although not really but yeah

Here’s a relax drawing thing from a couple of weeks ago.

Aqua Form - Juvia Lockser - fanart. I thought I’d try giving the effect she’s using Water Body and make her fingers and edges of her hair watery (?). I tried. I really did. However. I’m really proud of the lighting work on this..I wanted it to be very detailed and yeah I don’t think I did too bad :3

And sorry I haven’t posted in art in a while, it’s just been very hectic with school T T

Made by jiyu-koya. Please do not repost, do not remove source.

anonymous asked:

I NEED A LITTLE TINY BLURB ABOUT HOLDING HARRY BC HE IS DISAPPOINTED IN HIS PERFORMANCE BUT YOU KNOW HE WAS SO GOOD AND LOTS OF KISSES AND PRAISE AND REASSURANCE

I’ve been waiting to answer this but it’s been hurting me all night so here we go.

He comes off stage and yanks the ear piece out of his ear– admittedly harder than he anticipated. He storms past everyone and towards dressing room. He’s trying his hardest to focus on the task at hand, which is changing quick enough for the next skit, but he can’t.

It was too much. He was too nervous. And he shouldn’t have been, of course. He knew he was rusty and hadn’t performed live in ages but THIS?! This was nowhere near what he was expecting of himself.

The cast and crew buzzes around him, while the costume people follow him into the room. He hears compliments and praises but he only vaguely registers them. All he can think is how bad he sounded.

And then he hears his name, and he’s brought back to attention. His head snaps up while he unbuttons his jacket, and he can feel the costume crew trying to get it off of him. When he meets your eyes, you’re smiling. You’re rushing over to him, trying to get around the crowd. You can’t really get close to him at the moment, but you hold his gaze with the biggest smile. “Baby that was amazing!”

“Yeah?” And the way he says it isn’t happy. You all shuffle quickly into his dressing room as he continues. “Well I don’t know what performance you were watching but it wasn’t mine.”

Your smile drops suddenly. “I… what?”

Harry shimmies out of his shirt while someone hands him his next jacket for his costume. “It was shit,” he continues, cooperating as much as he can with the crew while still talking to you. “Vocals were shit. My throat is shit.”

A voice is heard through a radio on one of the crew member’s belts. “Ten minutes till places.”

You shake your head. “Harry what…. what are you talking about?”

Harry’s pants come down and he steps out of them, buttoning up his new jacket. “You know what m'talking about, y/n. You know it was shit.”

It breaks your heart to hear him being so hard on himself. You sigh. “Well I disagree.”

Harry lets out a sarcastic little laugh as someone combs back his hair to put a new wig on his head. “Course you do.”

Your eyebrow furrow. “Harry, what is wrong with you?”

“Can we discuss this in a moment please?!” And that makes you stop. Harry tilts his head as someone begins putting glue on his face for a fake beard. You know he’s not trying to be an asshole, he’s just frustrated at himself. And you knew it just from watching it on that stage. So you sigh, walking over to the little couch in his room and sitting.

You watch as he cooperates with everyone dressing him. As he transforms into a new character, some type of soldier. He’s adorable and so handsome but he’s frowning. Eyebrows furrowed, lips in a hard line. And you want nothing more than to help him.

Minutes go by until he’s fully transformed, and he giggles a little looking at himself in the mirror, although he’s still grumpy. “Thanks,” he says softly to the crew. “Looks good.”

They remind him he has 7 minutes till places and he nods, thanking them again and again until all of them have left the room. And then…. the silence.

He looks at you with a blank face, and when you offer him a smile, he sighs and slumps into his seat. He is no longer the defensive grump he was minutes ago. He’s vulnerable. He’s sad. And he’s all but verbally asking you to comfort him.

So you sigh, standing and walking over to him. You sit on his lap, reaching under his now beard-covered chin, and tilt his head so he’s looking at you. He’s so hard on himself, and that’s one thing you know all too well. You offer him a smile. “Hey.”

“It was bad, y/n.” His voice is quiet and vulnerable, and you frown. “Really bad.” He shakes his head. “I was so much better at rehearsals. This was so…. disappointing.”

“Heyyy,” you say, rubbing his cheek softly with your thumb. “Baby. That was perfect. It was raw and emotional and….. beautiful.”

He smiles softly but you can tell he isn’t convinced. “You’re sweet. Wrong, but sweet.”

You giggle. “NOT wrong. I mean it. The only person disappointed in you is… well, you.” You lift his little soldier cap and kiss his forehead. “That’s a hard song to sing, baby. For so many reasons. Not one person could’ve done better, do you know that? You did what billions of people wish they could do. You got up there and you sang something so personal to you, dedicated to someone who meant…. god, SO much to you. And it was beautiful.” You give him a quick and smiley peck. “You’re beautiful.”

He smiles up at you as you hold his face. “Baby. How do you always know what to say to me?”

You shrug. “I know you. And I know you’re so hard on yourself and it breaks my heart. I don’t want you to be like that.”

He lets out a sigh, and his eyes lower to your lips. “Kiss me.”

You giggle, pressing your lips to his. He inhales deeply through his nose and wraps his arms tighter around you, pulling you closer on his lap. He smiles as the kiss deepens, and he gives you an affectionate little scratch on your back.

You pull away with a cheeky little grin. “I’ve got some more plans to show you just how proud I am of you, you know. As soon as we get back to the hotel.”

He smirks, moving his eyes slowly between your lips to your eyes and back as he lets out a little hum of satisfaction. “Mm, do you?”

You nod. “Mhm. But for now,” you kiss him again, “you have to go back out there. And don’t let this ruin the rest of your night. And kiss me again.”

He chuckles, lips ghosting against yours when he speaks. “Of course.”

When he pulls away he sighs. “Wanna stay right here.”

“No no, you have to go,” you say softly. “Although…. this costume is…. really doing things for me.”

He snorts this time. “Yeah? Think we could try some war roleplay?”

You giggle, nodding and kissing him again. You bite at your lip when you pull away. “Just….. don’t ever grow a beard like that.”

He pretends to be offended. “Oi. Y'dont like this?”

“It looks silly.”

“Don’t think this would feel good between your legs?”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t deny the sudden pang you feel between your legs. “Definitely not.”

He shakes his head. “Pity.” With one more quick kiss, he rises to his feet. You think he’s going to head out of the room, but instead, he pulls you into him for a long, warm hug. He holds you for longer than you expected, but you aren’t complaining.

“Thank you,” he says quietly. “I love you so much.”

anonymous asked:

hey! i was wondering if you have any voltron angsty lance-centric fic recommendations? aside from your own amazing ones ofc

Mmkay, so I’m what I’m doing here is going through my fic rec tag and just copy-pasting stories where Lance suffers. Some are angst, some are hurt/comfort, some are epic stories where the angst and hurt/comfort might be more of a side dish than a main course. The word count on most of the WIPs is no longer accurate, and some are complete, but I am too lazy to edit. This is taking long enough as it is. But yeah, you asked for it, you’re getting it. Langst recs, maychorian style. Warning: This is long. If you press the read more, be prepared to scroll.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

I just want to give a shout out to France for not letting Marine Le Pen come first in their elections. Although really, she should never have gotten as far as she did.

Yeah, this is a C- at best, but I guess they’re passing.

a life spent trying to do well

After Shikadai’s birth, Temari looks down at her tiny baby and remembers another small child, unloved and uncared for, and wonders if she can ever forgive herself for her brother’s childhood.

my first naruto fic in literally 7 years this is wild. Naturally it’s shikatema + sand sibs because FEELINGS

title from lullaby by sia


           It was spring in Konoha, and the rains were just coming to their end, heralding the arrival of bright blooms of flowers. It would be a relief for the small garden of the Nara residence where Shikamaru and Temari now lived; as a gift upon her marriage, her brother Gaara had given her several of his most beautiful specimens of cacti, which they had planted together behind the home. Cacti drown easily, and the spring showers had not been kind to them. Now that the skies had cleared, Shikamaru routinely found himself glancing out the back of the house, wondering if the delicate blossoms would ever return to the spiny plants.

Keep reading

swellton  asked:

im sorry if this is unwanted but please dont feel like a bad person for telling a story the way you want to, wanting to create adult story but having a young fan base shouldnt make u feel bad (although it does seem really frustrating u are handling it well)

Yeah and I mean at the same time I feel bad for saying that, I really didn’t want it to come off as complaining but it is a little frustrating sometimes! It makes me want to make more “everyone-friendly” stories in the future so my stories will be more accessible. SYW is a super experimental project and my very first actual comic EVER, so it’s also a learning experience!

so you know how we all are Not Over™ isak and even, and it’s starting to become a problem??? well, imagine always listening to the skam soundtrack during your commute and also imagine that your commute involves passing by a lot of skam locations, like sagene church and the street of isaks flat and last but not least the radisson blue plaza aka the hotel from episode 8. and then imagine high for this starts playing the excat moment you can see the plaza hotel in the distance… anyways this is the story of how i ended up crying on the bus this morning and arriving at work looking like a wreck.

pick me up and punch me out

@poppypomfrey as always, i love you. your fic today was to good for the world. 


“I think it’s going well.”

James looked up from his chair, cheek throbbing like a fucker and contact half sliding out of his eye. “I’m losing.” He said, in disbelief.

“I know but I’ve got money on it.” Lily said, moving the ice pack from his shoulder to his temple, even though he’d read somewhere that using one icepack for the whole body was unhygienic. If he brought this up however, she would probably stuff the pack in his mouth.

“But then wouldn’t that be bad because you’d be los-“ he started, and then realised what was happening. “Oh my god, you put money on Black?

Lily shrugged. “Odds are on him winning.”

You’re my manager.”

“Hey, numbers don’t lie.”

James couldn’t believe her.

“I fucking knew I should have hired Remus. He never would have bet on my literal opponent-”

 

Lily sighed, blew hair out of her eyes and looked at him like he was an idiot, which was not unusual. She took the icepack off his temple and threw it into the bin as if his whole body wasn’t a walking bruise right now, and squatted down to meet his eyes.

“Potter. Focus. You keep letting him in on your left side and it’s why you’re going down so quick, and when I say ‘hover your hands around your face’ I mean cheek level, not at your goddamn eyes because we’re not at fucking practise, it’s not like he’s gunna break your glasses.”

“You did break my glasses.”

“Once.”

“Four times.” He corrected, because it had been, and he has the receipts to prove it. Lily rolled her eyes.

Focus James. Stop fighting like you’re in school. Stop misdirecting and just fucking hit him. The more times you try the more likely you are to actually knock him out.”

“Wow. What a tip.” James said sarcastically, because it was already the third round, and he was so tired, and her hair looked so pretty like this, why didn’t she wear it like that all the time.

Lily looked at him, scanning his face, and he could feel his lip swelling. It felt enormous, bigger than his whole head. “Are you good?” she said at last.

“Fine. Yeah. All good.” He lied, although it wasn’t really. He could go back out. He’d gone back out with worse. That time with Avery, where his rib broke and punctured a lung but he’d kept going and fainted. Lily had screamed at him the whole ambulance ride, blood on her hands and eyes wide.

“You can win this.” She said in her Lily voice, all sure and steady and solid, like it was an absolute. Like he already had.

“Alright.” He wasn’t sure what he was agreeing to. The room was to bright, and her hand was on his leg, and he would fight a dragon if she would keep looking at him like that.

“Hey,” a guy poked his head round the changing room, “its two minutes.” James could hear the crowd again, yelling names and stomping their feet. His mum was watching tonight, huddled in the corner with eyes peeking through her fingers. The last time she came to watch he’d won in three rounds, and now he was down to Black with blood in his mouth because his mouth guard had been mashed into his gum so many times.

“Let’s go.” Lily said, standing up. James followed, picturing the simple movement of his arm. The swift action of an upper cut colliding with a jaw. The pounding in his fingers, the feel of bone against bone.

“Did you really bet on Black?”

She met his eye, lanyard tangled and in jeans with a hole on the knee that was not stylistic. “’Course not. I pick you every time, so fucking win or I won’t be able to pay my rent.”

He grinned, and the crowd roared, and the doors opened, and he could still feel the imprint of her hand on his knee like a burn. Proof of how royally fucking gone he was, not just in this fight, but with her.

"Hero" - Owen Grady x Reader

You’re standing on the catwalk, looking down into the raptor enclosure, where your sort-of-boss, Owen Grady, is working with a hoard of velociraptors.


You’re supposed to be taking notes, but you’re kind of distracted by the whole thing, because, come on, how often do you really see a human being surrounded by freaking velociraptors and not getting devoured?


The fact that your sort-of-boss is freaking gorgeous doesn’t exactly help, because honestly who isn’t a sucker for a tall, tanned, blue-green-eyed, muscled dreamboat? He’s so arrogant and self-assured too, another major turn on.
Not that you’re stupid enough to flirt with your boss.


Of course, you’re too busy being interested in what’s going on to adhere to proper safety concerns; you’re leaning over the railing to get a better look, despite being told several times by Owen that it’s dangerous to do so.


It only takes a split second – you don’t even see the observers come charging past, barely feel one of them collide into you – your balance goes off, the notebook you’re meant to be writing in falls to the catwalk, and then you’re falling.


You’ve been afraid of this happening since day one; this can’t be happening.
But it is. You’re falling.
Maybe you scream. Maybe someone else does, because the last thing you see before you hit the ground is Owen turning to stare at you, calling something out, but whether it’s to you or his raptors, you’re not sure.


The fall hurts, but you don’t black out. Maybe your wrist is broken from the fall, and your ankle feels sprained, but that’s the least of your concerns.
Four hungry raptors are eyeing you like you’re some kind of tasty treat.
Great. I’m going to die like this?


“Hey?” suddenly Owen is there, in front of you, “oh good, you’re okay. Anything broken?”


“My wrist.” You say, wincing.


“Okay. Just stay still. I’m going to get you out of here,” he turns his attention back to one of the raptors – Delta, you think – who has been inching closer.


“Nuh-uh. Don’t even think about it, Delta.” Owen’s got his ‘alpha voice’ on.
Blue inches closer to you, snapping her jaws.


He backs up, repeating the same command: stand down, until he reaches you, effortlessly lifts you into his arms, away from the snapping raptors.
“Open the gate!”


You try to ignore the pain in your wrist and ankle and focus instead on how solid his arms are around you.
You’re dimly aware of the gate slamming down again, separating the two of you from the raptors.


Owen breathes a sigh of relief.
You look up at his handsome face.
“My hero,” you say, before you black out.

When you wake, you’re lying on a reasonably soft bed, a cool cloth on your forehead.


“Hey, sleeping beauty,” Owen says from where he’s sitting beside you.


Your cheeks flame with embarrassment.
“I’m so sorry, I’m such an idiot, I was leaning over the railing again.” You say.


He’s told me at least three times not to lean over the rails. He’s probably really mad at me, you think.


“Doesn’t matter. At least you’re safe.” He looks concerned, “How’s your head? The doctor said I needed to keep an eye on you.”


“There was a doctor?”


“Yeah, you slept through it, he knocked you out to fix up your wrist. It’s only a little fracture, but it’s still all bound up.”


You look down and see that your wrist is, indeed, wrapped in a bandage and plastered up.

“What about my ankle?”
“Just a sprain. You’re damn lucky you weren’t killed by the fall.”
Here it comes.


“I get it, if you’re going to fire me.”
“Fire you?”


“Yeah. I disobeyed you and leaned over the rails again. I risked both our lives.”


To your surprise, Owen smiles.
“What’s life without a little risk? Here, drink this.” He passes you a cup of water. You sit up and accept it, then realise where you are.


“Um… why am I in your house?”

“It was closer than your place.”

“Did you carry me all the way here?”

“Uhh…”


You smile.
“Thank you.”
He returns the smile.
“That’s what heroes do.”
You grimace.


“You heard me?” you duck your head, thoroughly humiliated.
He doesn’t answer, just smiles at you.


“From now on, you’re staying on the ground. No more catwalk for you. Can’t have you getting hurt, then I’d need another assistant, and I’ve gotten rather fond of you.”


“You have?” you ask, suddenly filled with a wooziness that has nothing to do with your fall.


“Absolutely. Now, can you shove over by yourself, or do you need a hand?”


You try to move, but wince at the attempt –your ankle might just be sprained, but hell, it hurts.


“Ummm, I don’t think I can move,” you say, embarrassed.

“No problem,” Owen says with a smile, and he carefully lifts you and places you on the other side of the bed, helping you sit up against a couple of pillows, before sitting down beside you.


“I could probably go home, you know,” you say.


You don’t really want to bother him anymore, and it feels weird being practically cuddled up with him.


“No way. I told the doctor I’d keep an eye on you, in case you have a concussion.”


“I don’t have a concussion,” you say, although you aren’t too sure.


“Yeah well, I don’t really fancy getting my ass handed to me by the doc for letting you go. So. You’re kinda stuck here. I mean that in the least creepy way possible, by the way,” he smiles.


You giggle nervously. You’re bedridden with a twisted ankle and a broken wrist, but you’re bedridden in Owen freaking Grady’s bed, with him sitting rather comfortably beside you.


“You wanna watch a movie or something?” he asks.
“Sure.”


“I don’t have anything chicks usually like, unfortunately,” he admits, tossing a pile of DVDs to you.


“Not a movie-date guy, huh?” you ask.


“Not really,” he gives you a sheepish grin then says, “More of the don’t-use-a-blacklight-on-my-couch dude.”


Maybe something in your expression makes him back pedal because he grimaces.


“Sorry. You don’t really want to know that.” He mumbles and disappears into the next room, leaving you with a pile of movies.


Feeling slightly awkward, you paw through the pile one-handed, finally settling on Die Hard.

Owen comes back with a bottle of cold water for you, a beer for himself, and a bowl of popcorn.


“I, uh, thought you might be hungry but I’m not really a great cook…” he says, settling himself back next to you after putting the DVD in the player.
“Best, boss, ever,” you say as he passes you the water.
He grins.


“Best assistant ever,” he replies.
“What, even better than the one who gave you sexual favors?” you tease.


“What? Aw, man, you gotta stop listening to Barry. He’s just making that shit up.” Owen looks wounded.


Halfway through the movie, you get cold, so you pull the blanket over you.

To your surprise, however, Owen puts his arm around you and scoots closer, keeping you warm.


“Thanks,” you mumble.


When the movie ends, you’re half asleep, so you’re perfectly happy to shuffle under the blankets and lay down, facing Owen.


“Hey, Owen?”
“Yeah?”


“Thanks for looking after me.”

“You’re welcome. I’m just glad you aren’t hurt. I’d really miss your pretty face around here.”


“You only like me for my face?” you pout.


“Of course not,” he kisses your forehead, “When you’re better, maybe tomorrow, I’ll take you out to dinner?”


“But I’ll still have my wrist in a cast…”
“So? Gives us one hell of a ‘how we hooked up’ story.” He laughs.


“Presumptuous, aren’t you?” you mutter.
He chuckles again and leans across to kiss you.


Your uninjured hand goes to his hair, pulls him closer to you.
“I take it that’s a yes?” he asks when you break apart.
“Of course,” you reply, “who am I to deny my hero anything?”

You fall asleep in his arms.

Today’s Enjolras is brought to you by: when someone insults your friend

(“NOW WAIT JUST A MOMENT AND LEMME TELL YOU A THING…”)

depressed-demon-hunter a réagi à votre billet “HI!!!!!!!! Do you listen to Welcome To Night…”

I feel you, man, but it’s okay to go slowly! That’s the nice thing about podcasts; it’s easy to pick up where you left off.

yeah!! although for some reason podcasts are really hard for me to listen to, i get distracted waaaay to easily :D like, when you’re reading a book and catch yourself thinking of something else for past several pages and you have no idea what you’ve just read about? that happens nearly all the time when i listen to podcasts :D

You know i bet Beast Boy and Chat Noir would get along really well, just imagine:
  • Beast Boy: Yeah, so i work in the showbis as an actor.
  • Chat Noir: Oh i can relate... i am a fashion model, that's kinda like acting.
  • Chat Noir: I like doing it, but sometimes it's too serious. I like to be laid back and joke around a little, you know what i mean?
  • Beast Boy: Ofcourse! I joke around a lot too! Originally i hid behind my jokes to cover my pain, but now it became a normal for me, i love comics, anime, manga, video games...
  • Chat Noir: You don't have to tell me about pain... sometimes i feel really lonely...
  • Beast Boy: ...yeah... but it gets better, doesn't it?... Well you know i used to have blond hair just like you!
  • Chat Noir: Really??
  • Beast Boy: Yeah! Although i didn't have green eyes back then, i had blue.
  • Chat Noir: Ahh the love of my life also has blue eyes.
  • Beast Boy: No way! Mine does too! She is really collected, serious, but a good friend. Has short black hair, and... well... she's a mixed race *sweats nervously*
  • Chat Noir: HAHAHAH You are not talking about Ladybug, are you? She's all that you described and more.
  • Beast Boy: heheheh... yeah... no i'm not talking about Ladybug...