I love it more than air

  • Betty: So, Jug... How are things at Archie's?
  • Jughead: They're okay. Sleeping on that air cushion is kinda hard but... It's okay.
  • Betty: You know... Now that Poly is with Veronica, there's an empty room in my house. Do you want to come and stay with us?
  • Jughead: You know I would love to, Bets, but...
  • Betty: But...?
  • Jughead: Well, let's just say your mom doesn't really like me.
  • Betty: Well, she doesn't hate you either, and that's more than any of us could get ever from her.
  • Jughead: ... You have a point... but I'm still scared of your mom.

skittymon  asked:

So how would you have wanted Yusho to be an antagonist? Like him siding with Leo or wanting to get rid of Zarc? Because while I was on board with Yusho is a villain back when Arc V aired I would like him to be a well rounded character. Like wanting to get rid of Zarc but he still loves Yuya cause he's his kid. So maybe he goes after Yuto, Yuri, and Yugo?

There are lots of ways Yusho could have been an antagonist. In fact, I’d venture to say that his story seemed more inclined to go in this direction, than for him to be the all-loving hero.

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3

My favorite part about this kiss is how intense Dylan/Stiles’ face is. He’s kissing her like she’s his lifeline, the air he breathes. He’s so consumed in this moment, in this kiss, in Lydia. You can feel how much he loves her and how much this moment means to him. This is everything Stiles has spent the past 10 years building up to, and the intensity with which he kisses Lydia is like none I’ve ever seen. Lydia holds onto to Stiles, kissing him back just as forcefully, and we get this incredible moment that seems to stop time. I just can’t get over how much you can tell that this is quite possibly the most important day of Stiles’ life just by the expression he makes when kissing Lydia. It’s gentle and intense and heartbreaking all at the same time. You can feel the gentleness he possesses for Lydia, but it’s also this intense fire that burns hot enough to consume them both. It’s so amazing that these two completely opposite things can exist simultaneously in just one expression. Dylan never ceases to amaze me with how much he understands Stiles as a character and his unconditional love for Lydia.

I have to tell you something about myself
I am not sunshine / I am the never ending cold night
I am not summer’s warmth / I am the dry winter’s wrath, 
I consist more of thorns than of flowers / Because I hurt more than I blossom 
And I fall more than I rise/ 
I like black and white more than I like other colours/ 
And you will never be able to really know me / 
Because I’ve gotten so good at hiding and even disguising/ 
And you will never be able to love me if you like the sunrise more than the sunset / or the warm summer air than the trees left cold and bare.

sometimes my mother tells me she loves me and i don’t want to say it back / i say it anyway. she taught me long ago that what i want is not as important as what other people need.

i am still trying to untangle that lie.

sometimes my father hugs me like i am all he has left in this world. i want nothing more than to leave. i stay because i carry his heart on my shoulders and my shoulders are already shaking. if i move it will fall.

i refuse to break hearts if i can help it / i cannot always help it.

yesterday i fell in love with an idea, with a floating cloud of dust / half-invisible / choking on air, on the particles of you.

tomorrow i will try to remind myself to look at the stars. i will forget to stare at the sky but this is fine / this is fine / i can find them in your eyes just as easy. next week i will try to remind myself to hold your hand. i will forget.

i am too busy staring at andromeda / the chained maiden. love never lasts and this is how i navigate home.

l.s. | HIRAETH © 2017

to love life, to love it even
when you have no stomach for it
and everything you’ve held dear
crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,
your throat filled with the silt of it.
When grief sits with you, its tropical heat
thickening the air, heavy as water
more fit for gills than lungs;
when grief weights you like your own flesh
only more of it, an obesity of grief,
you think, How can a body withstand this?
Then you hold life like a face
between your palms, a plain face,
no charming smile, no violet eyes,
and you say, yes, I will take you
I will love you, again.
—  Ellen Bass, ‘The Thing Is’
10

nina‪: We started out as fetuses. Now we are women. The trips, adventures, and laughter I have shared with these beautiful souls makes me tear with joy. I love them more than I could ever explain or begin to put into words. Each of these photos is from season 1. We were all so young, and SO excited about the new and exciting show we had booked. And even more excited that we got to be a part of it together. It felt like we had this awesome little secret, no one had seen Vampire Diaries yet. But we couldn’t wait to spill the beans, for the pilot to air so people could see it. We hoped so much that people would like it. Prayed that it would be a success and continue for many years. We got our wish. 8 seasons later, some are engaged, some married and some have fetuses of their own. These are incredible women and forces to be reckoned with. I’m so proud of you all. #FlowerPower #TVDForever

Here’s the thing about selkies: they’re creatures of water. Our air is their water, in a way. Have you ever noticed how streams of water over your face make you blink and shut your eyes? The wind does the same thing to them.


If you ever see humans with eyes too big, too limpid, that cannot stay open against a gust, make sure you don’t fall in love.

It can be painful. Especially if they can never look at you.


I control the winds, you see. All the air that runs through this city (never mind its name) is mine while it is here. In a way, the life that lives here is mine, too. I am the gardener, you see.


I do not boast when I say I am the best gardener for miles. I sow more seeds, plant more things than the average green thumb could aspire to. I am the one who carries the pollen around, making more of the beautiful flora that this quaint little city is known for. I don’t bother the soils too much, instead blow fallen greenery into it. Fertile soils, you see. And I do more than that. I pick just the right plants so that there’s always flowers around, always light and joy. Just the right flowers that are always close at hand to spark the blossomings of romance. 


It is one of my hobbies (indeed there are many) to blow hair just the right way, to cause eyelashes to flutter, precious things snatched out of hands, blown just the right way, into the right hands. I am the reason the eyes meet, the reason for shy smiles and spontaneous offers of “Coffee, sometime?”


There is nothing I love more than watching love blossom among my loves, my loves that populate thus city with their busy, determined faces that would too easily forget to “Stop awhile, and smell the roses”, if I weren’t around to remind them.


So I sow my seeds and watch patiently as flowers and romance bloom hand in hand. Daffodils, Camellia and Bloodroot in spring, more Sunflowers that the eye can follow in summer, deep, red roses in the fall, and Snapdragons and Daisies to tide through the winter. I watch the flushed cheeks and wonder, with a bittersweet ache in my chest.


And then all of a sudden, cutting into my world like a winter wind, came Nerida. I watched with wonder the thick brown waves that flowed down her back, a flower I had never seen before in her hair. Waterborn. I wondered at how she could not hold her ground against even the tiniest of my breezes, blinking as if someone had thrown cold water across her face. But that was the thing. Cold water across her face wouldn’t even make her flicker. It was me. The deep rooted ancestral dislike of the air and those who breathed it. The fact that it felt like a slap across the face, even after the water had been diluted many, many times over with blood.


The bittersweet ache was replaced by a rush of a different kind of pain. The pain that tore and rented, fed you a mixture of hope and despair until there was only chaos, and only one thing to dispel it.


The flowers began to grow wild, and they were mixtures of flowers of celebration and mourning. The chaos was still beautiful, and I could see her watching it in delight. The flower in her hair never wilted.


I noticed something odd. She seemed to have taken it into her head that she would face the winds with a will. She would often sit in the midst of the clusters of flowers, forcing her eyes open, joy lighting up her face when she managed to keep it up a little longer than the last time.


How could I stay away? I began to help her with her struggle, starting with just whiffs of wind that got stronger and stronger, until nothing short of a gust could make her press the long lashes together.


As I watched the joy move across her face (I would never tire of that), she looked straight up at me and smiled. The rush that went through me blew her eyes shut, but they were open again in an instant. She spoke to me as only selkies and cats can, with a drawn out blink that means more than words ever could, and confers worlds. I could feel the flowers rejoicing around me as I blinked slowly, rapturously back.


Ooh, I really wanted to get in on the selkies fun like everyone else, and this time I finally could, thanks to @caffeinewitchcraft. Of course, it’s nowhere near as moving as her story with Isolde (I still fangirl over that), but perhaps a little story to make your day a little brighter. *stares longingly into the sunset, wishing for a love life* Hope you guys have fun!!!

jack/bitty hp au

Bitty won’t meet his eyes, instead focusing on the pebble he’s nudging with the toe of his shoe. Jack more than understands, a linked gaze gives intimacy, and intimacy has power. It’s easier to make vulnerable confessions when you pretend you’re sharing it with the air instead of another vessel.

 “Coach never liked it much. ‘Course he married my mama, but I think it had more to do with him loving her more than he hated magic.”

“Coach?”

Bitty’s face offers a patient smile, “Not Quidditch, honey. He has about as much magic as this here rock.” 

Jack decides not to remark that all things have the potential for magic, even a rock. It’s unnecessary, he understands what Bittle meant and really, that’s not the point. 

“He doesn’t hate you?”

It was meant to be a statement, an insistence, but it comes out more like a question. Surely Bitty’s dad doesn’t hate him. Jack finds it difficult to believe that anyone could hate Bittle. He conveniently ignores the whisper in the rustle of the trees reminding him that You did

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2

Moana & RotBTD relationship: part 1/ part 2 (soon)

Moana & Hiccup have more in common than most may think. Both are children of Chiefs, but they are not royalty (!). Both are striving to be useful for their respective villages, thought there is also that big unknown that lures them out into the ocean, be it by air or water. Both made friends with antagonists of their moveis (of sorts?). 

Moana & Rapuzel are similar in a way that most Disney Princesses are. Both are children of (a sort) royalty, and both are not satisfied by the life they lead at home (or fake one) and their gaze are directed outwards, beyond their currently restricted lives. Both had gathered courage to seize the chance to go ‘outside’. And both have a drop of magic in them. ;)

pandalandalopalis  asked:

ANGSTY CHALLENGE ACCEPTED: The reader is best friends with Peter Parker (and they're in love with him, but he doesn't know), but she doesn't know that he's Spider-Man. One day, the reader is caught in the damage of some kind of villain, and they get severely hurt (something bad enough that it's basically fatal). Spider-Man is there trying to keep her from bleeding out, and the reader is like "Please don't let me die, I haven't told my best friend I'm in love with him" and angst ensues

A strangled scream burst from your lips as you were thrown through the air, tossed aside as if you weighed no more than a rag doll. All the air was knocked from your lungs as you collided with a parked car, before falling to the ground.

Your ribs felt as though they were shrinking in around your organs; your vision was flickering and blurry; blood was pouring from a wound somewhere on your stomach. You squinted your eyes as you lay in agony, and managed to make out an unclear image of the enormous robotic creature which had just sent an entire street into chaos.

You breathed in sharply as a familiar red-and-blue figure soared overhead, however instead of attacking the villain, Spiderman landed clumsily and sprinted to your side.

“Oh God, (Y/N), I’m so sorry,” he murmured repeatedly, his hands hovering over the wound in your stomach. You were in too much pain to wonder how he knew your name.

“You need to…help the people,” you managed to whisper hoarsely, tears welling in your eyes. “They’ll d-die.”

Spiderman shook his head rapidly, taking one of your hands in both of his gloved ones. You frowned; there was something familiar about the hands, something which reminded you of-

“Peter,” you wheezed. The superhero’s head jerked in your direction, and his whole body became tense.

“What did you say?” he asked, his voice rising in pitch. You narrowed your eyes to try and see him.

“Tell my f-friend, Peter….Parker, tell him I love h-him?” you requested, tears flowing down your cheeks and mingling with the blood.

Spiderman looked over his shoulder briefly, before doing the last thing you expected; he tugged his famous mask off of his face to reveal-

“Peter?” you whispered in confusion, trying to reach up and touch his face. He grabbed your hand and pressed it against his cheek, trying to smile reassuringly at you even as your blood smeared against his face.

“I’m here, (Nickname), don’t worry,” he told you. “You’re going to be okay, I promise. Oh god, I’m so sorry, this is all my-”

“I love you,” you blurted out again, wincing as you accidentally put pressure on your undoubtedly broken ribs. It was getting harder to breathe now.

Peter let out a heartbreaking sound which was somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

“I love you too, I love you so much,” he replied desperately, leaning down to press his forehead to yours. “I’m gonna get you out of here, hang on.”

He tried to lift you and you screamed in pain, your ribs turning to daggers within you. Your head fell against his chest, and he cradled you carefully, as if you were the most fragile creature in the world.

“Keep your eyes open,” he begged, stroking your hair, which was now matted with blood. “Please, (Y/N), don’t make me lose you too.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, struggling for breath now. “I love-”

(I HAVE NO REGRETS, YOU ASKED FOR ANGST AND YOU BLOODY GOT IT)

7

I’m about to toss myself in bed to get a couple hours of sleep before a very early flight, but wanted to post these two wee moths I made before my very welcome vacation (more on that later!).

They’re examples for an embroidery workshop I’m teaching at the end of April, but I love them so much I’ve decided they’re also my friends*

*I’m re-reading Anne of Green Gables right now in advance of watching more of the new series that’s being aired here & I think Anne-with-an-E’s way of thinking is percolating even more so than usual in my brain!

6

Time for Friday Reads! Here’s what we’re working on:

Founding Mother Susan Stamberg: Broad Strokes: 15 Women Who Made Art and Made History (in That Order) by Bridget Quinn. She says it’s a “terrific essay collection with quick and pithy profiles of famous and not famous women artists – Alice Neel, Louise Bourgeois, Lee Krasner, Kara Walker, etc. Spunky attitudinal SMART writing, excellent color reproductions.”

Fresh Air producer Molly Seavy-Nesper: The Girls by Emma Cline. She says, “It hasn’t gotten scary yet, but I’m really enjoying how descriptive and poetic the prose is.”

Editor Rose Friedman: I just finished this totally entertaining detective novel. It’s called Six Four, translated from Japanese. The author is Hideo Yokoyama. It’s more about police bureaucracy than an actual crime, but it manages to make that subject into a thriller. I really liked it.

Blogger Camila Domonoske: The Familiar, Vol. 1 by Mark Danielewski

International Editor Hannah Bloch says she’s REALLY loving André Aciman’s Enigma Variations.

Blogger Colin Dwyer is taking a break from the Imperial Radch series to read Denis Johnson’s Train Dreams.

How about you?

-Nicole

I’m a Libra moon and we’re often labeled with stigma that makes us seem weak and dependent. You’ve heard it all before; indecisiveness (and two-faced as a result), mimicry (and easy influenced or passive as a result) an eager to please or to be well liked (and avoidance of conflict/confrontation as a result) and craving relationship (and emotional dependency on another to feel complete as a result). Sure, I can be these things at my worst, I am still growing. 

Let’s not forget however, that the Libra archetype is air and cardinal, meaning there’s logic here (air) as well as leadership qualities (cardinal). With the moon (emotion) under Libra, the feelings are filtered through logic and this allows leadership qualities to flourish without being held down by personal experiences, feelings and opinions. There is a loving nature here (Venus-ruled, values relationship and connection) but it is working through the mind rather than the heart and therefore there is more clarity to the emotions. Libra moon then uses this clarity and strives for equality and harmonious connection by bringing people together. There is a friendly charm, social and interpersonal intelligence, an urge to fight for what is right and cohesiveness to achieve union. At my best, I am like this. 

This is not to say emotions are faulty. Cancer (moon and emotion ruled) is cardinal through and through; esoterically, they lead the zodiac wheel, Cancer is where the soul meets the human vessel. Cancer is the World Mother and initiates through emotion and instinct. And so, what this is to say, is that Libra is not Cancer and Cancer is not Libra; their leadership characteristics manifest differently. Emotions will not work for Libra (rational, clear reason) nor will Logic work for Cancer (subconscious, instinct, feeling). 

Libra moon’s dark side comes from the instability and fluctuation of the scales, but like any scale, equilibrium is possible. Some refer to this as idealistic and in many ways, it is; idealism is a key archetypal trait of Libra moon and comes from the need to find balance within themselves and others. This idealism bestows a dreamy and artistic personality, and someone capable of seeing others in a universal and fair light.

I really hope Halsey continues the theme of creating a world and bringing it to life with the next album like she did with Badlands. Like the whole Visit Badlands twitter, the Welcome to Badlands website, the Visit Badlands postcards/posters & Badlands Prep bumper stickers she sent out, the Badlands Visitor’s Center phone number & texts, setting up Badlands Air and Badlands Hair. Halsey went above and beyond to make Badlands so much more than an album, she created an atmosphere and a universe for her fans to escape to and I love it every bit of it.

piesandfalcs  asked:

Hi Tammy! I love your work. I was wondering if you have watched Ash Hardell's series on asexuality? (ABCs of LGBT) Also, I love the way that you portray crafting in your books. How much research do you do into things like sewing and blacksmithing?

I haven’t watched the series, no. Where does it air? 

As much research as I possibly can. There’s always somebody in the audience that knows more than you do, and you don’t want to make an idjit of yourself. I observed glassmakers, and I had a friend who had done glassmaking, so I was able to talk to him. My father introduced me to the intricacies of gunpowder (boom dust!), including how it smelled. My friend the glassmaker also helped me with bonsai, and I went to several bonsai stores and talked with the proprietors. 

With knitting, sewing, and weaving, I had my mother and a program that did spinning thread and raw yarn. I also observed the weavers and spinners at Renaissance Fairs and I have a good friend who’s a champion knitter. 

I work that way. I get videos, I get books, I talk to people. For Renaissance crafts, I discovered that the Society for Creative Anachronism not only provides a lot of living examples of crafts at their gatherings, but their publishers produce chapbooks (small paper-bound books) about individual Renaissance arts and crafts. Falconry, shoemaking, hats of particular periods and so on. You can buy them online.

anonymous asked:

Okay, what are some of your Macdennis headcanons just... in general....... about anything.... sorry this is so vague I probably sound super weird!

i’m not really sure what exactly you had in mind, so i thought i’d hit you with Soft™ funny bad men:

  • though mac loves nothing more than showering dennis with affection, he can’t bring himself to say “i love you” again after that one unreciprocated time when they were held hostage. it’s a quiet sunday morning and they’re curled up on the couch trading kisses, and mac is absolutely lost in how surreal it is to be finally doing this with dennis when he hears the words, hushed and brief and gone as quickly as they came. mac thinks he’s misheard, and dennis looks startled at himself but as the silence hangs in the air, a small smile plays at his lips, and it’s quite possibly the best he’s ever looked to mac, who finally gets to say the words back to someone instead of saying them first.
  • dennis cries after they have sex for the first time.
  • ever since the rpg, dennis has tried to one-up mac’s gift for valentine’s day each year but he’s absolute shit at giving gifts. mac treasures them all anyway.
  • when snacking late at night, dennis always wakes mac up from letting the microwave play the loud beeping noise at the end, but mac doesn’t mind because hey, dennis is eating.
  • dennis would never admit it in a million years, but his favorite physical thing to do with mac is spooning. he’s the little spoon.
  • they’re each other’s phone backgrounds - it happened one night after one too many tequila shots. mac’s is of dennis sleeping, with his hair comically sticking out in every direction, while dennis’s is of mac wearing his mesh tank and flexing. neither of them changed theirs back the next morning.
“A Touch Unlike Any Other”

A Olicity Historical AU:  Touch can be so much more than just, physical.

A/N:  T-rated and 1 chapter of ?.  This will probably be just a few chapters.  I’ve been struggling with writer’s block for a while and wanted to say thank you to three lovely friends for their friendship and never ending cheerleading.  It is so appreciated.  xo @tinaday3w @hope-for-olicity @quiveringbunny

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Chapter 1

London, Spring of 1816

Oliver Queen, the Earl of Archer, concentrated on taking his next breath as he attempted to keep the piercing noises of the jubilant ballroom suppressed to a tolerable irritation.   Draw air in, as if inhaling the pleasing scent of a blooming flower.  Ease out, to attempt to relax.  Draw in.  Ease out.  Draw in.  Ease outHe repeated his personal mantra over and over in his mind.  If he could keep his concentration he just might make it through the night without embarrassing himself and his family.  

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