Number 4 please!!! I wanna burn in all these feels
CUTE THINGS BOYFRIEND!TOM DOES
(this was originally supposed to be titled ‘’things he does that make your heart soar but that was a little cheesetown so now we have this!!!)
he’s a forehead nudger. he’s done it since you first started dating. if your squishing together on the couch, he’ll nudge his forehead into your shoulder to get you to adjust so he can fit flush against you. or he’ll just do it when you two are standing close together. its something that’s extremely intimate like a kiss but yet so gentle and loving
when talking to tessa, he will refer to you as “mummy”.
you can remember the first time he did it. you were waiting by the front door as he fastened her leash and cooed to her. “gonna have a nice walk, aren’t we, princess? you, me, and mummy.” you’ve never discussed it, but the look you gave him when he glanced up at you was the only confirmation he needed
sometimes will refer to you in conversations as “the missus”. once or twice it has sparked some engagement rumors and that’s partially why he loves it
every time you watch him pack for another long press junket it away, he will wrap and arm under your legs and across your back before carrying you bridal style into his suitcase. he pretends to pack you, setting some t-shirts and socks on top of you before shutting the lid. “i told you i can’t forget anything!!”
when he gets home after a long day and its quite late, he wakes you up by slathering your face in kisses. there’s no corner of your skin left untouched before he smiles against it and whispers a “missed you”
feel free to fight me but, he’s a big corner mouth kisser. like not all the time, but rather then place a quick peck to your lips, he’s developed a habit of catching the corner of your lips, in a sort of teasing, cheeky way.
(when he first started doing it, he’d say “there’s more where that came from!!!”)
he’s also a big grabby hand baby. if he’s talking to harrison back stage in a green room, he’ll stretch out his hand to you, beckoning you to come play with his fingers or at least just sit by him.
or when he has a break and for some reason you’re still across the room, he’ll stretch his hands out to, fingers flexing and a whine leaving his mouth
tried to cook for you but only has 3 ½ meals memorized and can never be bothered with recipes because the boy cannot follow directions (”i’m not gonna let a piece of paper tell me what to do!!!”)
when you tag along to his events, in between networking or interviewing, he’ll twist around so he can find you and give you a nose scrunch or a playful snarl, just so you know he hasn’t forgotten you’re there
lays on top of you. just spreads across you. doesn’t matter what you’re doing. you will either become his pillow for a quick nap or listen to him beg for your attention.
he’s a show off too. like if he gets a crowd laughing or does a flip for an audience, he’ll find you in the crowd or backstage and give you and eyebrow wiggles as if to say “did you see THAT”
he hits on you like you’re not already together. you’ll be in the cereal aisle, trying to pick one out for the week and he’ll saunter over to you, place and arm against the shelves and wink “do you come here often?”
or “hey you’re really cute, got a boyfriend?” and you reply “yeah and he’s Spider-Man.” he’s always delighted when you play along. “damn, sounds like a really manly guy, you’re really lucky.”
if you say “i love you” back too quietly, he shouts “what was that?!” until you shout it back at him
he would rather sit on the floor with his back against your legs while you sit on the couch. this way he can drape your legs over his shoulders and loop his arms over them or run his hands over your soft skin
will take deep, deep inhales of your shampoo or hair care sent. like sniffs so hard he may pop a brain vessel “i think i’m getting high off of how good you smell!!!!!”
Don’t ever tell me that marching band isn’t important.
I have had so many problems with public schools putting all the emphasis on athletics. When a school’s budget is cut, they don’t choose to take a little from each program. No. They choose to completely eradicate the arts programs, usually starting with the marching band. If you don’t play sports, you’re not a valuable asset, you’re not qualified for scholarships, and you mean nothing. Marching band? Why would we be impressed that you’re in marching band?
Anyone can do that.
Okay, fine. Anyone can do marching band. Anyone can spend hours on the field doing the same forty-second section over and over and over and over. Anyone can hit over 75 precise dots on the field with the correct step sizes, the correct amount of steps, the correct timing, without being so much as an inch to either side, in order and without looking at the yard line markers or the field. Anyone can memorize all of those extremely specific points on the grass and varying counts for steps and then execute them with a shako visor pulled down over your eyes and looking up at the press box the whole time. If you look down at the yard line markers to see where you are, congratulations, you just lost points for the group.
Anyone can memorize eight pages of notes, rhythms, dynamics, phrasing, and tempos. (But of course, before you do that you have to learn an instrument with hundreds of different fingerings and learn how to make slight changes in your lips to change notes and stay in tune.) Memorize all seven and a half minutes of music and then marry it to the seventy-five pages of drill you memorized. Do them both perfectly and at the same time. But you can’t just do what you memorized. You have to do it in perfect sync with everyone around you and know how to make the slightest adjustments to fit perfectly within the group. If you’re an inch to the right or barely a thousandth of a step sharp, it’ll throw everything off.
But anyone can do that.
Then add in the fact that you don’t get any individual credit for doing this. The closest you’ll come to recognition is your identity lumped into “The Such-and-Such Marching Band” as you all march onto the field looking exactly the same. You don’t have a number on your back. You have a uniform intended to erase you and turn you into dot T14 and nothing more.
But, for some reason you can’t explain, you love it. You love throwing everything you have into this ridiculously precise pursuit and then not getting any credit for it. You start thanking people when they call you a band geek. You start taping pictures of marching bands into your locker. You start wearing your band shirt everywhere you go. Because you look at the person in an identical uniform next to you and you know that you’ve done this for them and they’ve done this for you. This is more than just a team, this is a family; and if one person is missing from the form, the show can’t ever be the same.
It costs so much money, so much time. You’re out there on the field in the blazing sun for fourteen hours a day during summer band camp, out in the street getting frostbite on your fingertips during the holiday parade. If anyone knew what you went through for this, they would wonder what made it all worth it.
And the truth is, what makes it all worth it cannot be described. It’s the camaraderie between you and the center snare, the colorguard newbie, the tenor sax player in the set in front of you. It’s the sunset behind you lighting up the back of your plume. It’s the hazy nostalgia that racks your chest with emotion. There’s something about the family you’ve chosen and the experience you’ve internalized that gives you the passion to throw everything down onto that field like nothing else matters in the world… because in that moment, it’s true.
Your nerves are damaged from the cold. Your skin is damaged from the sun. Your joints are damaged from marching and marching and marching. You’re physically and mentally drained, your body is irreversibly compromised, you’re broke as hell, and all you have to show for it is a polyester jacket and a couple of blurry photographs.
But sports are what require hard work and dedication, not marching band.
Even though you complained basically the entire time you marched and even though you’re done with it, you pull out those photographs and you remember. You remember your first day of high school band camp when you had absolutely no idea what you were getting yourself into. You remember your first final retreat when they announced your band’s name as state champions, and you wanted to cry with happiness but you weren’t allowed to move, so you just clenched your fists so tight that your fingernails dug white crescents into your palms. You remember coming back the next year and thinking you knew everything as a sophomore, only to realize there was still so much to learn. You remember the band trips you spent months fundraising for, all the lame tourist attractions you visited between performances, and how you wouldn’t trade those memories for all the money in the world. You remember being a junior and getting nervous because people looked up to you now: as an upperclassman, as a section leader, as a friend. And then you were a senior and you cried on the final day of band camp. You remember how your life became a series of lasts. You had to decide which of the freshmen would inherit your band cubby, your lucky bottle of valve oil, your bus seat. You went to graduation but it didn’t mean anything because you still had one last band trip coming up. You didn’t shed a tear when you tossed your cap but you cried like a child after your last parade. You remember on the plane ride home, you expected to feel devastated and heartbroken, but you just felt… empty.
You remember printing out what seemed like the most difficult solo in the world. You remember driving up to your college and entering a room with a chair and a stand and a couple of people giving you skeptical looks. You remember getting an email from the college marching band with your audition results and reading it with tears of joy in your eyes because you realized it was starting all over again.
But marching band doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t matter.
Tell me that it doesn’t matter. Tell me as many times as you want. You could scream it in my face and I still wouldn’t hear because the music we’re making is too damn loud to let anything else in.
Tell me that it doesn’t matter when I’m standing on the field for the last time, knowing that everything behind me will last forever and that nothing will ever mean more to me than this… and all you’ve got is some money and a jersey with a number on the back.
Do not ever tell me that marching band isn’t important. It is everything to me, and it is everything to millions of other band geeks across the world.
When you refuse to support kids because they participate in the arts rather than athletics, you’re no better than the football player who takes lunch money from nerds.
To all of my fellow band geeks… keep marching, even if the world tells you it’s not worth it. It is. God, it is worth it, in ways no one else but you will ever understand. Continue your band career in college. Audition for a drum corps. Stay active in your high school band as an alumnus supporter. You are all my family.
A/N: Wrote this to get out of my writer’s block. I hope you like it!
“Fuck!” Nat yanked the strings tighter and you gasped for air. “I know I wanted to wear a corset for Halloween but-”
“Authentication is the key.” She helped you straighten. “And look at how great your breasts look.”
“They do look pretty great.” You admired yourself in the mirror, running your hands down your torso and enjoying the feeling of the leather under your fingertips. “So…are you finally going to tell me who’s going to be at this party?”
“Nope, it’s a secret.” Nat chuckled as she adjusted her hair and makeup. “Don’t worry, you’re going to have fun.”
“You’re in for some serious hell if you’re lying to me.” You pointed at her and slipped into your leggings. “Why do I have to be a sexy cat? Why can’t I be like Victorian royalty?”
“Because last time you were drunk you let it slip that you’ve always wanted to dress up as one.” Wanda slipped into the room grinning. “I told Nat and she helped me get the costume, now let’s go.”
A spell I have created to help me stop picking my face; but it can be slightly adjusted to fit any bad habit!
- A Shower
- A Pitcher
- A Pot
- Rosemary: Cleansing and Healing
- Calendula: Strength and Willpower of the Sun
- Amethyst: Sobriety/Control of one’s actions
Place your amethyst in the bottom of your pot. Wash it over with the water.
Ponder upon your bad habit. Think of how hard you try to quit, the negative effects it has on you, and how much you want to stop. And hold that thought.
Place your hands over the pot of water. Acknowledge the supportive energies of your Amethyst crystal. Focus intently on the want to stop. Let it fill you. Then, turn WANT into WILL. Fill your water with your feelings and energies of determination, hope, and confidence. Sprinkle in a little self-love, too!
Once you have adequately charged your water, remove the amethyst crystal and place over heat.
Add a handful each of Rosemary and Calendula. Express to the herbs why you are using them and thank them for magickally supporting you in your struggle. Bring to a boil. Let sit for 10 minutes.
(The next steps are specific to me; my bad habit relates to skin-picking.)
Once cooled, strain out the herbs and pour the potion into a pitcher and hop into the shower. Let the warm water soothe and cleanse you; when you are ready, close your eyes and pour the potion over your head. Let it run down your body and cleanse you of your habitual leech.
Don’t give up hope! Together, we can kick our habits together! ✨
The red fabric of the tunic and the silk embroidery on its front and sleeves distinguished Jewish women’s dress in the Tafilalet region. The women would wrap a fabric over their tunic and fasten it with pins.
The distinctive head covering of married women, the grun (“horns”), was an elaborate construction demanding much expertise to fit and adjust. On the eighth day of wedding celebrations, a married woman would put the grun on the new bride, who would thereafter do it herself every morning. It was believed that this head covering would ensure her a long and happy marriage.
Marinette huddled under her blanket, her hands clutched around a mug of steaming tea to help fight off the cold.
She didn’t want to go inside.
She had thought she had seen the worst of it. She had faced down so many akumas. She had fought against her best friend with barely a flinch of hesitation, knowing that she could do what needed to be done and that everything would be alright. She thought there was nothing she couldn’t handle.
She had never thought she might have to fight her own mother.
Marinette huddled further into the corner of her terrace.
They had been victorious of course. Cleansing the akuma and restoring the city to rights. But while the superficial damage may have been repaired, the emotional damage was taking a toll that Marinette had never realized was possible until it struck at the heart of her own family.
The attack last night had been all over the news. They always were. The first time the footage aired that morning Marinette had watched in horror as her usually indomitable mother had burst into tear, shutting herself in the bedroom and leaving a silent Tom and Marinette to finish the morning preparation. The normally bustling bakery had been a ghost town, and even though Marinette was off from school her father had told her there was little she could help with and to go enjoy her day off since there wasn’t much to be done.
Alya had insisted that this was normal and would die down in a day or two, sending Marinette several links to articles and interviews she had done on the subject. It didn’t do much to lift Marinette’s spirits, but she couldn’t help but feel an awed sense of pride at the incredible dedication her friend had towards her site.
Sabine had of course eventually recovered after a few hours. Coming down and joining Tom in the empty shop, but in spite of her attempts to act as though everything was fine, the general atmosphere was sullen. Tom had ultimately retreated to the kitchen to take his frustrations out on a new bread recipe he had wanted to try, and Marinette had retreated to her balcony.
She felt like a failure.
She kept seeing the image of her mother- twisted and transformed into one of Hawkmoths minions, glaring at her lunging forward to rob her of her Miraculous.
It had been by far one of her worst fights. Her mind had been unable to focus, instead racing with questions and wondering if she could have stopped this.
Thank God for Chat. He had immediately registered her distress and more than picked up the slack, taking the lead for a change. He had forsaken his habitual good humored flirting and managed the battle with a quiet, efficient intensity that she would not have expected from her usually exuberant partner.
It had been over in a matter of minutes, one of their shorter battles if she was being honest. But it had somehow felt like an eternity, and she had barely been able to get through the traditional fist bump before fleeing the scene so that no one would see her burst into tears.
Now here she was, huddled helplessly against the wind, her face stained with tears that had been falling on and off for the last few hours, ashamed to go inside.
She heard the sound of footfalls on the roof and looked up expecting to see her father. Instead she was met with the concerned green eyes of her partner.
“Chat… what are you doing here?” she asked fighting the urge to attempt to straighten up her appearance.
“I like to check up on the victims after the attacks,” he said collapsing his baton and stowing it behind his back.
“I wasn’t the victim.”
“I know. I already spoke to your mother down in the bakery.”
“Oh,” Marinette said, surprised, “How…” she trailed off.
“She’ll be ok,” Chat said coming to sit down beside her. “She was blaming herself for something she had no control over.” He gave Marinette an assessing glance. “Seems to be a trait with the Cheng women I see.”
She laughed softly then scooted closer and dropped her head against his shoulder. Too tired and too heartsick to care that she was untransformed and therefore shouldn’t be showing this level of familiarity.
Chat’s eyes widened slightly in surprise but he made no effort to stop her, only adjusting slightly so they fit together in a more comfortable angle.
“I didn’t know you did this,” she said quietly.
“Visited with the victims. It’s very kind of you.”
“No one should have to go through something like this alone,” he said, “pain is worse if you don’t talk to anyone about it. It can change you, leave you broken. Even hurt the people around you.”
“You sound like you have some experience on the subject.”
She nodded slightly and took a small sip of her tea. “Do you talk to all of the victims?” she asked curiously.
“No, not all of them. Some of them don’t need it, I’ll go to check in on them and they will already be on the road to recovery. Your friend Alya for example. She had her own ways of coping.”
“You should have talked to her anyways. You know she would have adored getting a personal visit from Chat Noir.”
“You know in retrospect you are right,” he said with a small smile. “Next time I’m on patrol I’ll make a point of letting her catch me for an interview. Unless you want to make my life easier and just help with a set up?”
“She’s coming over for a sleepover tomorrow night,” Marinette said feeling warmer for the first time all day.
“I’ll be sure to coincidentally land on your balcony during my rounds. Say around 9:00?”
“So, who was the most difficult person for you to talk to?” she asked.
Chat thought for a moment, his brow furrowing in concentration.
“Probably the little girl, the one who stole all your dolls, remember?”
“You talked to Manon?”
“Yeah, that one was rough. Not gonna lie I went home that night and put together a Hawkmoth dart board. Might have gotten a little carried away. Even stabbed the thing with a fencing sword if you can believe it.”
Marinette laughed, pressing closer against her partner and he wrapped an arm around her.
“That’s actually kind of fantastic,” she said, “Do you still have it?”
“Nah, my father made me take it down. I think it freaked him out that I was violently lashing out what most of Paris thinks of as some unknown mystical super being.”
“What do you think of him as?”
“Exactly what he is- some guy in a suit who thinks its ok to terrorize innocent people for his own selfish gain. He might have powers but he’s just an ordinary man.”
“Like you are?” she said, looking up at him and for the first time desperately wishing she could know the boy behind the mask.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, Marinette sipping on her tea without really tasting it and Chat rubbing his hand idly up and down her arm over the blanket.
“Why did you come to talk to me?” Marinette asked at last.
“Because you looked like you needed a friend,” he replied.
“I do,” she admitted, hating the pricking of tears she could feel returning to her eyes, “I really do.”
“Is there anything I can do for you princess?” he asked tenderly, wrapping his other arm around her and pulling her in close.
“Just stay with me.”
Look I did angst!!!! Part of my 4 word prompt drabbles. Not taking on new ones atm just finishing the ones I have.
A/N: My idea for this fic changed a few times because I came up with a series idea….so enjoy the fluff while you can. The relationship between the reader & Jensen has a lot of inspiration from the one I share with my brother-in-law. I basically took something that happened with me & my brother-in-law & adjusted it to fit this story. Enjoy.
Jensen x Sister!Reader
You were scrolling through Facebook while laying on the bed at your brother’s house when JJ came strolling into your room. Looking up from the conversation you were having with your friend on chat you shot JJ a confused look. She looked upset, an emotion you rarely saw on the happy three year old’s face. Placing the laptop on the bed you got up and walked over to her.
“What’s wrong little bird?” You asked her while crouching down to her level.
“Daddy’s leavin’ again tomorrow.” She replied with a pout.
Giving her a sad smile you embraced your niece, “I know,” You told her, “Sucks a lot, doesn’t it?” JJ simply nodded her head as she wrapped her arms around your neck. “Where is your dad anyways?” You questioned her.
“Wif mama, Arrow, and Zeppy.” She responded, letting out a sigh. With JJ’s words you couldn’t help but squeeze her a little tighter. Jensen and Danneel had been worried about JJ feeling left out with the birth of the twins. Their fear had led to them asking you to move in with them. You could help Danneel with the kids, spend time with your family, and it gave you more time to work on the screenplay you had been writing.
So this con season I made myself Pidge and a Shiro paladin costumes to wear, with pretty good results. The worst part of it though was the amount of time I spent drafting patterns, so I figured this might be a good resource for anyone else looking to make armor in the future.
is all based on my measurements (a 5′1″ average-ish build with…
bigger thighs), so you’ll likely need to make adjustments to have this
fit yourself, but hopefully this makes building your own cosplay a
little easier. Materials, patterns and everything under the cut. Hope it helps!
Maybe instead of casting a new Logan, perhaps Fox should start looking at continuing X-23′s journey into taking over her father’s mantel, or casting an adult Laura who is struggling to adjust and fit into his title, feeling as if she’s not worthy of his name, maybe even having Hugh Jackman come back to the role in a dream to settle her fears, much like in the comics, and see her become the hero he knew she could be.
divine comedy: muse a has found themselves lost in purgatory, but yet has a chance to redeem themselves and be brought back to life. they are guided along their journey by muse b, another soul who has been lost in purgatory for centuries. will muse a redeem themselves? in helping muse a on ther journey, will muse b be set free as well? and what if both muses develop feelings for one another, will muse a give up their second chance at life to remain with muse b?
wuthering heights: muse a, an impoverished and orphaned child, is adopted by a wealth manor owner. muse a grows up alongside muse b, the child of the manor owner, and the two become dear friends who roam the countryside. however when muse b’s father dies and elder brother takes possession of the estate, he forces muse a to act as a servant. will hatred consume muse a? will muse b sucuumb to the advances of a dull, yet rich young suitor? will muse a and muse b’s friendship prevail?
the picture of dorian gray: muse a is an extremely handsome and wealth socialite. however, they have a dark secret. they’ve forfeited their souls for eternal youth and beauty, and rather than aging themselves, a mysterious portrait takes each sin they commit as a blemish upon it’s canvas. muse b is curious about muse a, intrigued by the scandal and mystery surrounding them, perhaps enchanted or disgusted by muse a. will they uncover muse a’s secret? will they fall under muse a’s spell? or will muse b’s investigation end in disaster?
romeo & juliet: admittedly cliche romeo and juliet plot. muse a and muse b are from different rival families, forbidden love, tragedy, etc. can take place in shakespearean times or in modern era a la baz luhrman’s work.
the great gatsby: muse a is a poor, yet ambitious soldier in wwi. they fall in love with muse b, a wealthy socialite. however, circumstances force the two apart, and muse b is unwillingly married off to a rich suitor. five years later, muse a has acquired an unimaginable sum of wealth and is reunited with muse b. the two begin a secret affair. yet one’s past cannot be escaped, and a single question pervades in the air: where did all muse a’s money come from?
well fuck me this was meant to be a cutesy short romp but it somehow turned into a proper 4k smutfest. feast ur perverted eyes. Here is The Great Elucien Toga Sex Fic, or, How Helion Got His Reluctant Heir To Adopt The Traditional Formalwear of The Day Court
Knives ( @finalcosplaycorps ) made my Bureau of Balance bracer today! It looks like craft foam, but it’s made of PVC.
He wanted to use the build for an upcoming video, and he has more crafting time during the day.
…well, that and he’s just amazing at knocking armor stuff out in a third the time I could…
It’s not silver yet because I asked him to show it to me before painting (in case it needed adjustment), but the fit is perfect and it looks really clean! I already know it’s gonna be gorgeous after it’s painted.