Aliens huh?

I’m the verge of being awake for nearly 20 hours and I had a thought since I’ve been reading those awesome aliens and human interaction stories. Apologies if I ramble.

What if

Aliens in general, they evolved as their cultures grew with or without technology far more advanced than ours could ever be, they have amazing feats in engineering and maybe they had no wars or they are the most violent beings in the world, but I suggest to you

What if they could draw, but they would stick to this specific style, like for example, we humans would exclusively only draw in the ancient Egyptian style and literally NOTHING else? That’s just the way it was for them for their entire species existence? Diversity in art wasn’t a thing since what they were drawing wasn’t advancing since it didn’t need to for them and never had a thought to change it up.

So when Humans eventually get their little creative butts off our small planetoid of a space pebble and begin to mingle with all these fascinating aliens and celestial beings, some artsy people begin to board on all these fleets and space ships and tankers and take their sketch books and pencils and whatnot with them because hey, a long space boat ride some wheres gonna be boring sooner or later so might as well get that cool idea i have out on paper before i loose my urge to do it! Then a few passing by alien folks of different origins spot this little human doodling away and are intrigued at the fact that they can draw too, let’s see what they do for art. Maybe its similar to Xe’s or Xer’s planets artisans.

Then they get friendly with the arty human and after these alien folk show some of their home worlds artistic feats, they slowly get the shy human to show more of their work they have stashed away for references and such (because how many of you art folks show most if any of your book to people without getting friendly enough with them, I’ll rip someones arm off before they even touch my books gawd XD) And as they see all the art the human has, they’re stunned to the core with how they can do so many different types of art! Its like this human managed to replicate another planets cultural abilities without hesitation!

Naturally there curious and how this small being from such a lower technological class can do so much? Did the human get these difference pieces from their other human sub classes that specialize in this preferred style?

And the little human just blushes shyly and says, “No no no, I’ve just been experimenting with some realism lately, this is better now since i started to lay off with the anime works and looked more into stippling, impressionism, some animation on the side, and don’t get me started with exaggerated proportions! It’s so fun-”

“Wait, human Fran, you…. you did all these with your own hand? And how in the galaxies did you make the pictures move???”

“Well, yes, how else would you learn and build up your own way of drawing things? I draw usually what fits my mood and have fun experimenting”

Next thing you see in years to come is a artistic explosion from sooooooo many planets as all these single styled alien cultures go through renaissances and eureka moments with their art.

Then the alien anime becomes the biggest mistake in the galaxies

Not sure if you had this come your way or not @space-australians but how would this play out in your head if the scenario happened? :3

I happily blame you and your blog for even generating this idea in my head, love all the space stuff you reblog for everyone to read and imagine~!

listen,,, if you leave six ninja on a flying boat for long enough they will come up with their own memes and inside jokes

  • “kai would hit on a sexy lamp”
    • one time lloyd dressed an actual lamp in a dress with a mini skirt and kai was so sleep deprived that he hit on it
  • when anyone does anything bad, they go sit in the corner of shame. theres a sign
  • saying lloyd is twelve no matter how old he gets
    • kai: sorry lloyd you cant come fight with us youre like twelve
      lloyd: im sixteen
    • jay: sorry lloyd you cant come clubbing with us you’re like twelve
      lloyd: ?? im twenty??
    • zane: i shouldnt use such big words, lloyd is only twelve
  • mix and matching parts of old uniforms and excusing it with “its called fashion”
  • making up parts that zane needs to keep up to date
    • nya: zane, is your thermalhydrothingabob functioning smoothly?
    • cole: zane’s been pretty slow lately, maybe his popcornjpgwhatsit is broken
    • lloyd: zane! better make sure your chickentron is updated!
  • stacking things on wu’s hat while he’s asleep. cole and nya are tied at 8
  • “morro made me do it”
    • this one is lloyd only and its definitely a coping mechanism so leave him be
      • lloyd: *breaks something* morro made me do it
      • kai: who ate the last cookie?
        lloyd: morro made me do it
      • jay: you look like you havent slept??
        lloyd: morro made me do it
    • pls go get therapy lloyd
  • green ninja competitions similar to the ones in season 1 where they decide who gets to be the green ninja. lloyd is the judge
  • if someone (usually jay or lloyd) starts a disney or dreamworks song, everyone has to join in
    • wu once walked in on lloyd and kai singing “the plagues” from prince of egypt with absolutely no context, and walked right back out
  • exaggerated non swearing around lloyd
  • *someone finds out a new piece of information” wonder what else sensei hasnt told us
  • their pizza order changes every night and its always terrible
    • “yo can i get a hawaiian pizza with pineapple and sardines, deliver to the destinys bounty”
    • “yah id like a none pizza with left beef deliver to the destinys bounty”
    • “can i have one slice of pizza, but, like, with every topping you have on it. deliver to the destinys bounty”
  • “alright im gonna go to the store”
    “only bad things happen when we split up”
  • “whats the weirdest place you can find lloyd asleep” competitions. dareth is the judge. its been weeks and lloyd has no idea
  • they copy old memes too
    • kai: im going to taco bell you want anything
      lloyd: i want my dad back
      kai: yah i got like 12 dollars
    • nya: jay was found dead in miami
      cole: is he okay
      nya: he’s alright but he’s dead
    • jay: remember to drink your respect women juice guys!
  • “the singles club” thats permanently occupied by lloyd and cole, and the others have all been part of it at some point. they have meetings.
  • “how dare you break color coordination” when anyone wears anything other than their usual color
  • “well, we kept kai”
    • variants include “well, we kept lloyd” and “well i kept all of you” (said by wu, once, and the others were in shock for ten minutes and then laughed for five minutes straight)
  • regarding nya as the best thing since sliced bread

Mushy fluff for you guys. I really like how this turned out. 

Dany lays awake at night and runs her hands over Jon’s scars. She thinks about them and the man who bears them. Ep 6 spoilers

Pairing: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen

It was a cold night in the Lord’s chambers of Winterfell, colder than any other night ever seen by the North. The army of the dead were approaching. Winter is here. Winterfell always had a chill she could never quite get away from. The fire burned in the fireplace and the moonlight dimly lit the room. A cold chill swept throughout the room. Dany felt the chill straight to her bones even though she was bundled up in thick, heavy furs. Dany had only been in Winterfell for a month, but the chill was unlike anything she had experienced before. Even after going North of the wall when she blew fire on the Night King, the chill in Winterfell had her more frozen then that day. Ice and death were at the castles doors.

Dany had many nights she stayed awake. The worry and fear seeping into her veins as she thought of the war to come. You have to see it to know. Now I know. Her dreams have become nightmares filled with ice blue eyes, harsh winds, blinding snow, and freezing water. She will never forget that day. The day one of her children died. The screech she heard as the Night King throw an icy spear to her fiery dragon. Poor, sweet Viseron had always been the sweetest of her children. He would make sweet sounds when she was near, and always was gentle when he soared through the sky. He wasn’t as big as Rhagael and Drogon, but he was just a fierce. Dany remembered watching the life drain from his eyes and drown into the frozen lake. The memories made her shutter. She felt frozen.

Dany sat up in the bed and looked around the room. Winterfell was so grey and gloomy. How had Jon lived here his whole life? She wanted to travel with him to Essos. She wanted him to taste sweet summer wines and eat suckling pork with honey glaze. She wanted to swim with him in the bright blue waters that surrounded Meereen. She wanted to fly her dragons with him over the desert and see what other kinds of mountains existed, mountains of sand. She wanted to see him in traditional warm weather clothes. She wanted him to feel the heat of the sun on his skin. She wanted to show him the city and Narrow Sea from the top of the pyramid she commanded. Alas, none of that ever seemed like it was going to happen.

Dany felt Jon stir in the bed beside her. They had taken up sharing the Lord’s chambers as their relationship was no secret by now. As much as she tried to hide her love for Jon, her eyes gave her away. Lady Arya as sharp as a knife was the first one to notice the closeness of her relationship with Jon which was much more than allies. The Northern Lords had despised her at first. They wanted nothing to do with a Targaryen. Jon, the ever stupidly foolish noble man he is, defended her until his face turned red. The Lords had grown to accept her when they realized it didn’t matter who sit on throne as the dead approached. Jon didn’t do anything to hide their relationship. He would grab her hand in the courtyard and kiss her in the godswood. At Lady Sansa’s urging they finally made their relationship known, it hadn’t mattered that much at all what people thought as death approached. To be honest, Dany didn’t care. She loved Jon, and no one was going to tell her other wise.

Dany turned back to look at Jon. He was laying with arms stretched out if reaching for her. His curls were a wild mess and he had a peaceful look on his face. Dany sometimes forgot how young he was. How cruel the world had been to him at such a young age? Sometimes she wonders how he survived it all? Did he always feel alone never knowing his mother? Did he have a good relationship with Robb? How did he feel when Catelyn Tully looked on him with hate? Did he ever dream of having a wife? A child? He told her once he took the black because he believed there was nothing left for him in the world. It made her seethe with hate for Catelyn Tully for making Jon believe he could never be loved. Dany was going to show him otherwise. She would make sure he always knew he was loved. She loved him with all her heart and she never wanted to see him hurt like that again.

Dany saw Jon’s brow crease when he realized she had been gone from his arms for too long. He always reached for her in his sleep. Dany moved back down and went into Jon’s welcoming embrace. A ghost of a smile creeped up on his lips when she held him. She was glad she could bring some comfort to his weary mind. He always looked worried, always one for brooding she thought. Sometimes she would call him the Brooding King to mock him when he had a particular look on his face. He hated the nickname at first, but found it would bring him joy after she had kissed the brooding look off his face.

Dany brought her hand up to his chest. Jon was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. He was built like a warrior, had a strong jawline, beautiful curls, and the most gentle grey eyes. His gruff northern accent only an added bonus. He never seemed to notice how the women in Winterfell looked at him. Their king. They would stare at her with jealous eyes. Dany didn’t care. You are mine. I am yours. The most beautiful part of Jon was his scars. An odd thing for a woman to find attractive, but it made him who he was. To her, Jon was perfect.

Dany traced over the jagged scars on his abdomen. Rough and pink, looking like they were fresh and new. Dany knew Jon was insecure about them, and they brought up horrible memories. She always had to remind him that they were scars of a former life. They were there to remind him of why the red priestess brought him back. He was needed in the war to come, and if he had remained dead she never would have met him. The only people who knew of his resurrection were his closest family, advisors, and her. Ser Davos foolishly bringing it up when he was back in the throne room in Dragonstone. A knife in the heart for his people.

Dany was always curious about them after she heard Ser Davos say that. She had brought it up multiple times to Jon and he always gave her a vague answer. It wasn’t until he was unconscious and on the brink of death, that she realized Ser Davos told the truth. She had seen them with her own eyes on the boat after he returned from beyond the wall. She had seen them on full display as she sat next to him on the boat. He didn’t seem to notice as his full attention was on her. He had comforted her over the loss of her child, and called her his queen. Overcome with emotion, she held his hand. Only when she tried to pull back and he held on tighter, she realized Tyrion was telling the truth. He was in love with her. Dany, the foolish girl she was, had let go and walked out of the room too stunned to stay. Her feelings overtook her as she exited the room and went to the bow of the ship. She knew she loved him before, but the depth of that love she only fully discovered then. She certainly didn’t think he felt the same way. She didn’t feel worthy of him, even though she was a queen. It wasn’t until he came to her on the ride to Winterfell that she fully gave into her love for him and laid with him.

Dany traced each scar slowly with tears forming in her eyes. How could his own men turn on him? She tried to imagine how he felt when each stab went into his body. The very men he trusted with his life had betrayed him. He must have felt so cold and alone. He had just lost his Wilding girl and now the very boy who killed her put a knife in his own heart. If she could be there, she would have killed the boy with her own hands. She briefly remembers of the time when Jon told her he got stabbed. She had been stranded somewhere in Essos after Drogon rescued her from the mob during the tourney. She swears to him she heard a wolf cry in the distance that night. She remembers feeling so alone. She wished she could have been there with him to protect him. She would have given her life for his.

Dany finally reached the scar by his heart and the tears came. The final blow. The end. He could have been taken from her forever if it weren’t for the red priestess. She’ll have to thank Melisandre one day if she sees her again. The priestess who brought them together. Ice and fire. She could feel his beating heart under her palm. Jon had such a good heart. He was selfless, brave, honest, and noble. He was the kindest man she had ever met. He had always treated her as an equal and shared the same world view as her. He was her match in every way possible. The ice to her fire. She the fire to his ice. Dany felt her heart swell at the depth of the love she had for Jon. She would protect his heart. The Night King can take everything from her, even her life, but he would never take Jon. She would make sure of that.

Dany slowed raised her head and kissed the scar on his heart. She felt Jon stir underneath her.

She felt his hand weave into her curls and grab her hand that rested on his heart.

She looked up at him with tender eyes.

He blinked groggy from sleep and smiled at her.

“What are you doing up so late?” He said in his gruff northern accent.

Dany looked into his eyes and the emotions of her thoughts raised to the surface.

She stroked his cheek with her right hand. Jon looked at her with worry in his eyes.

“Are you okay?” He stroked the back of her head.

A lone tear fell down her cheek. “I love you…” she said and moved her hand down to trace the scar over his heart. “..all of you.” She kissed the scar for a second time that night.

He looked at her with the same look he had on the boat so long ago. He raised her head with both his hand so she was level with his face. “I love you.” He repeated her words to her softly.

He leaned up and gave her a soft kiss. Dany overcome with emotion kissed him back tenderly pouring her heart into the kiss. She lifted her head and leaned their foreheads together.

Listening to his soft breath Dany blurted out something she had been thinking for a while now.

“Marry me.” she said softly with her eyes still closed.

Jon let out a soft gasp in surprise and moved her head up so she could look into his eyes.

He looked at her with shock and awe. Dany looked down with embarrassment, she hadn’t meant to blurt out such a thought.

She looked back up at him and he just looked her quietly with love in his eyes. She made a decision for herself. Dany had never been able to choose something on her own. Vast circumstances and duty to her people always overshadowed what she needed for herself. She had resigned herself to life without love after Drogo and her sweet summer child had died. She never expected to meet someone she would choose to love during the most dangerous, and unexpected of times. She was tired of choosing duty and honor over love. She had given everything to this war, maybe she deserved something for herself even if it only was for a short while as death was at their door. She wanted him. She wanted this. She wanted to marry him in the moonlight under the godswood with his family there. She wanted to marry him because she loved him, not for political gain or an alliance with the North. She didn’t care too much for the throne these days. So she made a decision, and went with her heart.

“Marry me now before the dead come. I don’t want to spend the short time we have left wondering what could be. If we die, we die, but now we live. I don’t want to spend another moment without you by my side. I want the world to know I am yours, and you are mine. Let the night king be damned. I love you and I want to marry you under the godswood while we still have the chance, not for an alliance but because we love each other.” She spoke so quickly, almost mumbling the whole speech.

She looked at him with love shining in her eyes. She waited nervously for his response. She knew he accepted their shared blood relation, but he always been hesitant anytime Tyrion or Ser Davos brought up the subject of a political alliance by marriage.

He held her face in his hands and she swears she had never seen a more beautiful sight. She nearly cried at the beauty of it.

He looked at her with his eyes so open and vulnerable and smiled at her the smiled only reserved for her.

“Nothing would make me happier, Dany.” He said in a soft voice.

She smiled at him a wide smile with tears in her eyes and grabbed his face and kissed him passionately.

He kissed her back fiercely and rolled her over. She felt as if her heart could burst.

The cold air faded away, the night king a pile of snow on the ground, the iron throne a melted pile of swords, and a dream of spring coming into her mind.

She made love for the first time that night. Yes, they had lain with each other many times before, but something about this time felt different, more special. Sex had always been enjoyable for her, but with Jon she felt as if the fire and heat ran through her soul and veins.

As he lay on top of her, deep inside her, she touched the scar over his heart and smiled.

Underneath that scar was his beating heart, and she would make sure it would keep beating until her last breath.

Ko Lanta - Thailand

Ko Lanta is an island located in the Andaman see, off the coast of Southern Thailand. As with many other destinations in the Krabi province, Ko Lanta is known for its diving and white sandy beaches. Many of the resorts on the island are locally owned, and feature beachfront bungalows. The island is a great place to watch the sunrise and sunset. 

The culture on the island is a mix of Buddhist, Muslim, Thai, Chinese culture. The island is also home to the unique Chao Le people, who are known as “people of the sea”, who make most of their income from catching and selling seafood. They have managed to retain their own language, culture, and traditions in the face of booming commercialism in the area. 

Moana Starters!

Her heart has the greatest power ever known.
He was a warrior…
But you don’t go out there. It’s dangerous.
We share everything we make.
There’s more fish beyond the reef.
I should have burned those boats a long time ago!
You’re face to face with greatness and it’s strange. You don’t even know how you feel. It’s adorable!
It’s a beautiful cave, she’s gonna love it.
I’m going to love you.
Congratulations on being dead!
Teach me to sail.
You are gonna stay here with the other chicken.
Are you just trying to get me to talk about myself?
Take a hike, tiny.
Somehow, I was found by the Gods.
Why did you bring me here?
You have to choose someone else!
Do you know who you are?
I’ve got your back, Chosen One.
Let her come to me.


natgeo Video @ladzinski & @andy_mann / The hallmark of any grueling expedition is the ability to laugh along the way with your friends as much as possible. It makes the hard times tolerable and the good times even that much better. We just returned from a 6 week expedition to Southeast Greenland, a mission led by @mikelibecki, where @ethan_pringle and Mike climbed the hardest route in the country up an unnamed mountain. A burly first ascent on un-chartered terrain. On the long boat ride back to Tasiilaq, Ethan wasn’t done with “firsts” and decided to ride an inflatable slice of pizza down a 300 foot iceberg, launching into the icy waters. This trip was peppered with moments like this, the ones that make you feel like a kid again and keep you and your friends laughing. Hope you enjoy watching it as much as we did in person 😂

Underwater Gargoyle

Another monster request, this time for @noboopforyou who wanted a gargoyle, but underwater! I loved the idea of this! Keep sending me your monster requests.

   Off the coast of your hometown there once stood a beautiful castle, or at least that is what people told you. The small island it stood on sank, bringing it down into the sea. Your father would tell stories to you about the castle when you went fishing. He said the castle was guarded by many strong gargoyles that hated the creatures in the sea, so those creatures waited till the gargoyles were vulnerable and sunk the castle in retaliation.

Sometimes people who vacationed on their beach took boats out and dove down to search the remains, but they usually came back up rather quick and made a fast retreat out of town. Your father would just laugh and say that the gargoyles were still doing their job.

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Ben’s Fear

Growing up, it was common knowledge that my cousin was afraid of seaweed. Naturally, we terrorized him with it. Pieces in his bed, pieces in his shoes, and my favorite: pieces in his bathing suit. Every time, we were guaranteed a scream and a scramble as he tried to get the seaweed away from his delicate self.

Nothing, though, compared to what we’d do to him at the beach.

I’ll fully admit that we were bullies back then. We didn’t know what we did was wrong; we just thought it was funny. And since Ben laughed it off at the end, even if he’d cried while it was happening, we thought it was okay to continue. Kids will be kids, right?

I was the oldest, and therefore the biggest. Ben was always really skinny and small. I could manhandle him pretty effortlessly. I’d dunk him underwater, I’d toss him around; all that. But I’d also hold him still as my other cousins draped him with seaweed.

Oh, how he’d scream.

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honeymoon headcanons

once upon a time there was a me who didn’t always think about solangelo whenever i saw something cute. anyway, i was in paris for a week and let me tell you a few things.

  • first off, nico and will are the kind of couple that you see bickering around and sending death glares across the room and would never in a million years believe to be this close to getting married
  • three days before their (small, intimate, very private and toned down) wedding and they still haven’t bothered to tell everyone, only the ones who are supposed to be there
  • (like, will runs into some of their acquaintances from chb and they stop to catch up and “wait, what, you’re getting married??? to who???” “ummm nico?” “you’re still together????”)
  • (will doesn’t get why everyone’s so surprised but then he gets home and nico says “whadap asshole” in greeting and he’s like oh yeah, that’s why)
  • anyway, they’re not affectionate when they’re around people, but when they’re alone…
  • oh boy
  • kisses so soft that they make clouds jealous
  • smiles bright enough to power new york city for a whole month
  • tiny lingering touches and words so sweet that everyone in a mile’s radius gets diabetes
  • so don’t you dare tell me that nico and will wouldn’t go to paris for their honeymoon
  • because they definitely would
  • and they get the honeymoon suite from one of the most expensive hotels they can find, with a generous balcony overlooking the city, and will might be a little uncomfortable with spending so much money at first but then again, nico is the child of the god of underworld, money is Not A Problem
  • nico makes reservations to have dinner at the eiffel tower when the sun sets, and will teases him half way through the first course to hide how touched he is
  • will books them a trip to a winery, and they spend the whole day walking around hand in hand and stealing kisses behind their wine glasses
  • nico insists on visiting versailles, and they make a list of pros and cons on redecorating their bedroom to look like marie antoinette’s
  • (also selfies in the garden with the god statues, sending them to everyone and especially their dads. nico finds apollo’s bath grove especially hilarious.)
  • “will, we did not fly all the way to europe just to go to disneyland”
  • “but you have to admit that now that we’re here it would be a crime not to go”
  • “will no”
  • “will yes”
  • they definitely go to disneyland and nico loves every second of watching will’s face light up and the fireworks reflecting from his eyes
  • (the food isn’t half bad either but there’s no way nico is going to tell will that)
  • picnic on champs de mars is apparently a Thing, so of course they do that, and feed each other cheese and grapes and strawberries, and they’re so sickly sweet that if someone they knew saw them they wouldn’t be recognized
  • walks along the riverside at night, watching the city lights and stopping to take pictures every now and then, kissing under the moonlight with the eiffel tower on the background
  • (that picture instantly gets over three thousand likes on instagram)
  • on their last night there they walk across pont neuf and enjoy the lights and the glint of hundreds of locks on the rails, and nico digs one from his pocket and shows will the engraved together forever
  • and it’s such a clichée and corny and even the engraving is more tacky than actually sweet, but in that moment will can’t really think of anything that would have been more perfect
  • so they place the lock to a corner where they can find a small vacant place, and they throw the key to the river, and will kisses nico for a long time until a boat comes from under the bridge and partygoers start shouting at them
  • and if they make it a habit to visit every few years to make sure the lock is still on place no one has to know
  • on the plane back to the states nico is sleeping against will’s shoulder and will keeps scrolling the pictures they took, playing with nico’s fingers with his other hand
  • two weeks in paris might not be enough, but that only means will can start planning for the second honeymoon, right?
  • (the second honeymoon is definitely venice and i will fight you for this)
  • (somehow they end up going on a trip every year for their anniversary and call it a honeymoon, sometimes jokingly and sometimes less jokingly)

Well, I guess there are worse fates than ending up the absolute epitome of a, “Prettyboy Meathead” who’s “All Brawn and no Brain” or a, “Smelly Brute”

You see, I used to be the captain of the Chess Club. Short, scrawny, specky redheaded beanpole with acne, a lisp, stuttering with anxiety. But now, They really did a number on me…

Who’s they? The football team! That’s who! They’d been bullying me ever since I transferred to this school, having argued for home schooling instead, but losing out and ending up a freshman here. They targeted me right off the bat, first day, “fresh meat” as they called me, while throwing me into a dumpster. This repeated itself for a few weeks, until finally I’d had enough, and lost it.

Yup, I admit it, I lost it. Total tantrum. But I swear, I didn’t mean to break the quarterback’s ankle! All I’d meant to do is… well, I mean I didn’t know what I meant to do, I just charged at him, screaming about how they were all just pretty trophy boys, worthless mindless meatheads, disgusting sweaty animals, plowing head first into his rock solid abs. We both went tumbling down the wheelchair ramp, myself stopped by a column, while he continued, crashing into a display case and howling in a deep rumbling rage.

That afternoon, when the nurse and the ambulance EMT’s concurred that his ankle was shattered in 2 places, taking him off the roster for the big game and chance at the championship, the team was not so thrilled with me. Hell, the whole damn school wanted to lynch me! I had to leave early, my parents getting a phone call to pick me up. I was reamed out the whole way home. My mother nearly had an asthma attack she was screeching so loud.

My dad, while still joining in on the reaming, seemed almost, proud. There was a little shimmer in his eye that I’d never seen before. It lasted only a second though as my mom hit her stride and went into full parental meltdown. I’d never seen her this angry.

Only a day passed before we got a call from the school. I was expelled, unless my parents and I agreed to a few demands. My mother, trying to save my academic career, agreed before even hearing them. My dad though, agreed to a meeting with the Principal, and oddly, the coach of the Football team.

Heading over to the school was like a motorized death march. The car ride dead silent, treading into the school and down to the Sports offices where both the Coach and Principal were having a heated debate. I only caught a blurb or two before they noticed us and quieted down. Something about “coach’s special training”

I found out during the hour long meeting, that the Coach had me in mind for replacing Blake, the Quarterback I’d taken off the field. Everyone, including the principal had their reasons as to why I couldn’t, myself as well, but Coach wouldn’t have it. He claimed that he could have me in playing condition before the big game, and, if I played, I could keep going to school, the expulsion would be voided.

Again, my mom agreed fully, signing the forms before my dad could stop her. My dad though, asked questions. The answered were vague, everything was about “focus, drive, determination, and making up for my mistakes” After a good 25 minute spiel, my dad too signed the form, signing my academic life away to a man who was quite literally an entire team’s worth of brawn packed into one.

Long story short, the game was in 6 weeks. My training started immediately, as well as a strict diet, supplements that coach provided, all of my study halls and my time on the chess team was forfeited to Coach, during which I was to watch football videos and take notes.

Weird thing is, after a few videos and days taking the supplements, I couldn’t really take notes… Strange, as I’d been a straight A Student. I just couldn’t. It was too boring. Even stranger, I couldn’t sit still. My body felt jolted and alive, my muscles aching and warm, feeling like they were going to burst off of me. I sat, squirming in my seat watching the videos, mindlessly taking in the plays, when, day by day, my body seemed to change.

First came the sweat. No matter how little I was active. Even just sitting at school or home, I was sweating, sometimes profusely. Soaking through my clothes, and, rather embarrassingly, stinking through my deodorant and body wash. by day 3, I reeked, constantly, I could smell myself. People noticed as well, the football team calling me stinky, and Jockstrap. Others moved away from me in the halls, or left seats empty near me in classes. However, sometimes I’d catch some of the prettier girls, especially the ditzy Barbie type, taking side glances at me, their eyes lingering on me for a moment before shaking their heads and running off giggling

Then came the muscle spasms and odd unexplained growth spurts. I was a late bloomer, short and thin. but each passing day added a bit of height, a bit of weight, becoming more solid and dense. I had one night in particular where I woke up screaming in pain as my body cracked and expanded, until I’d ended up a week later, 6′2″ 140lbs or so, looking solid, but not brawny. Well, not brawny, YET.

After the growth spurts, the videos lessened, and it was time for on field practice. Alone at first, then with the team. I can’t remember most of it, Coach would say something strange to me, and I’d lose track of time, waking up dazed and dizzy in the locker room with a towel around my waist, wet from the shower, or naked soaping up my body mindlessly as the hot water boiled away my thoughts.

I noticed now that I had bushy, wiry hair under my arms, and a dense collection around my groin, which, after the 4rth practice wearing a cup, felt packed and swollen. Each night I was jerking off load after load, feeling as if each jet caused my balls to swell and churn, until after a week, I had a veritable salami between my legs, with egg sized nuts in a musky, furry sack. The team took notice too, and started calling me Donkey. a nickname that encompassed my densely packed bulk, my large pendulous cock, and the always constant reek of musty stink coming off my body.

It was at this point that my mother tried to stop the whole thing. She cried when she watched my grades plummet, watched me get bigger, brawny and brutish, while out nightly dinner talks about the day and world news skidded to a halt, replaced by football, coach, the team, girls. My dad however, loved every moment! He’d even helped me move out all of my nerdy crap from my room, to replace it with a  weight bench and a shelf for future trophies.

After practiced and the changed to my body, coach had me work up my arms to beefy, thick bulging dense pythons, my biceps rounded, with a vein running down its length even at resting. My chest as well, widened my shoulders and held my pads up like a statue. I was quite built now, lumbering round at about 162lbs, when he stopped me after a grueling workout, held my head in his hands and said it was time for the last details in my reparations for ruining his star player.

I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, as he brought out a tin with gel inside, a pair of cleats that looked about 4 sizes too big, and a jockstrap and cup that seemed to pulsate menacing in his hand. without pause, he greased up his gloved hands and smeared the gel into my hair. it burned, and smelled of sulfur. I thought he was going to make me bald! Until I felt my hair thickening, rustling on its own with the gel mixing with my sweat, leaving me with an oddly boyish, yet decidedly bro-like Bieber cut. I could see my reflection in one of the mirrors, my hair was that of one of those pretty boys you see on TV! Thick and luscious, styled perfectly to the side, it’d stay like this without effort, as I found out soon after.

Then he forced me to sit on the bench behind me, took off my size 12 workout sneakers, tossed them across the room into a bin for lost and found items, and stuffed my feet into the huge cleats he’d brought in. My bare foot sunk into the sole of the cleat, feeling its warm, slimy texture. It felt like it’d recently been warn by a whole team during a month’s worth of games and practices. My feet itched intensely, all I could do was grunt In protest as the material seemed to tighten around my toes. Odd though, they didn’t seem to be moving. Hearing a few harsh, cracking pops and feeling searing pain in my feet, then a disgusting, foul smell rising upward, Coach took the cleats off, and I was staring down at a pair of size 16 boats. Long splayed toes shining with sweat in the fluorescent lighting, stinking up the room, looking masculine and raunchy. He covered his nose with his collar and muttered, “fucking athlete’s foot, always brutal” as I felt the burning sensation between my toes.

Then, as I tried to use my new strength to break Coach’s hold on me, he pulled down my gym shirts, then my jockstrap, letting my hefty, hairy meat free. He wolf whistled, giving me a wink as he slipped the jockstrap up my legs, then stuffed the cup in the pouch, hefting my cock and balls into it. I was right, it was pulsating! It felt like it was gripping my package, squeezing hard, then letting go, repeating over and over rhythmically. As it did so, I could feel my balls churning up a thick, heavy load, while a sudden head rush seemed to knock my brain out of my skull. I felt high, dizzy, horny, as my entire body seemed to warm up, then it felt like I was boiling on the inside, as a dim, dull rag seemed to fill my head. I felt my crotch start to itch, and a burning in my throat. I grunted, them moaned, my voice cracking harshly upward, embarrassingly, before dropping low and dumb, a deep, dim sounding baritone rumble.

M head filled with thoughts of wild, aggressive games, fucking like a stallion, working out till I couldn’t move, all while the cup seemed to milk up a steady drizzle of precum that, I’d find out later, would continue to pour from me at the slightest thought of passing glance of a pretty chick. I felt the need to pound my opponents into the dirt on the field, my whole body in fire, as coach whispered all my new desperate desires for sports, sex, being a man, filling me with pent up needs. Then, he ripped the jock and cup off me as my eyes rolled back in my head, told me to get changed into the outfit you see above, for my Team photo in the yearbook. I grunted, “fuck yeah” and dressed, stating at the Smelly brute, with the pretty boy good looks and dim, no brains behind the eyes state, as he took my photo, and I filled my pants with cum.


Coax the Cold by MediaWhore (86k)

England, 1897.

English Professor Louis Tomlinson’s passion for the occult has been a source of mockery and derision for most of his life. When he hears whispers of a travelling freak show newly established in London claiming the existence of a monstrous sea hybrid, half-man, half-fish, Louis sees it as his ticket to credibility amongst his peers. The summer he spends undercover working on the show, however, gives him much more than that.

Purer Than The Water (like we were) by FeelsForBreakfast (33k)

Louis is a merman and Harry is a boy. The lake is a good place to fall in love. 

Louis wants the boy to wade deeper, deep enough that Louis can go under and wrap his fingers around his ankles for just a moment. Pull him under. Just touch skin, for a second.

Keep reading

A Promise (A Maeve Fic) - ACOMAF and TOG Crossover

Okay, so this was a really interesting idea that I found on @greenfire2908art‘s blog. It gave me like a million ideas, so I decided to put as many as I could in here. Enjoy everyone! 

The throne room was dark. Shadowed, black walls curved sharply away from the ebon-stained tiles of the floor, tilting up and up and up to meet in a dome a hundred feet above. This should’ve opened up the room, dispelling any claustrophobic thoughts, but instead it made it seem as if there was no space at all, as if the walls were closing in and the floor collapsing. The lack of proper furniture and ornamentation only accentuated the crushing emptiness of the great hall, and any unfortunate visitor would feel like a deer in an open field. The current subject of this strange torture was sweating and wringing his hands nervously, his words stuttering and uneven.

Queen Maeve sat stiff-backed in her throne. She did not remember any other way to sit. Her bones were made of iron, same as her heart, and her backbone did not bend. The man continued his mumbling, and Maeve stared at him unblinkingly. His lips moved, but she could not hear.

Blood-red hands, plunging deep into a human chest.

“Me wife,” the farmer said. “She’s caught the flu and I’ve not a coin-”

A shrill wine, slowly, slowly building into a scream. Then many.

“Soon the kids’ll get it, too-”

“How many?” she said, not really wanting to know the answer even as she asked.

He swallowed, dark hair shifting as his throat bobbed. “Four-thousand.”

“So, you see, m'lady-Queen, that is-”

Her hands were wrapped around his neck, nails painted crimson looking like bloody claws as they gripped tighter.

“-to ask for help-”

Tighter, tighter. The fingers went white as they squeezed the life from her King. A wraith-like face laughed, taunting, skin pale and colorless but for her hair. The hair that seemed to grow brighter with every pool of blood spilled.

“O’ course, you don’t have t’-”

As those fingers went taut, a crack chased all other sound away, buried it in cotton. The silence made the noise that much louder.


“My son, Queen. He-”

“That’s quite enough.” Maeve’s voice was calm, amenable even. It was a horrible contrast to the shrieking hum beneath her skin. She made a gesture to her guards, a single sweep of her left hand that had three full-blooded Fae males setting down spears in favor of sword or axe.

As they neared, the farmer seemed to come back to himself, glancing back at the approaching Fae. “What’s this?” he asked.

One of the males roughly pulled his hands behind his back. That was when the old farmer began thrashing.

“What is this?” he asked again, panic edging his voice. “Put me down!”

Maeve watched without speaking.

The second guard pushed the man to his knees, pressing against his shoulders to keep him from squirming away.

And the third, he snapped gloves onto his hands, to lessen the mess that came afterwards. He tested the edge of his blade on his thumb, found it satisfactory. The farmer screamed, twisting and turning, but the arms that held him were like iron bands. The third Fae hefted the sword and leaned back to give himself room.

“I’m innocent!” the farmer shouted. “I’m innocent!”

Maeve leaned forward then, a cruel light behind her eyes. “No one is,” she crooned.

“I’m inn-”

A rush of air, a geyser of blood, and the third male had eyes like granite as he wiped the farmer’s life from his blade and walked back to his place. The two Fae who’d been holding down the man did not speak as they took up their posts by the door, leaving a crumpled, headless body behind.


Mild irritation could be seen in the feathering of Maeve’s jaw. If she could have, she’d be drumming her fingers along the deep blue manchette of her armrest. One of the typical meetings again, complete with tittering court ninnies and pompous fools. Hundreds of kingdoms she’d conquered, and not one managed a decent court without its share of idiots. She’d gotten used to it, and usually the ordered murder of the courtier of her pick was enough to shut them up. But her guards were not currently present, out on a scouting mission in search of Aelin Galathynius.

A thrill ran through her blood at just the thought of the Queen’s name. She’d escaped the iron prison, somehow. One day, Maeve had pried opened the door and found it empty, naught a trace left but for a swirling series of marks, sketched out in blood. There had been no sign of the Queen since, but rumors spread quick, and Maeve heard the whispers of an army rising in the North.

A donkey’s laugh burst from one of the courtiers, bursting her bubble of calm. He was surprisingly ugly for a Fae, with a sloping brow and protruding nose, and his guffaw did nothing to help his predicament. Maeve’s eyes tightened, and she put just a bit more effort into ignoring them.

As her violet gaze drifted around the room, her thoughts burrowed deep into lost history. To a very different kind of promise.

“You will not die. Not now or ever. Not until the world is a forgotten whisper of dust between the stars.”

Those were the words that the gods had cursed at her, centuries ago, after the death of…everything.

“Your Majesty?”

Maeve flicked her eyes to the one who’d spoken her title.

Strangely, he did not balk. She’d have to break him in soon. “Your Majesty,” he said, green eyes bright and black hair waving, “Aelin Galathynius has been sighted.”

Maeve smiled.


No one knew Maeve’s secret, the one of the Queen Who Was Promised. Promised not just to Elena and her gods, but also to her. She did not fight for Erawan, not for pleasure, not for power or some darker purpose. No, she sought freedom. One that none could give her but Aelin Galathynius.

It was with cold anticipation squirming in her gut that Maeve watched, from the safety of a long-boat, her armada crawl forward to meet the approaching one. It was anxious suspense that gnawed at her stomach as she saw just how many men had been gathered under the same banner to kill. And it that was definitely fear that thrilled through her when she realized it was her they wanted to kill.

Another emotion bubbled to the surface, one that had been pushed down for a thousand years to keep her sane. It was excitement, joy, that turned into a burning relief. So long, and finally her dream approached. Her salvation came in the form of pikes and spears and longbows, warships slicing through the water. It came in the form of a golden-haired queen with eyes a blazing blue that would’ve been better replaced by the line of molten gold rimming the irises.

Terror coursed through her like never before. Of course, it did not show on her face, wouldn’t even if she’d wished it to. Maeve let a cruel smile split her face in half, throwing a hand in front of her. Her ship lurched forward, careening towards the opposite bank. Rows of archers stood along each and every of the ships’ railings, the ones at the head of the armada like tiny dots in the back of her vision.

“Fire,” she whispered, and it was black flames that licked at her fingers as the first volley of arrows clotted the grey sky. Shields emblazoned with a rising sun rose up to defend from the wicked-edged points, but still, faint shrieks could be heard from the lines of enemy men.

A trickle of shadow she sent, a calling, a beckoning. Immediately she was answered. A balmy wind slammed into their ranks, cutting and eddying through the sea breeze. Maeve looked up, and she met eyes of blue and gold, even from over a quarter mile away. Her raging emotions halted when she saw the prince of snow next to her. He stood taller and stronger than he ever had at her side, and through the severed bond, she could feel where his endless sorrow had been replaced by a strange king of fullness.

The hollow cave that had once housed her human heart was suddenly prominent. Once, she had been them. Happy and complete, with a wisdom that could only be gained through the acceptance of another into your life. Hatred raked its oily claws down her insides. Together, the Queen and her mate, a reminder of what had been lost, why she still wanted to kill them.

“I won’t let you.”

Maeve growled and whirled around, the shadows leaking from her in waves. Her eyes widened when she saw who the voice belonged to. A woman, with long, golden-brown hair flowing down her back and eyes like pale-blue ice. Her form was bright and shimmering, and the power that spilled from her was enough to rival that of Aelin.

“Long time no see, Mora,” Maeve snarled. “How’s the afterlife suiting you?”

Mora’s eyes tightened. “I won’t let you kill her,” she said.

“I know. That’s why you’ll have to go first.”

Quick as lightning, a needle-sharp thread of shadow shot out. Mora didn’t move as the shadow darted for her chest, merely twitched her lip. The shadow was swallowed by a cloud of ice.

Maeve bared her teeth. “Why are you here?”

Mora met her gaze evenly. “The gods have come to collect their Promise. I won’t let you kill her.”

No, and I wouldn’t even if you hadn’t threatened me.

“Of course,” Maeve said coolly. “But why are you here?”

“Because I asked her to be.”

The breath caught in her throat as she turned slowly to meet the hazel-brown eyes that she had not seen since her Mate’s death. “You,” she said, because she had no idea if she should speak in a familiar or formal manner, and the awe did not leak into her voice, even though it was there, thick and stifling.

Vaguely, she could hear the battle cries of her men, but she knew she was safe here, in the thick of her armada, for at least a few more minutes.

“Me,” Mab said, and a sad smile lined her eyes.

Salty tears spilled down her face, running through the blood that splattered her cheeks. She caressed the leathery membrane of the wing, brought it close to her chest. He was gone.

“Leave,” Maeve said bluntly, any good feeling lost as she realized a war raged around her. There was no time for distractions.

Mab flinched and took a step after Maeve’s retreating form. “I came to tell you something.”

Maeve paused.

“I came to say something He would’ve wanted you to remember.”

“Elain,” Mora ground out, and Maeve closed her eyes at that name.


Mab ignored it, continuing, “He said he’d always love you. He would still love you, you know. Even with…with how you’ve turned out. And I-”


“-I still love you. Nesta still loves you, even though she won’t admit it-”

Maeve turned just in time to see Mora strike Mab with an open palm. “Elain,” she said, and cold fire danced in her eyes. “I told you to stop. I told you-” Her eyes turned to Maeve, seething with hatred. “I do not love you, Maeve. I loved Feyre, and she’s been gone a long, long time.”

Gone, ever since her Mate’s death. When she’d felt that other line of the bond die, go taut and then snap, she’d erupted.

“He’s not breathing,” Mor whispered. “Shit. Azriel.” Her quiet sobs were muffled by the shadowsinger’s shirt, and he too let the tears fall.

They’d all been in a room together, and then he’d barged in, violet eyes wild.

“She’s here,” he breathed. “She’s here.” And when they all glanced at the doorway he’d come through, a shudder of fear passed through each of them. A woman with a plain face and blood-red hair, smirking.

“Hello, Rhysand,” she purred.

The attack came too quick to follow, and they were all frozen with shock anyway. When manicured nails had torn through his flesh, she had lunged. It was with half a thought that she killed Amerantha and rushed to her Mate’s side, the tears already stinging the back of her vision.

“Fuck,” Cassian swore, voice cracking. “Can’t someone do something?”

Slowly, they shook their heads.

Gone, gone, gone.

A scream was ripped from her throat, and the damper on her glamour fell. Wings extended, talons cut through flesh, and solid black filmed her eyes. She’d kill them. Kill them all. She’d burn the world.

And then she had.

Cassian. Mor. Azriel. Amren. All of them gone. Velaris, too. And so the gods had brought her before them, and they’d determined her fate. A curse, to live forever, until her Promise was born.

Hearing her name again brought immeasurable pain. She had learned to hide it behind a mask of porcelain skin and violet eyes, a wrath greater than that of her lover’s killer. And with each word against her, the steel of that mask thickened. “Leave,” the Queen of the Fae said, ice coating her words. “Before I lose my temper.”

In truth, she already had.

“Feyre,” Mab breathed. “You are good. You are kind. I see beneath your mask.”

The crackling of magic as the armada at last came upon the shore, and armored bodies heaved themselves into the shallow water. Maeve thought it cruel that fate decided to gift her sister with those same words as she had once told her Mate. It felt like a slap to the face. So it was with venom that she said,“We all start out good.” A cruel smirk. “But it doesn’t last long.”

The ship exploded into black mist.


Maeve let the madness show on her face as she crept up behind the Queen of Terrasen. There was none of the fear Maeve felt on her face, none mirrored in Aelin’s face.

“I’ve come to kill you,” Maeve announced, and the swirls of shadows thickened around her.

“Funny,” Aelin murmured. “I was about to say the same thing.”

And then she struck. Maeve dodged, quick as thunder, and Aelin whipped back into a battle stance. They fought long and hard, viciously trading blows. Their magic whipped out in time to the strikes of steel, up and over. Rowan did not make any move to help, she noticed, though his fists were clenched tight and his legs were tense, as if he was ready to jump in at his Queen’s first command. He glared at her with all the menace of four-hundred years of servitude.

Distracted for a moment, Maeve did not see the knife coming until the last second, and for the first time in a millennium, Maeve’s blood spilled. It flowed free and unabashed into the hard earth, hissing and popping like hot oil. The pain was nothing, a child’s hurt, but it still left her gasping. She hadn’t felt the ill of a wound in so long, that she found herself fascinated by the glossy beads dripping from the tear in her flesh, so like that deep scarlet hair.

Aelin had paused momentarily, watching curiously. She was still tense, on edge, but something had shifted in her. The hostility had lessened more to…wariness.

“Fireheart,” Rowan muttered, voice dripping with warning. “No.”

“But what if-” Aelin began, but then Maeve shook her head and was up again. The battle began anew, and she felt her strength flagging. Her well of magic was bone-dry, while Aelin continued to spew flames from her outstretched hand. She knew what was coming before it did. There was only a moment to quell that instinctual fear and replace it with the excitement, the possibility of-

The sword that plunged through her chest was burning-hot, and it rekindled something in that empty cavity where her heart should’ve been.

“I love you, Feyre.”

Aelin jerked the blade free, leaving Maeve gasping on her knees.

I’ll love you, forever and always.”

She fell to the ground as her strength failed to her, chest still heaving. Two words burst from her lips in an unintelligible gasp. Blood leaked through her fingers. Despite her lover’s protests, Aelin moved forward to crouch beside Maeve. Her eyes were cold, and no pity shown in them, but-

Aelin leaned in, the smell of crackling embers punching through the sweat and tears. “Say it again,” Aelin commanded.

Maeve breathed, “I’m sorry.

The Queen of Terrasen studied her for a long moment, gaze assessing, then gave a sharp nod. That was all, nothing more before standing up and turning away to face her own fate. There was nothing more to do, she supposed wryly, and a bit of her old spirit returned, the one that lay slumbering beneath the mask. At least she’d die with dignity, her name whispered for years after the crows had pecked her bones clean.

She missed her Mate. She could admit it with the knowledge she’d be gone in a few minutes. Cassian would’ve laughed himself hoarse if he knew she had gone celibate for so long. But the passion she’d once felt had died with a pair of violet eyes that her shapeshifting magic could never replicate.

As the blood gushed from her torso, the fear subsided, and finally, finally the overwhelming relief took over.

Maeve, Feyre Cursebreaker and High Lady of the Night Court, lay back, closed her eyes to the darkness, and felt the completion of a promise that had been prolonged for a thousand years.

Ah, peace…