In South America, After Cas Says "I Love You", Dean Says "and I You, Cas".

"You smoke?"

Tommy looked over at Schlatt. He was shaking a cigarette out of a pack and into his hand. Where he'd gotten it, Tommy didn't know. It was the afterlife; he didn't expect drugs to be in the afterlife.

"Fuckin'... no, I don't smoke," He huffed back, "What do you fuckin'..."

Schlatt shrugged, brought the cigarette to his lips, produced a lighter, and lit up. "Your loss."

Wilbur had warned Tommy that occasionally they'd fade in and out. The afterlife wasn't a concrete plane to be in, he'd said, so Tommy should prepare for him to pop in and out occasionally.

Tommy had thought he was ready. He was not.

He'd clung to the man ever since he'd died. He was the only person he had left who cared. At least, the only person he had left who cared and he could still talk to. And even if Wilbur was only going to be gone for a little bit (though time worked so strangely here, who really knew?), Tommy wasn't ready for that separation.

And he sure as hell wasn't ready to be left alone with Jschlatt.

He didn't like kids, that much was obvious. Or anyone, really.

Apparently he and Wilbur had talked quite a bit before Tommy's arrival, which Tommy couldn't blame him for; Wilbur had to talk to somebody, and until now the afterlife didn't have any options except for the previous tyrant. But the moment Schlatt had seen Tommy, palpable disgust had formed on his face and he had fled the scene.

That was fine by Tommy. He didn't like Tommy, and Tommy didn't like him.

But now that Wilbur was gone for a while, being around Schlatt was better than being alone.

Schlatt coughed after a drag. Tommy eyed him uneasily.

Schlatt didn't have scars, Tommy was noticing. Wilbur did. He had a big ugly one in his chest from where Phil had stabbed him, gaping and hard to ignore. Schlatt, having not died to something so physical, had no such thing. But his eyes looked vacant, tired, and bloodshot, and drool seemed to constantly drip down his chin. Disgusting motherfucker, Tommy thought.

It did get him thinking, though. He hadn't seen himself once since his death. When he'd asked Wilbur about his gash, Wilbur had confessed that all the injuries they'd received subsequent to their death would probably remain and hurt forever. Tommy himself had aches all over his body; Dream had done a number on him. He was left with a head that pounded almost constantly and a body that throbbed with every movement.

He wondered how he looked.

He cleared his throat and called, "Oi, bitch."

Schlatt looked to him, unimpressed. "Hm?"

"Ey, uh... so we're all a bit ghost-y now, yeah?"

"Sure."

"You gots your little... red... devil horns, 'n Wilbur's got his scar..." Tommy crossed his arms, "... What do I look like?"

Schlatt took pause, pulling the cigarette from his mouth. His lips fell to a frown as he scanned Tommy up and down, his eyes filling up with something that was almost, almost pity. Tommy's stomach sank; that didn't bode well.

Schlatt tore his eyes away from him and shook his head, gaze cast down.

Tommy swallowed nervously. "Well?"

The only thing Schlatt said after a long pause was, "Stay away from mirrors, kid."

To all my freshman babies who are panicking right now about how much your college textbooks cost: Yeah, you’re right, that’s some highway robbery. No, you don’t have to lie down and take it. You have options. Follow my advice and fly on your own debt free wings.

1. Forgoe the bookstore entirely. Sometimes you can get a good deal on something, usually a rental, but it’s usually going to be considerably more expensive to go through official channels. Outsmart them, babies.

2. Does your syllabus call for edition eight? Get edition seven. Old editions are considered worthless in the buyback trades, so they sell for dirt cheap, no matter how new they are. It’s a gamble, sure; there might be something in edition eight you desperately need, but that never happened to me. However, I’ve only ever pulled this stunt for literature/mass comm/religious studies books, so I don’t know it would work in the sciences.

3. Thriftbooks.com, especially for nonfiction and fiction. Books are usually four or five dollars unless they’re really new, and shipping is 99 cents unless you buy over 10$ in books, in which case shipping is free. 

4. Bigwords.com. It will scan every textbook seller on the internet for the lowest price available, and will do the same to find the highest price when you try to sell your books back at the end of term. Timesaver, lifesaver.

5. In all probability, your library offers a service called interlibrary loan which is included in your tuition. This means if your library doesn’t carry a book you can order it for free from any library nationwide in your library’s network and it will be shipped to you in a number of days. Ask a librarian to show you how to search for materials at your library as well as though interlibrary loan; you’ll need to master this skill soon anyway.  If you get lucky you can just have your required reading shipped to you a week before you need to start reading, then renew vigorously until you no longer need to item. I’m saving over 100$ on a History of Islam class this way.

You professors might side-eye you for bringing an old edition or a library copy, but you just smile right back honey, because you can pay your rent and go clubbing this month. You came here to win. So go forth and slay.

What love is

"Do you remember when you asked me what love was? And I couldn't give you an answer? Well I think that this, right here, is what love is."

"Love is entering into a house on fire just give me a hug?"

"I would go anywhere just to be able to see you"

If only I were stronger still 

This just crossed my head and I am emotional

Sherlock Holmes just got to London, after the Great Hiatus. First place he goes is Pall Mall to visit his brother personally, get the last bits of money he needs and chill after the long travel.

Then he goes to Baker Street, but not to Mrs. Hudson. He walks disguised looking for one of his boys - one of the Irregulars.

He finds someone the Irregulars accepted after his "death" and talks to him, and the boy gets confused once so many names are mentioned. He takes them to the others.

Wiggins, now a teenager or a young adult, is the first one to recognize him even under the disguise and runs to him, crying. "It's mr. Holmes!" he screams, as all of the others do the same.

Now Holmes is literally in the middle of a giant ball of poor stinky boys - but it doesn't matter. What matters is that he came back.

Warning: Major major one piece spoilers of wano and egghead!!!!!

Tw: death & blood

The idea of luffy’s vivre card flash-banging sabo in that pitch black bilge is making me laugh so much

Bonuses:

Full pic of that last page👇

Here’s the full pic of this since it being a gif absolutely tanked the quality of the image.

Some little notes:

I felt like it would be in sabo’s best interest to cover up those funky little wounds imu gave him so that he doesn’t, ya know, bleed out and die or something cringe like that. So I imagine he used his weird coat thing as impromptu bandages.

Has anyone else noticed that his reverie coat doesnt actually have arm sleeves????? That coat has no other purpose than to drape over Sabo’s shoulders to make him look cooler and by god is it working. I cannot knock the hustle.

as I watched the oral delivery this crossed my mind. I didn’t have this exact words but i did think how strange in a good way it is that South Africans donned the attire of empire and it’s rules and came with knowledge, professionalism, expertise, integrity and justice, and used the structures of global western order and slam dunked it (for me, while the verdict will tell us the health of international humanitarian law, the victory was in the compelling case SA showed). A black man in dreads, a brown woman with her brown girl nose, proud and clear and here to fuck shit up. And our officials donning keffiyehs and rainbow nation scarves. A side of the court of all races and colours while on the other side… the symbolism of all of it will be talked about for generations . *chef’s kiss*

Starting today, Sherlock Holmes is, in all of his respectful, emotional glory, completely and unquestionably in the public domain, which means… Herlock Sholmes has outlived his place in history.

You’ve done good, my dear detective. Rest now.

Wilbur doesn't know why he knows the steps. It feels like a dance you remember only in a hazy state. Walking beside a small kid, careful not to trip into her stride feels right. He feels like something overtakes him to speak in a gentler voice of reassurance. To sing her a song goodnight is instinct, not just as a musician but as something else. It feels so strange all of a sudden that he of all people is so careful with a child he's never met until that day. When he heard he was possibly a dad, he simply dismissed it like minor news. Akin to hearing you have a spider in your home or it's raining in 4 days, he'll get to it but it's nothing really.

But now he cares so much, he'd wreak havoc if anything happened to Tallulah. It feels like deja vu, like looking through a mirror to another world. A world where he has a special place surrounded by redwood trees and by the riverside. That other guy he's looking at, he's building everything up just for his own kid, with the same face of care and concerns as his own. He's singing some lullabies as him, matching the cadences and lyrics even if hushed and mumbled. He's teaching how to shoot a bow and arrow to his kid just like him, explaining the steps the same as him. He's leaving the kid soon just like the other, but at least he's trusting someone else to take care in his stead.

There's another kid, he realises. And that kid looks sad, in spite of the beautiful scenery. That kid is looking at walls, just like Tallulah. He's not living in much comfort or glamour, just like Tallulah. He's learning how to fend for himself with a bow and arrow, Tallulah will be like that soon. He's seen the dance, the rhythm of a deadbeat. And now its up to him to change the paces.

Will doesn't know why he pauses in faint recollection when a memory doesn't exist. It's merely a dream from a bygone night, but what's a memory but not a dream you've seen before. Yet when remembers walking through the forest and a flash of red fur snickering, he doesn't understand why a pang of burrowing feelings hits him.

And that feeling turns to drive, a desire to be at least the best dad he can be for now. For Tallulah and for that lonely kid he doesn't remember.

Though you’ve long gone cold,

The taste of you lingers on

And haunts all my dreams