and she's standing on her tip toes she's so little


Little things I love about Spock and Uhura: Height Difference

Like, you know how she has to stand on her tip toes to kiss him properly? That means she’s at the perfect height for cute forehead kisses. And Spock is probably known for standing straight and tall and whatnot…until he leans down to kiss her. And when they hug how her head fits perfectly in the crook of his neck. And how when they hold hands while standing side by side, her arms reach lower than his so she has to bend her elbow a little bit. And when they’re on an away mission together where it’s hot and the sun is beating down persistently, she’ll subtly use him as her own personal Shade Provider. And when they walk beside each other he takes slower steps because her stride is shorter than his. 

(Am I the only one that thinks little things like this are adorable? It’s all just so cute and I can’t cope with it tbh)

Let’s talk about Jasper and Garnet’s height difference yes?

Jasper thinks it’s absolutely hilarious and calls Garnet “shorty” (but only in secret because she knows if she did that where the others could hear Garnet would kick her ass)

Garnet is at OPTIMAL TICKLING HEIGHT she convinced Jasper to shift some nerve endings (she mentioned that they made making out way more fun) and it’s been downhill from there

Jasper can’t really hug Garnet from behind properly because her afro tickles the lower half of her face and neck

Garnet is too proud/embarrassed to stand on her tip toes to kiss Jasper she she’ll literally only give neck kisses until Jasper leans down.

Jasper is also too proud to bend over so she just picks Garnet up to kiss her.

If they are alone Garnet let’s it happen but if there’s a chance anyone can see she fights it hardcore.

Little spoon Garnet oh my goooooooooooooooddddddd

Anyway this has been a psa


I guess this would be the next part in this fic series I’ve slowly developed about laundry. Yes, laundry. The first two parts can be found here but you can read this ficlet on its own. 

Ichabod Crane has to do some household chores in Abbie’s absence. 

After a few weeks, he began to miss more of the little things about the Abbie’s presence in their home. How she was so stubborn that she’d stand on the tips of her toes trying to reach something in a cabinet before asking for his help. How she would make that face when she said thank you as he handed her the out-of-reach item. How fast she’d remove her shoes when she got home from work. How she loved her bubble baths. How she’d always question why he was doing her laundry but never complain when it was all neatly folded and put away by the time she got home after a long day.

Crane had avoided looking in her laundry basket since she had… gone? In his considerable vocabulary there wasn’t a word for what happened to Abbie that he would accept as big enough to encompass what her loss meant to him. It was like trying to describe how a parent felt about their child. Love suddenly was no longer great enough of a word to show the proper depth of it.

Gone. Lost. Missing. None of those were sufficient. The word sacrifice was no longer big enough, either. She had done it too many times now for it to mean the same thing as it meant for ordinary people.

He stared at the dryer where their relationship changed directions oh so quickly not that long ago and realized that he had to face facts. He couldn’t leave her laundry piled up here forever. If they didn’t figure out how to find her, he would have to pack up all her possessions and find a new place to live and he knew it would be best to store freshly washed clothing.

Yet there was something sad about changing anything. Joe finally had to come over the previous weekend and clean out the refrigerator, run the dishwasher, and organize the giant collection of books Crane had amassed on the dining room table. He mentioned that he was pleased Crane had bothered to take out the trash but he had only done that because he knew Abbie loved her house smelling clean. He wasn’t sure he cared anymore whether the garbage piled up or not but if Abbie showed up tomorrow, he wanted her house to be somewhat tidy. Or at least smell somewhat like the cranberry-orange candle she had been burning at night before… it happened.

And she would need clean clothing. All her favorites were in that basket and he would have to deal with it. Just like she used to wash his one and only shirt over and over until it was too tattered to survive going through even the gentlest cycle one more time. He still had the scraps of old fabric tucked away somewhere because there really wasn’t much else to tie him to his past life. Now his present life was also in tatters.

He started the washing machine, filling it with cold water and pouring in her favorite detergent. She still liked the smell of Tide and it now made him think of her and the first time he found his way to her apartment. They hardly knew each other and were so uncertain of their mission then. He wasn’t unsure of how he felt about her – she was his Lieutenant and he knew that they were going to be tied together somehow for a very long time. Crane just didn’t imagine the day would come he’d be doing her laundry and she’d not be just a partner but sometimes his lover.

Crane watched the water get higher in the tub and watched bubbles form. The mundane, everyday things were going to be the end of him yet. He sorted through her clothes and put all the dark pieces in the machine and shut the lid, listening to it as it started the next cycle. It was then he spied the sheer camisole peeking out of her basket of hand washables.

This damn thing. He held it between his fingers, feeling the soft fabric. He brought it up to his nose and breathed in deep. It smelled like her. Like them. She had worn it a few times now, when they would spend the night together in her bed. Then she suddenly put a halt to that and suggested he go out on dates with other women and he knew she was trying to guard her heart from falling too far too fast. They hadn’t been intimate for a few weeks when she did what she did to save Jenny. Maybe she was trying to protect him, too, knowing one more loss would be the end of him. As if losing her at any point would have been acceptable.

Crane sat on the floor with his back to the dryer and continued to stare at her camisole, fighting hard to keep the tears from flowing. He had to find her. He had to get her back. That was the only thing that would be acceptable.


There’s no time for declarations or speeches, so he just takes her face in his hands once more and kisses her roughly, one last time.  She stands on tip-toe, returning the kiss, ferocious, desperate. He sears the feeling into his heart as her fear and rage thrum in his veins, crystallizing into heavy, sharp things to throw against the world. He would rip apart the galaxy for her.  She would put it back together, more perfect than before, for him.

Interstellar Transmissions by @ricca-raccoon and @little-scribblers-heart aka the most gorgeous paragraph in a fic that I’ve read recently.

I lost six hours to my life to this Reylo fic today and all I can think about is when it’s going to be updated. It’s the slow burn I’ve been waiting for and I’m so glad the first fic I stumbled upon was this one!

New Fic: Connoisseur

Title: Connoisseur 

Fandom: Dragon Age

Pairing: Blackwall/Bethroot Cadash

Rating: Explicit

Summary: When Rivain sends a gift of expensive cigars to the Inquisition, Blackwall and the Inquisitor decide to have a little fun.

Notes: There was a note by Sheryl Chee (Blackwall’s writer) that she really liked a piece of concept art where Blackwall had a cigar. This has been in my head ever since. 

Set Pre-Revelations.


It’s the gale of laughter that catches her attention.

Master Dennet prefers quiet around the horses, so to hear people talking and laughing in the stables is rare. Bethroot recognizes Blackwall’s laugh at once - a deep, boisterous laugh she hears far too little of - as well as Cullen and Dorian.

It takes more than a bit of effort not to slip into stealth to investigate. But instead Bethroot almost tip toes into the stables, trying not to be noticed, and takes in the scene before her. Blackwall, Dorian, and Cullen stand around the fire pit, talking.

She then realizes hay and horses aren’t the dominating scents in the stables for once, but instead smoke, wood, and spices. That’s when she sees the open box of cigars on Blackwall’s workbench.

“Inquisitor!” Dorian calls out, holding up a cigar like a scepter. “Join us.”

Bethroot walks slowly towards the pit, watching Blackwall as he brings the cigar to his mouth and inhales. A moment later, he blows white smoke from his lips. There’s a practiced ease to his movements, the way he tilts back his head, revealing his neck, to the way his lips form a perfect O.

It’s almost beautiful to watch and she finds it hard to keep her eyes off of him. He catches her staring then, and smiles. Bethroot swears she sees a hint of a smirk in that smile and definitely hears it in his voice as he says, “My lady.”

read the rest at Ao3!