I WANTED THE BACK STORY FOR THAT

A story of why you should ALWAYS pay your web designer...

So I have (had?) a client that decided he didn’t want to pay the full price for my web design services AFTER he signed the agreement. What happened was he paid my 50% deposit, and I sent him the beta version on my server. He took that link to other designers and asked them to build it for cheaper. When he found a designer who would, he told me he was no longer needing a website for his business and wanted to terminate. When I said he was on the hook for the amount, he ignored me for a week and then told me he hated the website. I sent collections after him and the agent found out he had another designer working for him. This new designer charges $350 for a complete website with a year of hosting and SEO.

What happened next is phenomenal.

New designer couldn’t copy my website, so he provided an HTML (non responsive, to boot) website instead. Collection agent gave me the new website and when I looked, it was okay looking. I checked the source and right in the header tag, it said, “mirrored from…”

His designer copied the code, pictures, slogan and favicon from this other company. Being the good little designer I am, I contacted the company and asked if they knew their website had been copied. Obviously, they did not. I sent a bunch of screen caps and information to him.

Owner of website contacted my (ex) client and ripped him a new one. Client threw the designer under the bus, so the company owner called the designer next. Owner of the company threatened corporate lawyers on him.

By 11pm last night, the website was offline. By 7am this morning, a new website was up… again mirrored from a hair & beauty salon in Las Vegas.

So I called the web designer of that website and let him know. His response, “of all the websites I’ve done, they copied that one?”. He called the designer and the designer responded by removing the “mirrored from” tags in the code. Original designer will be doing a little research and starting the process for theft of intellectual property tomorrow.

Because I’m a horrible person, I went through this designer’s profile and found a few more copied websites, and sent screen caps of pages and the code to each of the original owners, as well as information on what to do. If someone wants to copy code and learn from it, fine. But don’t sell someone’s hard work as your own.

At this point, I don’t even care if I get paid from my ex client, because I have been so amused by this entire saga. But I updated my collections agent and after he was done laughing, he was going to call my ex client back and recommend he pay me completely and get the original website I created for him, rather than the mirrored hack job(s) he also paid for.

The police told me there was nothing down there. I know they’re lying.

(This story is very very long, be warned.)

I never wanted to be a mother. A child happened to me, I didn’t ask for it.

After you’ve had a child, you never get peace and quiet. I don’t mean that in a resentful way, just a fact. There’s the crying phase, the screaming phase, the yelling phase, the “NO!” phase, et cetera. And you never get time. You don’t have time for hobbies and distractions. Raising a child is two full-time jobs.

It’s not that I didn’t try to do everything I could for him. It’s not that I didn’t try and be a good parent. I did, I gave it everything I had. But deep down, I think he could tell that I didn’t want him. Kids know.

I had a part time job. I didn’t get paid very well, but it was enough. It was just office work, nothing exciting. My sister would look after him when I wasn’t around. I didn’t really have the money for daycare.

I knew that things weren’t working out like they should have. And I did what any self-respecting human being would do - I bought a book. I’d always heard that you should read to your child every night, and that doing so would make them smart and well-adjusted. Well, I had nothing to lose.

I’m not really an Amazon person, so I paid a visit to my local bookstore - a dark, slightly grubby independent place that shuns all but the most obsessive of bookworms. Standing in the narrow, dimly-lit aisles, surrounded by towering bookshelves jammed with volumes at every angle, I wondered, briefly - what do people normally buy for their kids?

The Very Hungry Caterpillar?

He was a bit old for that. Besides, I think that’s one of those books that parents buy because they think it’s kitschy, not because their kids will actually enjoy it.

Amongst the slightly destroyed second-hand Roald Dahl books and Dr. Seuss anthologies, I found a book that stuck out. It was old, and bound in what looked like real leather, but it was in surprisingly good shape. It wasn’t too long, but it proclaimed its suitability for for children aged 4-6 (he was five). It was called ‘The Trap Door’. No author, no other details. I picked it up and skimmed through the first few pages, and it seemed an ideal fit. It was written in an irregular rhyming meter, and it was festooned with colourful, scratchy illustrations that depicted a boy strikingly similar to my son. The picture was already forming in my head - we’d read it, we’d bond, and we’d smooth over the cracks.

I know it was just a book, but for the first time in my life, I realized I was excited to spend time with my son.

That night, after I’d tucked him into bed, I sat down on his shark duvet (he liked sharks), and I sprang the book upon him.

Once, long ago and far away

There lived a boy of five or so

With a rounded face and hair like hay

And a mind that yearned to learn and grow

The boy lived in a mud-flecked land

Of rolling hills and sheep and styles,

And brooks and trees and miles and miles

Of hinterlands and ranch hands

Long ago there was a war,

Of petty kings and border-lords

The earth did drink the blood of those

Who died for honor or a rose

The boy was happy as could be,

In the cottage on the hill

His mother his only company,

Who loved that boy with all her will

It’s challenging material for a five-year old. But it was educational, it was stimulating. I had only a faint idea of what the war of the roses was actually about, but I did a good job of pretending that I did.

We said our i-love-yous and I closed the door. Things were going to be okay.


Keep reading

Chapter VIII | Tell Me - A Harry Styles Uni AU

Main Story page is here.

Song for the Playlist - Like I’m Gonna Lose You by Jasmine Thompson

Instagrams are here - (none for this chapter, again, because the app is still being a dick)

Word Count - 4000…ish

“Fine,” he snapped back. “Do you want to go to A&E?”

“No.” Her head lulled to the side, eyes closed.

“Right,” he began again, sternly. “Look, you either get up and get in bed or we go to hospital if you can’t move. Your call.”

“Mate,” Niall interrupted. “If she can’t move to the bed, then she’s not gonna be able to get to the hospital, is she?”

Keep reading

4

*FACEPLANTS* FINALLY. Oh my gosh I’ve been wanting to do gift art for people for mONTHS and my time kept getting away from me. >-<

SO HAVE SOME DOODLES. I wanted to particularly do some gift art for a few artists on here, whose characters I aDORE, that inspired me to start posting my GW2 stuff on tumblr. ;u; I only started playing GW2 back in October of 2016, and I had doodled my characters and made up stories for them, but I didn’t feel confident enough to post them or even know where to start. And then I browsed the Asura tag on tumblr and just saw ALL THESE AMAZING CHARACTERS AND AMAZING ART STYLES and they were all so interesting and fun, and it gave me that confidence to start posting my stuff too. Even if I’m still feeling a little nervous around here. @ w @; So…THANK YOU FOR HAVING AMAZING ART, AMAZING CHARACTERS, AND INSPIRING ME TO SHARE MY STUFF TOO! \( ;w; )/ YOUR ART IS AWESOME AND YOUR CHARACTERS ARE PHENOMENAL KEEP UP THE GREAT WORK. d(;W;)b

@gw2-oldroots @yurasura @kiqo-gw2-corner @flame-squad

askthe2pgermany  asked:

Ok its nice and all that you guys are giving her pillows and blankets n shit but AM I THE ONLY ONE WONDERING WHAT THE F@#$ THAT SPINNY THING WAS AND WHAT ITS DONE TO HER????

When did!.. wait who….

//A little back story about Ana’s scar since I never explained it, I hope this cleared it up a bit. It’s not supposed to be completely straightforward about that’s going on in her nightmare, I left it up to your imagination. (there is a canon reason that I’m just keeping in the dark it’s not hard to guess tho ;)) And no 2P Russia and Belarus don’t actually have a abusive relationship, I’m not sure if I made it look like it enough but it was more of an accident, Russia didn’t really want to hurt Ana, and she’s not the only one who walked away from that scarred. Just because I don’t know if it’ll come up again, there are instances when 2P Russia is scared to touch his sister because of this.//

slangwang  asked:

do you think the lore element of gorillaz will ever be as strong as it was during phase 3? personally i think this would be a great time for damon and jamie to crank out another book to kind of wrap things up a bit more elegantly.......

I agree. I was thinking that since Humanz is out, that maybe Damon and Jamie could focus more on the story for this phase. I still have a lot questions about what happened last phase. But since they concluded the Plastic Beach story with the character books, I’m not sure if they will ever bring that back up again. We know that Cyborg is still around (sort of) and that’s about it. I want to know more about the Boogiman and the Evangelist. Murdoc said that they’re in Shepton Mallet for some reason. But this is Murdoc we’re talking about, he could be lying. 

Also, there’s a new writer for the story. So things might be different. I hope that they won’t rush the story like they did back in phase 3. Now that Jamie has more freedom to do whatever he wants, I have hope that we’ll be getting more in depth with the story. Like if they give us more info about Noodle’s backstory and tell us about her real parents and more of Murdoc’s character development (and maybe a redemption arc too) There’s a lot of things they need to pick up.  But I’m not expecting to get all my questions answered. Let’s just hope for the best.

the signs as things my teachers have said this year, part 6
  • Aries: I can't imagine how people existed before google drive
  • Taurus: I was in pretty good shape, apart all from the broken glass in my mouth
  • Gemini: don't dance at me like that
  • Cancer: hashtag no filter!
  • ...hashtag some filter
  • Leo: raisins piss me off to no end
  • Virgo: my biggest fault as a human is never having cash
  • Libra: this is the part of the year where I lose the will to live
  • Scorpio: not lies, it's just my usual light manipulation
  • Sagittarius: today's lesson: don't be a D-bag
  • Capricorn: I think about my college-age self and I want to kick her in the face
  • Aquarius: I should bring interpretive dance back to my classroom
  • Pisces: okay before we get started I'm going to show you guys this video of a dog playing the piano

anonymous asked:

Hey, as a Belle, Rumple, and Rumbelle fan, if you ever want to critique Belle's "booty shorts in the snow" costume, or that short white spiky "travelling costume" from season 4, or just guess wtf Eduardo was thinking? Or why Rumple so often sports visible zippers? (It seems like all the men's costumes get that more) I'm not gonna think it reflects your opinion of the characters. Sometimes costumes just need criticizing.

BOY OH BOY, ARE YOU IN FOR A TREAT, NONNIE!

Zippers are the origin story of my costume blog. @freifraufischer posted a screencap from S4 that showed the back of the Snow Queen, and I sort of lost my mind over both the fit of the thing and the really obvious and badly installed zipper. She encouraged me to talk about at it and that led to me starting the blog.

The zippers really are completely crazy-making to me, not so much the fact of them but that they’re often so obvious. Especially in the gowns. They’d be so much less visible if they were just in a side seam. But I think the most ridiculous is still Kristoff unzipping his boot. Because they have zippers in Arendelle, I guess.

Short version for those two Belle costumes: I think the shorts outfit is really quite cute, but somebody should have looked at a weather report and not made her wear that outside. And the white travel dress was just silly. There’s very little of 4A’s costuming that I think really did the job.

anonymous asked:

The only fanfic that's even close to what's going on now is Leaving All I've Ever Known. DIWK is too idealistic, I can see what they wrote for LAIEK going down, it's a great non-au

Ouhh I’ll have to check it out - I fell back into Clexa world lately to avoid falling back into Faberry (I ain’t relapsing, I worked to hard to get out of there 😂 ) but I’ll get to it once I’m finished

For those who want to check it out now:  https://www.wattpad.com/story/93585299-leaving-all-i%27ve-ever-known-camren

Loki, You Fucking Bastard

I’m trying to finish a porn story, so naturally I have six tabs open trying to binge on enough vague-ass Wiki-information (academic books and journals? Extremely NOT FREE) to have a just-working-enough knowledge of the Parissienne school of European Structuralism because I gave Loki a goddamn French punk band t-shirt in Chapter 2 and he has a doctorate in something and when did this go from “Thor BIG! WANT the bigggg pretty THOR” to “Well, he’s going to have to explain his actual field to Thor during pillow talk and so I should get a grip on what that field could be and then looking for help from the Goddess of Neitzchean Loki, @philosopherking1887, and brainstorming more obscure poetic and linguistic fields and I love Phil and she helped get me where I need to be and found some continuity errors. <333

But GODDAMNIT FUCK YOU right now, LOKI. It’s all your fault I wrote myself into a densely academic corner.

Stupid AUs. Here is what Structuralism does to a brain that has a BA in Making Pretty Shit Out of MUD and has done no mentally challenging work for 12 years:

Originally posted by reinarebecca

anonymous asked:

I have a feeling Sean is coming back for a season 7. He and Lana keep talking about how OQ story isn't over yet.

I guess that’s great for Sean and OQers, but I really couldn’t give two shits.  That ship never really appealed to me.  I mean, I’m a total slut for those ships where neither party particularly cares for one another yet they end up falling in love, but OQ just happened so fucking fast.  They didn’t make me want it before they gave it to us, which resulted in my indifference.  This is why CS is the ship of dreams, because it had everything I love in my ships and more, and god did they make me want it!!  I feel like OQ and CS are like the “Who are you?” “I’m you, but stronger.” meme.  OQ had the same basis and potential as CS, but they fell totally flat, while CS knocked it out of the fucking park.  IDK why I’m even saying all this, lol.  These are just my general feelings I guess.

Downpour

Second installment of the Jasper Hale imagine series “Let It Pour,” requested by anon. “Hi there (: okay, do you think you can continue the Jasper imagine Let it Pour? Your wrote it months ago, but I just came across your blog and the way you ended it was amazing, you’re very talented. I just want to see how Jasper & y/n rekindle: he’d avoid her at 1st, she’s strong so she tries to move on,not onto someone else but emotionally(angst here), but eventually they come back to each other (end w/ fluff). Please and thank you (:” Hope you like it!

All past and future installments of this series can be found on the “The Story Continues…” page.

It was as if he had never crossed paths with you, never set foot on the dampened earth that coated the town of Forks like a carpet of waterlogged velvet. His presence had been eradicated completely from all but your memory. His family still attended school, though now without their brother by their side, the lot of them pointedly ignoring you as if you were nothing more than a shadow in the halls. Only Alice, whose eyes you caught on more occasions than one, paid you any mind; she was watching, always, though most of the time she averted her gaze faster than you could comprehend, but her stare was as searing as her silence was frigid. You couldn’t help but wonder if Jasper was having her keep an eye on you, or if perhaps her attentiveness was merely due to your presence fading in and out of her visions as both Jasper and yourself thought and retracted the thought of rekindling what had been tarnished to the point of dilapidation beneath the torrential fall of rain. Perhaps it was hopeless, allowing yourself to entertain the idea that so absent a figure in your life could be plagued by thoughts of your face, your name… but you couldn’t help imagining a man who had claimed he loved you just as much, if not more, than you loved him experiencing some degree of pain due to your separation. Lord knows it was borderline agonizing for you. You tried not to dwell on the thought of him, the halo of golden hair that shrouded so perfect a face, the honey of his eyes, the burning of his voice, the fire in his icy touch… no, it was best if you locked his memory in a vault. He clearly had no intention of returning. Maybe, just maybe, you’d be so lucky as to see him sometime after your ninetieth birthday, when he thought you were long dead and made his return to Forks. For now, you allowed yourself the thought of him racing through the trees of some dense forest, far enough away from human civilization that he could be completely free.

Your hand had fully healed, thanks to the attentions of a certain Carlisle Cullen, leaving the whisper of a scar left in the crease of your palm. You were sure the shining pink that now puckered your skin would fade, too, but until that time it would serve as a constant reminder of the simple mistake that had cost you something wonderful. Images of his inky silhouette straining against the glow of evening as it seeped through your window haunted your dreams; the tension held in his muscles was painful to witness, the hardness of his clenched jaw so rigid it was immobile. He spoke your name, and each night you ran to his side, watching portraits flash before your eyes with a patient sort of hysteria… his face resting gently against a bed of moss, streaked by the fall of rain, his smile growing wider as he reached for your hand in the halls of Forks High, his skin shimmering beneath the forgiving rays of sunlight, his lips pursed as he tampered with your fear from afar when you found yourself facing the truth of his immortality. You drank his features like sugared milk, retaining as much of him as you could bear as you fought the leaden darkness swarming your limbs to slow your pursuit, your fingertips outstretched to touch his shoulder… and he was gone. You woke each night in an empty bedroom, your hand falling absentmindedly to the divot he had created in your mattress, foolishly expecting to find his chest awaiting your touch. If it wasn’t his face, it was his temperature you found yourself missing; you were always feverish at nights, or struck with a sudden flash of heat, only you were now left without remedy. He was a ghost wandering the vacant halls of your memory, proving himself impossible to forget.

It was injury enough that he had taken the liberty to erase himself from your life, but worse a wound when, weeks later, he finally returned to school. It was as if your heart had stopped in your chest, finally as still and as silent as his own, when you saw the familiar width of his back straining against the tightness of his shirt. The glorious waves of his hair hung like loose threads of spun gold, suspending diamonds of fallen rain as effortlessly as ever, holding the gems of a storm like an embroidered bodice. You were frozen where you stood, your backpack weighing heavily on your shoulder, your hands limp at your side. He, too, was still; he remained unmoving as Alice’s eyes fell, unmet, upon your face, her hands attempting to guide him further down the hallway. You knew enough about his condition to understand that he could smell you, and therefore knew you were present. Hell, he could’ve smelled you a mile away… and yet he proceeded, somewhat rigidly, down the hall, increasing the distance between you, without once turning to meet your eye. You burnt a hole in the back of his head with your stare, watching him abandon you without so much as a second thought. You held yourself upright by some miracle of gravity, your body sapped of all energy, your limbs lifelessly numb as the world passed you by, your eyes following the glow of his hair as he waltzed away from you. You realized now how generous he had been to disappear; it was far worse to have him here… to have him here and not here all at once, to watch his sister lead him away from the risk of reconciliation, her fingers claw-like as they pierced the muscles of his forearm, ushering him away from one outcome or another that she had foreseen. You knew her intentions were goodhearted, but you had never felt more betrayed than in that moment. You hung, suspended in the air, until the bell rang and pulled you from your trance.

That afternoon, you stepped into the rain with full intent to drown yourself in the downpour. You didn’t care enough to shield your hair with a hood, nor your body with an umbrella, as you pushed through the doors separating the safety of the school from the hellish storm beyond the walls. You were among the first to rush from your classroom, though your movements were far less vibrant than your classmate counterparts. You moved like the dead, swift despite your numbness, eager to escape the social confines that made it impossible to cry freely without suffering the judgement of others. You longed for the serenity of your home, the quiet of your bedroom, the calm of an environment you knew would keep the spilling of your emotions a secret. Walls couldn’t talk. Students, on the other hand… well, there wasn’t much else the average high schooler was universally good at. You trudged through the sheets of icy rain towards the promised warmth of your car, your hair sticking in strands to your cheeks by the time you reached the driver’s side door. You slid behind the wheel, your brain on autopilot, fighting back the burning image of his back as it bit at the vault door you were so desperate to spin shut. All you cared to do was survive the drive home through the Friday rush of reckless drivers and lose yourself in the unattached surrender of sleep. You drove with practiced precision, peering almost unfeelingly through the falling rain until you pulled into your driveway, proceeding to enter your home without so much as an absent thought. You were off, it seemed, moving and breathing with just the basics to survive, your cheeks burning with the pressure of your mind scorching against the wall you had erected. No, you wouldn’t spare him any tears. You wouldn’t spare him a single sliver of your mind. You flooded your brain with void blankness, pulling your comforter back before throwing yourself in all your rain-slick glory onto the cushioned comfort of your mattress, steering clear of his side of the bed as you pulled the cotton canopy over your head. Your mind was good to you. Merciful, even. You slept easily.

Your dream was tainted by the events of the day. His silhouette was turned away from you, shielding the heavenly image of his face, your feet carrying you as desperately as ever toward an uncaring, guarded figure cut from the darkness by the dull glow of his diamond flesh. You whisked away the images of his smile, the echo of his laughter, your brow furrowed with determination as you raced, unhindered, to his back. Your hand grasped his shoulder, thrilling at the contact, spinning him to face you, his golden eyes burning with shock, his adoration unhindered by the surprise that painted his features. Your palm cradled his cheek, the ice of his skin melting effortlessly into the fabric of your subconscious, watching his parted lips sigh into the ghost of a smile. His shoulders angled toward your body as your dream snapped unceremoniously to the evening of your waking reality. You sat bolt-upright, disoriented by the passing of time, your eyes falling quickly on the figure that was perched on the ledge of your windowsill, his body freezing to see you waking so soon. He was exactly as you remembered him; of course he had remained unchanged, but it was more than the flawless resistance of time that struck you as familiar… he was rigid, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes locked painfully on your own. You exhaled quickly, the wind forced from your lungs by the sheer surprise of his presence, both of you remaining unchanged outside of your frozen astonishment for an endless minute. He had not parted his lips to speak, but the manner in which he held himself suggested he had fully intended to explain himself. Then, with your next inhale, he was upon you, moving with impatient and inhuman speed to mold his body to yours, his palms guiding your lips to his with the ease of familiarity. The floodgates burst, and the river roared in.

His lips crushed against yours with a passionate fervor you had never witnessed in the man, his hands moving to your waist to cement your body to his own, all but pulling you from your bed as he lavished your mouth with his. His fingers tangled in the silk of your hair, his thumb caressing the curvature of your cheekbone as he breathlessly mobilized his apology. Your hands closed easily at the back of his neck, all but clawing his skin as you forced yourself ever closer to him, running your palms along the broadness of his back, clinging breathlessly to his shoulders as his tongue traced the curve of your lower lip. He finally pulled himself away, separating briefly before resting his forehead against your own, his hands on your cheeks once more. He shook his head, visibly torn by the anguish that so obviously ravaged his body, his ragged inhales moving against your beating heart. You breathed in the luxury of his scent, your eyes absorbing every minute detail of his body, the vault door blown from its hinges as you matched every aspect of him to the memories you had suppressed. He exhaled raggedly, his eyes burning brightly as they met your own, the gold of his irises molten with adoration.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he breathed, his voice breaking under the weight of his guilt, no more than a whisper in the darkness, his pained features illuminated only by the moonlight streaming in through your window. “I’m so sorry, Y/n. I can’t believe I-” He choked on his apologies, his thumbs working over your jaw, his lips finding yours once more, his urgency bleeding through his skin and into yours, your hands spreading smoothly over the hardened expanse of his chest. He caught your hand as it rose along the center of his chest, stopping your movement as your fingertips kissed the angled neckline of his sweater, holding your palm over his unbeating heart. He moved from your lips, then, his eyes dropping to your palm, his fingers turning your hand in the darkness as he searched for the remnants of your minor injury. After determining that you were fully repaired, he lifted your palm to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to the thin layer of scarring that remained, your skin electric under the softness of his lips. His eyes met yours as he tipped his face downward, inhaling deeply at your wrist before lowering your hand between your bodies. He sighed then, as if emptying himself of sorrow, releasing freely into the bliss of the moment. “I’m sorry I left you,” he whispered, his tone grounded with the power his volume lacked, compensating with resonance rather than expose his presence to your sleeping parents. “I thought, stupidly, that staying away from you would prevent what almost happened in the woods from happening, more severely, in the future. I couldn’t bear the thought… if I had been any slower, any less on guard, what might have happened to you… I realize now how selfish that was, to remove myself without any regard to your emotions, to leave you stranded in the aftermath, to trust my own judgement over anyone else’s, especially yours… and despite how selfish it is for me to be here now… I can’t stay away from you any longer. You can’t imagine… or maybe you can, how much I missed you. I can hardly bear to think about leaving you again come morning… that is, if you’ll have me.” You pressed your lips to his, both of you moving as one, your thoughts aligning exactly as if you had never been parted. You spoke, your lips a breath away from his, your mind clearing like inky clouds after a rainstorm.

“I can’t believe you thought I’d let you leave in the morning,” you whispered, his smile stopping your heart in your chest as he spun you in his arms, his lips peppering your exposed skin with elated kisses, his joy clear in his breathless, suppressed laughter.

“I’m here until you send me away,” he grinned, his eyes alight with glee. “I love you,” he breathed, his words ringing with the passion of an oath, the fortitude of a vow, his voice painfully tender. His arms wound around your waist, holding you strongly and softly to his chest, his lips in your hair as you melted in his embrace, listening to the sound of raindrops striking your window as the day’s storm opened once more, washing the world of misery beyond the glass, Jasper’s hands smoothing over your back as you watched the trickling of rain bleed into a downpour.

“I love you.”

2

Keith: I just… don’t want her to be forgotten, you know. She doesn’t deserve this. She deserves great stories being told about her.

Tobias: Oh, dad. She never will. Without her the house is less lively and everyone’s feeling so uneasy.

Nate: She was like a mother to me. I still can’t believe you guys always treated me like I’m no less of a son to you than Tobias.

Keith: (sadly laughs) She always rooted for you back when you were dumb asses. She said “it’s like I’m watching a roller coaster series with my son and his, um, best friend, and with every new episode they’re becoming more and more oblivious.”

Tobias: This sounds like my mom. She was the best of the best. I already miss her awesome cooking, her gentle voice and caring hugs.

Nate: I can see when you’re about to cry.

Tobias: No, it’s just something in my eye- well, yeah…

anonymous asked:

The last panel has broken my heart... I just adore your comic! Which leads me to my ask: when underlie is finished, will you make your own original one?( if you don't already have one)

oh!! yes, actually n_n

After Underlie, i want to get back to a written story i’ve been working on for years and have never completely finished. I want to restart it and add pictures – maybe make it a visual novel or something <3 it won’t be completely comic-ed, but it will be heavily illustrated :D 

archiveofourown.org
Two Outta Three - moonofmorrigan - The Hobbit - All Media Types [Archive of Our Own]
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
By Organization for Transformative Works

Happy Submission Freedom Sunday!

She may not be the mother of dragons, but she certainly is the mother of @dailythranduilproject. She has devoted a lot of time to this project and is ever tireless in featuring other people’s work.

We are talking of course about *drumroll*

@moonofmorrigan

So now it is her turn to lean back and get some praise from us :).

During the fanfiction months of April and May we -  that is @parisiankiss2007, @bellevox and @floranocturna - will be featuring some of her own works for you to enjoy. She has written many lovely stories set in the Tolkien universe, as well as original stories for you to check out here and on AO3.

Today I want to feature a work by @moonofmorrigan called Two Outta Three.

Thranduil x Reader. You have been in love with King Thranduil for a long time. On an impulse you came to King Thranduil and though still a virgin, you pleaded that he take you into his bed. He obliges.

Despite the steamy action, the story tugs at one’s heartstrings with its sad undertone and also shows us Thranduil from his gentle and tender side, which I really enjoyed.

And go follow her blog @moonofmorrigan if you have not done so yet.

(floranocturna’s fic rec)

snowwolfalphafan  asked:

Hey so, do you do like, shout outs or something like that? Because a friend of mine (who is being stubborn and won't ask themselves) is working on this cool back story for Rex and has some pretty cool OC clones! "Aliit ori'shya tal'din (Family is more than blood)" is the title by Lamker on FF and AO3 if you could give them some more love please! (also has tumblr but not sure if I should say anything about it) Thanks!

Of course I will! This is such a sweet thing to do for your friend!!

Aliit ori'shya tal'din (Family is more than blood) by Lamker

I have the direct links here:

AO3  and/or FF 

He is the captain of the 501st Torrent Company, under the command of General Skywalker and Commander Ahsoka Tano. But, how did he come to this position? What was like he before? Who were his friends, his batch? Rex used to be a lot different than he is now… 

anonymous asked:

Why are you always bitching about SJM? have nothing better to do? Stop being salty.

lol this is what I get for turning anon back on.

It’s my blog. I can do what I want, which includes critiquing legit problems in a series I otherwise like. But even if I want to live on a diet comprised of 100% salt, that’s my choice and none of your business (though my physician might be alarmed). 

Unlike some of this fandom, I don’t worship the ground SJM walks on. Nor do I ever attack her personally (I only ever critique the writing–kind of natural, as a writer myself). I appreciate her stories and characters, I try and tag my salt (I even have a tag for that now–’sarah is salty,’ if you want to block it), and I’m just trying to make it to Tuesday in one piece. 

This is all so stupid because I have not changed my behavior or critiques much at all since I joined this fandom over a year ago. I deliberately wrote ACOWAS with these critiques in mind. Y’all never had a problem before, but suddenly I’m getting shit for it? 

Why come bitching about someone’s opinions on anon? have nothing better to do? Stop being immature. 

amariemelody  asked:

-SQUEE!!!- Headcanons for T'Challa on the day of his daughter's wedding? How much does he cry, how much did he spend, how he was tearing up as he whirled her around the dancefloor, etc.? :D :D

I don’t think he’d cry much, there would be a few tears here and there but I think he’d largely keep it together. He’s come to terms with the fact that his little girl is off to the next chapter of her life.

T’Challa spared no expense for his daughter’s wedding, he wanted to be sure she would always look upon her wedding day as one of the happiest.

He wouldn’t cry on the dance floor, he’d say a few sweet things, tell a short story from when she was a child, and before letting her go back to her s/o he’d kiss her forehead and assure her that she’d always be his little princess.

Ari: “I knew going back to work would be hard just didn’t hit me how hard. Not until being here not until looking ahead seeing that the one person who you thought was always going to be right there beside you isn’t. But being faced with someone new to take over. You want to scream explain you can’t do this you can’t have another partner but they don’t care. It’s a job to be done. Personal feelings have to be cut off in this job no matter what. After everything that happened with my dad. I didn’t feel safe anymore but I didn’t want to let him down despite everything. Despite him telling me I’m worthless that I can’t do this job.” I turn off the engine pushing the door open and climbing down locking it behind me before tossing the keys up then into my pockets and walking ahead then suddenly stopping at this large figure in front of me.

Blake: “You must be Arianna. I’m your partner “ Blake Armstrong “

I didn’t even want to say anything. I couldn’t say anything no words were coming from my lips. Nothing made sense anymore everything felt faded you know like a dream? one that I wanted to run and escape from. 

Blake: “Ari?”

When I heard that strong deep voice saying my name..I knew, knew it wasn’t a dream. Everything I hoped wasn’t real really was real. I should know it’s been three weeks since everything. Yet I’m still here hoping everything is just a crazy nightmare. Or that I’ve been in a coma for too long just constantly dreaming

Ari: “Sorry, bad nights sleep. Nice to meet you Agent, Armstrong” I swallowed the lump in my throat having to repeat the name Agent. My heart felt like it was clenching against my chest. Trying to hold the pain in the kind that makes it feel like your heart is being stabbed constantly.

Blake: “So, I um, heard you’re a bit of a rookie” he chuckled crossing his arms over one another” his own eyes scanning over me trying to get a reading. Nothing was coming out I didn’t understand. She was cold ice cold I couldn’t read her like I could others.


Ari: “Yeah… seems it.. Ready to check out this place?” I didn’t care what he had to say. I just wanted to check out this place do what was needed then go for a drink. There was no way in hell I was staying longer than I needed. Who is Elliot to even throw the name rookie around. It should be banned.

anonymous asked:

How do you see bruce and selina "happy ending"? Are they married? Not even joking, the other day i dreamed of batcat weeding, and alfred was the one walking selina through the aisle, i was crying.

If you want a nice “happy ending and beyond” for them, read Cat-Tales.

Apart from that, I basically want whatever you can imagine happening on Earth-2 for them. BatCat coming together, getting married, getting pregnant, having Helena and raising her to become the next Robin (and eventually Huntress).

I seriously need an Earth-2 run about the Waynes and their Rogue-battling adventures (plus many flashbacks of how Bruce and Selina got to where they now are) instead of Thomas Wayne coming back as Batman to kick Helena out of her own story.

I want to see how Selina reforns, I want family drama, I want to see Helena putting pressure on herself because she’s a Wayne AND The Batman’s daughter, I want to see Bruce asking the Kents to be her godparents, I want to see Bruce and Selina fighting over what’s best for their kid, and lots of action, Helena’s first weeks on the rooftops, the Rogues dealing with Catwoman having a child, some staying away from Helena, some trying to use her, I want to see how that influences Selina’s Rogue friendships, how marriage and having a baby influences Bruce’s Mission etc etc.

There’s so much to dive into, directions no DC writer has really explored yet but apparently, they’re too scared of exploring new grounds.