(( goodnight. more fun tomorrow. like if i owe u

|astral|

Your chariot is a musty third-class city taxi driven by a middle-eastern man who gives you a big smile as you pile in with two suitcases and what he identifies as ‘intriguing cosplay, miss.’

You nod and thank him, telling the nice driver where to go. He is quick and chatty and wishes you well. No one ever takes a cab to the hospital for anything nice, Minutes after piling out of the car with your belongings, he waves goodbye and you’re already halfway to Dwicky’s room. Of all the stupid, ignorant things you could have done, this was probably just the absolute worst. There you were, in your stupid space gear, and he was awake to see it.

In his eyes, you imagined, it was something like a show of defiance. A big ol’ “fuck you” because he didn’t like your job. Really, you were just too hurried to see him and changing clothes was entirely out of your mind.

Those private garage rip-off artists charged me a damn $800 per night.

I Know You Too Well to Like You Anymore
by Reel Big Fish from Candy Coated Fury
1,247 plays

Reblog with Your Desktop (no Cleaning)

undeadtagteam:

I’ll give it all into your hands,
Do what you will with me, and oh
I’ll smile when you speak.

       indie oc roleplay blog
               6+ years/experience
                          multi-muse, fandom and oc friendly

                               ||Home|Ask|About|Mandy|Mun||

kneltnotbowed:

If you think for two seconds, you’d know the answer to that.

>With a huff of a sigh you get yourself settled into the small ship.  Just enough space for you and supplies and the equipment she needs to be fast and mostly untraceable.  Yes, you think of your ship as female even though she doesn’t have a legitimate AI.

>And then you launch out and go hunting for your friend, using your digital skills and any information you can access whatsoever.

Your hands hovered above the translucent (pink—shocker) keyboard for a moment before you bitterly tossed the device into the main panel where it belonged. Camouflage visors covered every inch of your craft, obscuring any view of the slowly-passing celestial bodies as you glided along. Spinning around in your command chair, you turned away from the front window and stood upright.

With a roof of barely seven feet, uncovered metal floors that exposed a silent motor and storage area, one wall-mounted cot and a very small kitchen and dining area, the SC Samael was perfect for you and only you. And maybe eventually a cat. Like Dusk.

You were fully and completely aware that it was entirely foolish to go out and hunt on your own, you know you would get it later from all or many of those stupid boys. So for now, you kick back at the one by one dining table with your one by one stool and drink a repulsive cup of instant imitation Earth coffee.

Guess who made it safely onto solid ground.

garbage—chan:

I drew this Grim a while ago idk why i didnt post it

kneltnotbowed:

I already knew that.  I’d have said something if I didn’t think you were ready or capable.  But you are.  And you continue to be.

Now are you going to give me coords or are you going to make me do this the hard way?

Considering that I don't want you to do it, I'm going to make you handle it yourself. If you would just give me another five hours, I would be aboard an Irken craft and I could resupply there on my own.

Why are you being so pushy about this?

THEME