right thing. And even if she can’t talk about it yet, even if she’s not ready to unlock the ugly parts of her past and lay them out on the table, she’s not going to lay in bed all day and let the world just pass her by.

“No.” She opens both eyes, staring deeply into Kate’s brown ones. “Let’s get up. We can make pancakes.”

“Banana or blueberry?”

“Both,” she says, feeling greedy and not caring. “And bacon. And toast. And—“

Kate laughs. “Okay. Remember we can only eat so much.”

“I can eat so much. I’m from—“

“Texas, yes.” Kate laughs again and leans in, kissing Lucy softly and pulling away too soon.

Lucy thinks about chasing her, pressing her deep into the mattress and not stopping until she has to come up for air. But she settles on letting Kate pull away and slide out of bed, pulling her hair up into a ponytail that exposes the long line of her neck. In her thin tank top and her soft shorts, no one has ever looked more beautiful than Kate does right now.

Lucy may be holding some things back, may be keeping some things close to the vest, but this? This she wants to scream from the rooftops. This she wants everyone to know. This she wants to tell Kate.

“I love you.”

Kate looks back over her shoulder, a smile on her face that threatens to break through the grey clouds outside their window. “I love you too.”

Live your life, Lucy Tara.

Lucy smiles as she gets up and stretches her arms above her head, feeling the tension break in her shoulders. She is going to live her life. She’s going to take every moment and hold it tightly in her hands. She’s going to love Kate with every part of her that’s capable of it and when she’s ready she’ll tell Kate everything she wants to know.

“Lucy?”

Lucy looks up. “Hmm?”

“I said, we can make toast too. If you want.”

She thinks about it for a moment before she smiles. “Life is too short to skip the toast.”

Kate rolls her eyes, pulling the sheet back up on the bed. “Where did you read that?”

“That’s a Lucy Tara quote, free of charge.” She winks when Kate laughs and scrubs her hair back off her neck into a bun. “There’s more where those came from, by the way.”

“Lucky me,” Kate grumbles, still smiling.

“Yeah,” Lucy says softly. “Lucky you.” She holds Kate’s eyes for a moment. “Lucky us.”

Kate’s smile slips into shy before she clears her throat and gives the neatly-made bed one last pat. “Lucky us,” she echoes. She slips out of the bedroom and heads towards the kitchen, humming something under her breath.

Lucy watches her walk away and thinks: this is a good life. This is a life worth living.

She follows Kate.

[otome-obsessions]

Therapist: Long-haired Sylus isn't real. He can't make you down bad.

Long-haired Sylus:

My therapist was right. I'm not downbad.

I'm down feral.

I'm down catacylsmic.

I'm down heat-death-of-the-universe.

WHY THE HELL CAN HE GET HOTTER?! THIS ISN'T FAIR!

[schmweed]

[delta-orionis]

People tend to get Very Upset upon learning that a lot of things in space don't look the way they do in photos (most nebulae viewed through a telescope appear gray or pale green, for example). I think it's important to emphasize that the objects in photos are being captured by cameras, not human eyes, which perceive light in a very different way.

Many telescopes (like JWST) capture light invisible to human eyes, so colors in the visible spectrum are assigned to the image so that it can be perceptible to humans. Pictures of things like nebulae and galaxies also tend to have extremely long exposures (they can range from minutes to hours to even days), while the human eye has an exposure time of less than a fraction of a second, and thus perceives color differently.

Re: Neptune not being as blue as we originally thought, those iconic pictures of Neptune and Uranus were taken more than 30 years ago by Voyager 2- no other flybys have occurred since. Those photos were processed three decades ago using three-decade-old techniques, so of course processing them with more modern techniques would end up being more accurate. If (and when) spacecraft with more modern equipment get close enough to take new pictures, they will probably be closer to true color. (source) (source)

I personally think the revelation that Neptune and Uranus are very similar in color is kind of nice. They're already about the same size, and they tend to get thought of like twins. Uranus also gets a lot of flack because its name sounds funny in English (and most people mispronounce it anyways). I'm anthropomorphizing them, I know, but people tend to view them as more boring than the other planets and that makes me sad. They don't deserve the hate.

TLDR: If perceived by the human eye from close up, many things in space would look very boring. I think it's nice that telescopes help us see things that we wouldn't be able to otherwise. Ramble over, lol

[shays-shack]

Chapter 325 ruined my life dawg I can't stop drawing them

[grandpappys-chinstrap]

John Kramer never wanted Mark Hoffman as a convert. Mark is and was always meant to be a tool for John to use. Since Mark's game of Russian roulette that did not require a true "offering," such as murder or pain which for John was an manifistation of the individuals will to live, Mark's identity as a convert is at best loosely based upon John's need for physical strength and more hands to create the great gears of his games. This distinct difference in Mark's game and therefor conversion story and apprenticeship creates a deep divide between his role and the role of both Amanda Young and Lawrence Gordon.

In this essay...

[kazuaru]

Since i updated my main oc's i thought i should updated nathans big sis (sofia)

[solar-pxwered]

Is this intentional or just a coincidence???