actually i wasn't thinking at all


Why yes, Amethyst’s Peridot impression (Perimpression) is coming along quite nicely, thanks for asking

anonymous asked:

How can I tell if I'm actually going through emotional abuse and not just being overemotional?

well, here’s a few signs:

  • if you are scared of somebody 
  • if they call you names, invalidate your feelings, apologize insincerely for upsetting you, or manipulate you
  • if somebody has ever called you “worthless”, “useless”, “good for nothing”, or any other variation of telling you that you don’t have value
  • if you think about all your actions in words in terms of “will this make them mad at me” because they tend to get mad over small things
  • if you feel like you have to change your demeanor and personality to suit them because otherwise they’ll be angry
  • if you can’t set up boundaries like “take time to cool down when you’re mad so you don’t call me names”
  • if you don’t have a space that is just yours for at least some time during each day because they invade it
  • if you fear they will go through your phone, diary, journal, etc
  • if you are asking “am i being emotionally abused” that’s also a pretty big indicator that you are

This time I made some A-spec rockets to explore the endless depths of spACE! Who knows, maybe they will find some new worlds and spread their amACEingness to newly discovered civilizations!

Like the other times, I made a asexual, aromantic, demisexual, demiromantic, gray-asexual, and gray-aromantic version of the rockets which is each transparent. 

You all can use them as you feel but please mention that I have made those : ]

This is all I could think of after seeing Steven in that jacket. >v<-)^

Out of all the Legends’ behaviour, I just can’t get past how - how angry I am with Martin Stein.

He knew Mick had been hallucinating Snart. He knew. Mick came to him early in the episode, saying he’s seeing Snart again, saying that he thinks it’s real - and Stein just - dismisses him. Doesn’t even take two seconds to consider whether some version of Snart is actually walking around (despite the Legion being literally composed of past versions of known supervillains, so it shouldn’t have been an entirely impossible thought) or, just as likely, that his team mate’s mental condition is deteriorating to the point where he needs serious help.

But no. Stein dismisses him.

And then, when it turns out that Snart was real and Mick, thinking him a hallucination, told him their plans, Stein is right there on the “blame Rory” train.

And the thing is? He’s the only one aboard who could have said “No, Mr. Rory has been hallucinating Snart before.” He could have said: “Mr. Rory came to me and told me he’d seen Snart again and thought he might have been real, and I dismissed him.” He could have said many things.

He chose to blame Mick.

Don’t get me wrong, the rest of the Legends acted like assholes as well, and the fact that at the end only Ray seemed to even be willing to admit that they’d behaved poorly towards Mick, well - some heroes they are. (And not too bright, either - Mick had told them straight up, that if it came to a choice between them and Len, he’d choose Len - and Sara still handed him the spear…)

The rest of the Legends were stupid and assholes this week. But honestly? Martin Stein? Is a terrible, awful, despicable excuse for a human being.

Flood My Mornings: Helluva Beast

Notes from Mod Bonnie:

  • This story takes place in an AU in which Jamie travels through the stones two years after Culloden and finds Claire and his child in 1950 Boston.

August, 1950

“Alright, ALRIGHT,” I said in mock exasperation to the blooms as I pulled out a particularly intransigent nest of weeds, “you’ll be growing free and easy soon enough.” 

I’d gotten home from work an hour or two early, today, and was taking advantage of the opportunity to tend the front flower beds. Decorative flowers always took a backseat to the herbs in the back garden, if I were being perfectly honest; however, summer had finally crisped and weed-choked the impatiens to the point at which even I could ignore them no longer. “Hold your bloody horses,” I lectured the flowers again as I nestled fresh soil around the area. 

Maaaa-ma,” came a rather scornful giggle to my right. 

“Ha, you’re one to talk, missy,” I said, sitting back on my haunches to put gloved hands on my hips in mock indignation. “You talk to inanimate objects all the time. Far more than Mama, I’ll wager.” 

She had been “helping” me with the gardening; that is to say, getting herself as filthy as possible. She covered her mouth to suppress her giggles, gurgled a string of happy syllables, and let herself topple heedlessly into my arms. I caught her, scooped her against my chest, and showered her with kisses, both of us smelling of sweat and soil. “My goodness, Bree, any more dirt on you and I’ll be able to plant you!” 

“Nothing wrong with a little dirt,” said Penelope brightly from the front stoop, where she sat reading a romance novel while she supervised Bree. “It’s good for kids to have some grit about them.”

“Git!” proclaimed Brianna enthusiastically. 

“No, no, lovey,” I laughed. “That’s not a very nice word. It’s g-rrrrr-it.” 

“GIT!” she agreed, extricating herself and plopping contentedly back down in the flower bed. 

“Oh, well,” Penelope said fondly, “I suppose there are worse insults to pick up.” 

“She’ll have no lack of them, with two languages and three nationalities to pull from,” I agreed.

Just before 6:00, the sound of an approaching vehicle made all three of us look up. I gave an overly-dramatic gasp for Brianna’s benefit. “I wonder who that could be!”

She froze mid-task (stuffing the pockets of her romper full-to-bursting with soil), made a comically round “O” with her mouth, eyebrows raised as high as they could go, and whispered,“S’iz-Da?”

At my grin and nod, she leapt to her feet and tore headlong toward Hank’s yellow pickup truck that was just pulling into the driveway.

“Ohhhh no you don’t, little smudge!” I laughed, catching her around the middle and sweeping her up off the ground. She cackled with the joy of the sudden movement, then squealed “Da!” at the driver’s side door that had just opened.

“No, that’s not Da, baby, that’s Mr. Hank!” But as I looked up, I saw that she was, in fact, correct. James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser was stepping down—cool as you bloody well please—from the driver’s seat.

“Jamie!” I said, slowly and shrilly. “Did you—DRIVE?”

“Oh, aye,” he said with an attempt at casualness that made me snort with joy. I could see the corner of his mouth twitching with a proud smile as he plucked Brianna from my arms. “Hank’s been showing me the way of it. Just a few minutes each day at Fernacre, ken?”

“Took him a day or two to really get the hang of it,” said a grinning Hank, who had exited from the passenger’s side and come around, looking almost as proud as Jamie. “Those foreign models he learned on across the pond must be helluva different beast—Jamie here barely could tell the pedals from the wheel, at first!” 

I exchanged a furtive grin with Jamie. A different beast indeed: a horse, to be specific.

“But he picked it up fast,” Hank went on, tipping his cap to Penelope, who had come closer to join in the congratulations, “and today I threw him the keys and said, ‘take us home, bud!’ Didn’t crash or run a stop-sign even the once!”

“After the way you were green all the way to Cape Cod,” Penelope said. “I’d have thought you’d never set foot in a car again!”

“See, that’s the strange thing about it,” Jamie said, bouncing Bree in his arms as she tugged on his ears, “I dinna seem to get queasy when I’m the one doing the driving.”

“Well I’ll be damned,” I said, crossing my arms. “Think the same might apply to boats as well?” I teased. “Captain Fraser?” 

“It certainly might,” he said, leaning down to smile at me with one eyebrow raised, “but I’ll go to my death before I test the theory voluntarily.” He bent and kissed me.

“I am truly very impressed, Jamie,” I said.

“Been reading up on it—wanted to surprise ye. I’ll still have to study up to pass the written test, Hank says, but—” 

“I’m proud of you, sweetheart.” 

He smiled. “Thank you, Sassenach,” he said, in that soft way that indicated such depth of feeling I wanted to cry from happiness.   

A few minutes later as Hank got back in the truck (“See you tomorrow, bud!”) and pulled out of the driveway, Penelope went inside to get Brianna cleaned up, and Jamie followed me to the side yard ostensibly to assist with filling up the watering cans. Before I could bend to turn on the spigot, though, he had placed a firm hand on my hip and pressed me against the rough brick of the house, bending back my head and kissing me so intensely that I dropped the can. 

Pulling back, a long time later, panting rather heavily, he said huskily, “You are so very beautiful, mo nighean donn.”

“Dirt and all?”

He smiled and touched my cheek. “You forget…you were positively filthy the first time I laid eyes on ye, and it didna discourage me then. In fact, if we werena so close quartered wi’ neighbors,” he whispered, bending to nip the tender skin of my neck, “I should like to have you right here in the grass.”

Despite the heat of the day, I shivered. “You would, eh?” I said, running my hands along the broad expanse of his back. He smelled rather like he had at our first encounter—of sweat and horses—and it wasn’t dampening my arousal, either. 

“Aye…None so fragrant as heather, grass,” he said, softly, working his way down toward my breasts, “but God,” he breathed, “to see you naked in the sunlight all surrounded by the green…”

He straightened and kissed me thoroughly, one hand sliding down to squeeze my arse, making a sound deep in his throat that raised goosebumps up and down my body.

“Well, then,” I said raggedly, “Anytime you want to take me camping…” I grinned. “You can drive us to a lovely patch of grass….and I’ll be all yours.” 

to be continued

last night I went to the first class in a trick dog course and there was a behaviourist there as well and things weren’t terrible but I have since been feeling all of those human things like shame and thinking I’d been doing everything wrong and letting my dog down

Always Iris

“What was I like?” She asks one night just as he’s about to fall asleep.

He doesn’t think he’s heard her right, wonders if he heard her at all or if it was only in his mind. That place that hums between awake and asleep.

But he knows he did hear correctly when he feels her hand on his arm, tugging at him gently.



The sound is barely audible, because his energy is zapped. He was so close to sleep.

“What was I like over there? In this…flashpoint timeline you created?”

And to that his eyes open. He’s not worried and he doesn’t feel sick, but he is a little wary about where this is coming from.

He turns in the bed to face her and props his elbow on his pillow, leaning his head into his hand. He searches her eyes for some sort of pain but finds only curiosity.

“You were…you, Iris. You always are.”

She rolls her eyes.

“I had to be a little different. I mean, from what I’ve heard about Earth 2, being a cop I was a little more aggressive, more take-charge.”

“Yeah…” he allows, “but that was another EARTH. When I changed the timeline, you didn’t change. Just the circumstances did. Us not being friends or living together for the last fifteen years didn’t change your personality.

Her eyebrows furrowed.

"It changed Cisco’s though. His circumstances changed. He became the richest man in America and was really selfish because of it.”

“Well, yeah, but-”

“How could I not have changed at all?”

He parts his lips, then finds he doesn’t have an answer. He looks into her searching eyes and realizes his eyes are searching as well.

Finally, he says, “I don’t know.” He shakes his head, takes one of her hands in his and kisses her knuckles.

“I don’t know why you were a little different on Earth 2, but you aren’t here. I can’t explain why in every version of time on this earth you are the one thing that never changes. I just know that you are a constant, and that I’m always in love with you. I always want to be with you no matter what.”

She smiles tremulously, still a little shy in response to the way he looks after. Having been dating for months hasn’t changed that. She wonders if she’ll ever get used to him vocalizing the way he feels about her to her. To anyone even, if she ends up hearing about it.

“Do you wish you’d stayed there?” She asks when she’s finally found her voice. “If you could have, if you didn’t start to lose your memories and your powers, do you wish we could have had a fresh start. You know, without all the heartache and drama of the past two years?”

And he’s thought about it. He has. Not just the question itself, but if she would ask it. Truth be told, every version of Iris felt like the last. Because SHE never really changed, he loved her just as much. The fact that she didn’t share all his memories never altered that fact. She always felt like the same person.

But beneath all that is the truth he realized after he came back and restarted the life he’d lived the longest. Losing those fifteen years completely, including just as memories scared him more than losing both his mom and dad all over again.

So, he tells her.

“I will always love you, Iris. It doesn’t matter what version of you I’m with, because all of them feel like YOU.”

She’s not satisfied with this answer, as is apparent from her slight frown and her gaze settling on the sheets Rumple’s between them. He’s glad he guessed she wouldn’t be before he said anything.

“But,” he continues, lifting her chin so her eyes meet his. “what drove me to come back the most was losing THIS version of you, and all the memories that come with it. The Iris who was my best friend for years, who I grew up with and who stood by me through everything.”

A shaky smile starts to grave her lips, but he forges on.

“Would I have been happy playing out the rest of our story with a brand new Iris?” He starts to nod. “Probably.”

His eyes catch hers before she can look away again.

“But there would be quiet moments over the years when I’d wonder ‘what if?’. What if I hadn’t left? What if I’d stayed and healed and then we finally took that next step? I think I’d second guess myself and wonder if this story wouldn’t be more meaningful than one where everything was so easy.”

He closes the distance between them and kisses her gently, glad when she reciprocates.

“I’m glad I came back, Iris,” he whispers, his eyes intent on hers.

“There’s a pull between us no matter what timeline I travel to, but this one? The one I’ve known for my entire life? That’s the one I want to be in. You’re MY Iris here.”

She’s okay now, he sees. The relief in her eyes prevents any desire to pull away any further. He kisses her cheek and then lowers his head, tucking it into the silken strands covering her shoulder and neck.

She catches her breath as the shivers course through her when he starts to kiss her skin.


“You’re all mine,” he murmurs, sliding his hand from her hip to around her waist, pulling her closer so their legs start intertwine.

She bites her bottom lip and moans at the contact.

After a few more moments of excruciating pleasure, he asks, “Am I all yours?” and lifts his head.

She cups his face in her hands. The way she looks at him makes her love clearer than any words or kisses could ever do.

“Barry Allen,” she says playfully, somewhat amused. But then she softens and kisses him, pulling away hardly an inch to stare into his eyes.

“You’ve always been mine.”

luxyray  asked:

*STICKS LEG OUT* Talk to me about Dad-might.

Oh, friend, I don’t think you actually want me to. BUT I’M GONNA DO IT ANYWAY.


So. Following the premise (which, for those of you that don’t want to read, is basically right after All Might’s fight with sensei; he’s been discharged from the hospital and is Sad and Introspective™ and then he meets a lil’ Izuku who is all determined and adorable about his dream to be a hero so All Might is all *wipes tear* “my son,” basically deciding right there that he’s going to help Izuku achieve his dream. I’m good at summaries don’t judge) All Might is probably thinking about his rather (read: very) impulsive decision to reveal his identity to Izuku. And regretting it.

Because Izuku is kind of about to combust - 

Okay that’s admittedly a minor reason in the long-run. He is, mostly, realizing that despite his determination Midoriya is very much a child - “how old are you?” Midoriya momentarily stops his fanboy-induced freakout to grin toothily and hold up nine fingers, “I’m nine!” - he is a nine year old boy and even if a part of All Might has taken a shining to the child, he is nine and One for All would kill him, and his thoughts are something along the lines of “what the heck was I thinking?”

But then Izuku looks up at him, all wide, hopeful eyes and gives him a heartfelt, “thank you.” Because no one ever believed that he could become a hero. In his entire life, All Might is the first one to tell him that - and how awesome is that? The hero, the #1 hero, All Might! His idol! Thinks he can become a hero!

He says that he doesn’t really know how he’s going to do it, but he’s certain that with All Might’s help, he’ll be able to become a hero. He starts to tear up to All Might’s silent horror, but (thankfully) wipes his eyes.

And All Might is about to say something but - 

Ofc Izuku is super worried, and suddenly he remembers that, yeah, this is what All Might looked like when he walked up to him, and he didn’t really realize it until now. He asks why he looks like this, and Toshinori tells him. *cue informational speech/monologue about his fight with a certain villain that occurred recently and left him like this*

Toshinori carefully keeps the truth of his quirk quiet. He doesn’t actually know if he will choose Midoriya as his successor, but he will at the very least help train him in case he does.


The comic “training” that I made probably fits somewhere around here.

Toshinori accidentally introduces Recovery Girl and Izuku to each other at some point. He’s probably on his way to visit her one day, and Izuku runs into him (because the boy has somehow developed some kind of inhuman radar that almost guarantees that Toshinori is going to encounter him at least three times a week) and promptly decides that he’s going to accompany him for the day.

It’s a little funny, because while in his real form, Toshinori realizes that Izuku is a lot more brazen as opposed to when he is All Might. It might have to do with the blood he’s constantly spewing though, and Toshinori also realizes that he’s got a bit of a mother-hen in Midoriya. He’d bring jackets, scarves, heating pads, 2-liter water bottles, and many other kinds of items for Toshinori’s benefit.

(At one point, Midoriya had asked Inko for help. She had asked, “what do you need?” He had then told her that a friend of his spewed blood everyday and he wanted to know how to help. Inko had promptly freaked out because “VOMITING BLOOD WHAT,” causing Midoriya to freak out even more, which resulted in him being even more cautious regarding Toshinori’s condition.)

Anyway, meeting Recovery Girl. She’s curious about Izuku, who is half-hiding behind Toshinori, but otherwise doesn’t really pay him much mind as she says, “you’ll need to have your stomach removed.”

Izuku freezes, Toshinori nods as though he was expecting as much, and she gives the rest of the explanation. By the end of it, Izuku is pale as a ghost, and before they leave, he asks her: “is there anything I can do?”

Toshinori is a little dumbfounded at the question, but Recovery Girl considers him thoughtfully. She kicks Toshinori out of the office for a bit, and sits Izuku down to talk.

“I’ve heard quite a bit about you from Toshinori,” she begins, smiling kindly. “And I have to say I agree with him, despite the circumstances. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, and a good heart.”

Izuku is kinda ??? but nods anyway, feeling complimented but not really understanding what she’s getting at.

“Just be yourself,” she adds, reaching out to ruffle his hair. “He doesn’t really have a lot of people he can rely on, being the number one and all. Everyone relies on him, whether it’s as a hero or a symbol of hope. Be yourself, and you’ll be helping him plenty.”

Izuku nods absentmindedly, and asks, “but what if it isn’t enough? What if he gets hurt again?”

Recovery Girl slants a look at the door before looking back at him, an almost secretive but still kindly smile in place. “Well. Exercise is good for the body and soul.”

Then she kicks him out, and Toshinori and Izuku spend a chunk of the afternoon training more, the former a little more silent than usual and the latter determined. Also, Izuku ends up following Toshinori to his apartment because “I have to make sure you’re alright!” and Toshinori, on a whim, accesses his quirk, flexes, and says “I’m ALL MIGHT!”

He immediately spews blood because that pun was Fucking Terrible and I deserve to rot for even thinking of it

Silliness aside, he pats Izuku’s head and says “thank you, but I’m fine. You’ve done enough, Midoriya-boy.”

Izuku stares at him for a moment, and before Toshinori can ask if there’s something wrong, Izuku jumps forward and hugs him.

I’m gonna stop there because this is killing me, I love Dad-Might and Mini-zuku so much GAH TOO MUCH, ADORABLE-NESS OVERLOAD. FUKC

At some point, Izuku also probably shows Toshinori the sketches he has, plus the notes. Particularly, his dream-outfits for if he ever became Mighty-boy.

Toshinori is suitably embarrassed/flattered/”omg this boy is so earnest”/wat-do while lil’ Izuku is just smiling proudly.

…I literally just realized that you probably just meant Dad-Might in general, not the Dad-Might&Mini-Deku AU, as I’m posting this. With the drawings already finished. I’m sorry for the figurative avalanche of plot I dumped on you LOL *lies down on the floor face-down*

That aside I could probably talk aaaall about (and how much I love) the Dad-Might headcannon, but it’d mostly be incoherent words and screaming

Anyway, more on Corvo, well, not speaking.

I really prefer to think that each time someone, like Lady Boyle or Treavor Pendleton, pointed out how “quiet” and “mysterious” Corvo is, it wasn’t some clever funny lampshading on the game mechanics, it’s his actual character trait as seen by the people surrounding him.

And it creates a very nice contrast with his environment and within the story, with the loyalists who use you as a tool and all the aristocrats who are physically unable to shut up and would go on and on with their monologues, enjoying the sound of their own voice to ever be bothered by Corvo not responding. They probably don’t even expect him to respond.

This environment is full of people who lie and cover up their lies with pretty words and shallow praise to get into your good graces, people who apparently talked a lot of shit behind Corvo’s back because of his background and lower class origins, and there’s a constant, endless sound of the propaganda officer talking somewhere at the background.

Corvo was the “doing instead of talking” concept personified, and a single most trusting, honest relationship in the story is the one between him and Emily, which is narrated almost entirely based on gestures, small physical signs of affection and actions taken towards her safety and wellbeing, instead of talk and empty promises.

It made sense to me, story-wise, it never felt like something was lacking. It was just a part of him but I never saw it as a flaw of any kind.

Riverdale Epsiode 7

In conclusion:

Stealth mode: Activated.


I had an epiphany. I think that’s what it was. Oh yeah? Smoking a joint in a satellite dish. I can see those going together. All three actually.

i saw a post about a soulmate AU where whenever a person gets a tattoo, the tattoo also appears on on their soulmate.

and now i’m thinking of an asanoya AU where asahi really needs to find his soulmate right now because whoever it is keeps getting tattoos. asahi has a hard enough time convincing people he’s not a gangster without having enough tattoos to actually pass as yakuza.

noya, meanwhile, is sick and tired of everyone telling him that his soulmate should be his be-all, end-all, and decides that he’s going to do whatever the fuck he wants with his body, soulmate be damned. and hey, while he’s at it he might as well flirt with the cute, shy librarian at the undergraduate library. he’s not saving himself for his soulmate, and he’s very interested in peeling the librarian out of the long-sleeved sweaters he always insists on wearing, even in the middle of summer.

until one day when the cute librarian helps noya get a book off a high shelf and his sweater rides up just enough for noya to see part of an intimately familiar tattoo curling across his stomach.

well, shit.

What are you thinking of, Norma Bates?

One of the very few things I actually did write out and even made efforts to translate into seemingly proper English.

What are you thinking of, Norma Bates, when you track the net of cracks on the ceiling with your eyes, ingraining it in your mind in smallest details and clutching at the fading thought of some day, one day, re-whitening it all over again? Or when you run your fingers through the dark hair, soothing your child with such natural, but empty, impassive maternal gesture?

‘Tell me the truth. Is he dangerous?’
Of course not.’

You know you’re right, your little boy isn’t dangerous. A gigantic, throbbing lump is stuck deep in your throat, and you’re scared. Whoever it is here with you now, it’s not your little boy.

Keep reading

Practicing everything about drawing people by drawing Ouma (I’m bad at all of it so this isn’t practice for one specific thing, it’s practice for the entire process, lol)
I think I’ve been improving, but I still can’t draw hands :/

Sad to hear that independent reviewers are thinking about giving up on their reviews. 

Hey, bad bellarkers, stop being bullies because people don’t ship your ship. All you’re doing is hurting the show. (Not that this message will desuade you because haters gonna hate). 

Hey, good Bellarkers, send support to reviewers if you see anyone being intolerant of different opinions, yeah?