and you get the idea anyway

Solas Smut Saturday Ideas

@bearlytolerable, @varriccallsme-foxlette, @tel-abelas-mofo, @love-in-nature, @thevikingwoman, @galadrieljones, @fadewalking@ANYONE ELSE WHO WANTS TO TAKE PART/ENJOY THE CONTENT. yes that includes you, lurking human

yooo hello my dudes i’m gonna write some things help me decide which one/s. most, if not all, will at some point get written if there’s enough motivation on my end. i am very busy, but also a human disaster who lives for this and wants to get some practice in

i’m going to vaguely refer to my elf trash as ‘eirwen’ so you can imagine it’s lavellan or surana. tbh i’ll probably be writing it as surana but tagging it as solavellan soooooo either way it ought to work. the focus is on the smut anyway, so it shouldn’t really matter. 

anyway ideas! please vote in the replies or in reblogs or whatever idrc

1- canon divergent, in which solas is a Weak Man and gives in when he sees her again in the vir dirthara. might be angsty. actually, will almost definitely be angsty. 

2- modern au, in which solas is a professor, eirwen is his student, and their relationship is more than professional. involves desk fucking

3- same modern au, but now they’re in a car and it’s Dangerous

4- fucking on the battlements in skyhold. involves covering her mouth and making her be quiet while giving her every reason not to be.

5- solas ‘torturing’ her with magic at the winter palace before finding a quiet place somewhere to work out their frustrations

i have more but here’s what i have for now. pls vote

anonymous asked:

People are so dumb. I love your art and your ideas are so unique and creative. I'd say don't let the haters get you down but you seem to be doing a good job of that anyways lol. Wishing good vibes your way~

Not dumb, just brainwashed into a cult like mentality that perpetuates that everything is a threat. Makes me think of the communist red scare during the cold war. 

And I don’t give a shit that some random rude person doesn’t like my art over the fact that I support freedom of speech. This is exactly why tumblr is hated so much. Like Mark said, it’s a goddamn echochamber. 

Good vibes for everyone! <3

anonymous asked:

Hey robbie, my dog is getting really old, and i've had her for as long as i can remember. Im pretty sure we got her when i was like 3. Anyways she doesn't have much time left. It's really hard because she's turned into my little mental health pup who i can pet and play with whenever i'm sad or nervous. I don't want her to go, but i know i can't control it. Do you have any ideas as to how i can prepare myself to lose her, or at least any tips to make her last few weeks the best possible?

Think about how much she looks up to u as her friend and companion and how happy she gets when u come home from school. She is happy when ur happy and she wants u to stay that way! When her time comes try not to dwell on the fact that she’s gone but replay your happy memories of her in ur head, that way she will always be alive through you. 

okay team i’m emily / em it doesn’t rly matter much and im wiLD excited fo this you have truly no idea??????  anyways this is my baby rowena even tho she goes by rhea bc rowena sounds old and she plans on dying before she gets wrinkles !!! truly !!

so there’s her into under the cut, and there’s also a list of wanted connections, plusss the tag i have here, popping and ready to go. like this if you’d like to plot please !!

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

do you think it would it be weird to keep your clothes on when you have sex with someone? I'm really insecure about my body and don't really like people seeing it... it's one of the reasons I avoid relationships :( sorry it's a such weird question

This isnt a weird question don’t be sorry for asking me this . I think you can get pleasure with clothes on etc. But the whole idea, concept, point of sex (imo anyway) is to be embracing the real nudity of each other and the realness is the beauty of it. Embracing yourself for someone else is what makes sex - sex. It what makes it such a odd but enjoyable thing because its saying, “I trust you, I let you see me as me”. The whole skin on skin and realness of it is what makes the experience so powerful. I am sure you are so beautiful. I used to think i could never be naked for someone. I was scared of every inch of myself. But trust me, you will be adored. When the time is right let yourself be open to the love and the reality that you are beautiful.

thayerkerbasy  asked:

I know you'll probably get mostly Cas suggestions, but I had to ask anyway. I'd love to see a happy hellhound that just wants to play fetch with a bone. I loved your hellhounds that you drew before. ♡

Hehehe. This is exactly why I worded the LIMITED TIME request-a-thon differently this time :)
I liked the Hellhound (Juliet) I drew before, so this was a good enough excuse to draw her again. Here’s a little story: when I first got my assignment for the Demons and Hell Chapter for the @supernaturalartbook, I mused the idea of drawing Lucifer!Cas, Crowley, and Juliet for a few seconds. I scrapped it once I got my idea that I stuck with to this day though.

There’s this specific pose I wanted to draw Juliet (or any hellhound) wanting to play fetch, but the face I have in mind of hellhounds and the pose I have in mind just did not agree.
I was going through some wolf reference pics and found a Mom playing with its pup, so I’m gonna draw a pair of playful hellhounds, K?

sorry it’s really rough… f^^;
Look, I even forgot to draw a fourth leg. LOL
The pup kinda looks like an armadillo???? XD
I’ll have to practice them again if I want to get anywhere with Hellhounds…

VERY Limited Time Request-a-Thon details [here]

Get a Room Pt. 1

Hello! Finally, yes, I came up with an idea (since nobody has requested anything ;-;) *sighs* Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Summary: You need a place to stay. He needs a girlfriend. What could go wrong?

Member(s): Chanyeol

Genre: X Reader, basically just an i.ntroduction to the series

It changes POV, hopefully I made that clear while you’re reading it.

Originally posted by yeollovemebaek

Your POV


I ran my fingers through my hair, shaking my head. I knew where this was going, from the second I saw Jiyoon standing by Mina with some boxes.

If only I hadn’t lost that job…

“Look, (y/n), as wonderful as a roommate you’ve been,” Mina began, “Yuna, Jaehee, and I can’t pay all the rent ourselves, and you can’t really pay your part…I’m sorry, but you’ll have to go.” She bit her lip, looking at me apologetically.

“No, I get it. It’s fine.” I smiled a little. “I’ll go pack my things.”

I ran off to my mostly empty room, sighing heavily.

First losing my job, and now having to find somewhere else to stay…

Admittedly, I had not been the best roommate. Unorganized, unsocial, and often unable to scrape together enough money to pay my part of the rent, I couldn’t blame Mina for trading me out with Jiyoon. I paid less rent than Yuna or Jaehee, so it didn’t come as a shock that I’d be the one to go.

Sighing again, I packed up my clothes in my duffel, grabbed my toothbrush and my hairbrush, collected my small knick-knacks, and headed out, hoping to find someone to stay with before nightfall.

Chanyeol’s POV

“Mom, I swear…No, I’m not getting a girlfriend! What?! Baekhyun’s my friend, why would you even..?! No, this isn’t about Kyungsoo either! God, I just don’t want a girlfriend! Is that so wrong?!” I shouted into my phone, glancing at Minseok, who was looking at me weirdly. I rolled my eyes, mouthing Mom as I gestured to my phone. He snickered, and I narrowed my eyes at him.

“Whatever…Love you too, mom,” I grunted, hanging up and rubbing my face exasperatedly.

“Still pestering you to get a girlfriend?” Minseok questioned, his lips quirked up in a smirk.

“Isn’t that all she ever does anymore?” Baekhyun asked, tapping at his phone screen.

I groaned, nodding.

“She asked me if I was hiding something. And then she asked if I was dating Baek or Kyungsoo! Sometimes I wonder where she even gets these ideas, but then I realize I really don’t want to know.”

Minseok chuckled again.

“Poor Channie…forever alone.” He said in a sing-songy voice.

“Pfft!” I scoffed. “I could easily get someone! I just, I don’t want a girlfriend, okay?”

“Why don’t you just find a nice girl and pretend to date her? Shouldn’t that be easy, considering you can ‘easily get someone’?” Sehun said, looking up at me from his phone.

“I- well, I mean-”

“You’re the one who said it’d be easy.” He retorted. “Why not make your mom happy, if it’s so simple? Ah, probably because it’s not that easy, is it?”

“It is, I just-“

“Mm hmm… I’ll bet you can’t pick up a random girl on the bus.” He said challengingly.

“I could! It’s just-“

“Then do it.” He stared at me, a cocky smile playing on his stupid lips.

“Why should I?” I growled, getting seriously annoyed at his dismissal of my protests.

“If you do it…I’ll let you take me out for bubble tea.” He grinned.

“Okay…wait, what? You’ll let me take YOU out for bubble tea?” I asked, furrowing my eyebrows. “Why would I want that?”

Minseok chuckled, watching our exchange.

“You should be honored that I’d want to go somewhere with you,” Sehun said, rolling his eyes and going back to his phone.

“Fine, I’ll do it.” I said, standing up. “But I’m not taking you out for bubble tea. I’m only doing it to show you that I can, and so that my mom will stop bugging me. See you guys later.”

“See ya,” Minseok said, still smiling like an idiot.

They’re crazy. I can’t get a random girl on the bus, pfft! Of course I can. I’ll show them, I thought angrily.

Your POV

I climbed onto the relatively empty bus, my duffel bag only being a partial pain in the ass.

Hmmm, who to call?

I couldn’t call my parents, they were already a full house with my younger brothers and grandma. I couldn’t call Eun, she and her boyfriend shared an apartment and the last thing I needed was a lot of sleepless nights on an inflatable mattress listening to them do God knows what…My other friends had gone to other countries, so they were a definite no.

“I could find a hotel to stay in for the night,” I murmured, thinking out loud. It’d have to be somewhere cheap.

I wished that the girls would’ve at least given me a heads-up before throwing me out, so I could make arrangements to stay somewhere for a while. But nope, instead here I was, three in the afternoon with nowhere to stay. I let out a deep breath, feeling myself slowly nodding off, despite my troubling circumstances. The bus was quiet, peaceful somehow, as it traveled down the road.

As I slowly fell asleep, I was reminded of the day I had left my parents’ house for the stress of college.

It had been a nice day, breezy but warm. My brothers had been running around the yard, playing with the dog, Perry. My mother and father hugged me, giving their well-wishes and goodbyes. Then I climbed into the taxi, clutching my bag, filled with hope and excitement for what was to come.

I didn’t fall asleep in the taxi, too anxious to even think of sleeping. But when it dropped me off at the train platform and I boarded the train, I fell asleep instantly. There was something about the motion that comforted me.

It felt like so long ago, when in reality, it was only three years ago. Three years since I had seen my family face to face. I couldn’t afford much traveling, even when I had some extra money. There was no time. We’d FaceTime occasionally, but even time for those became scarce. My brothers and I texted sometimes, and I was always grateful that my parents still paid my phone bill.

I was almost asleep, so close, when suddenly, I felt a small tap on my shoulder.

“Um, excuse me…?” A deep voice rumbled out, and I looked up, up, up, to see a tall man, probably about my age, with brown hair and puppy eyes. I didn’t recognize him, but of course, I wasn’t the most observant, either.

“…yes?” I mumbled groggily, rubbing at my eyes.

“Is this seat taken?” He asked, pointing to the spot right next to me.

I furrowed my eyebrows, looking around. All around me were empty seats, did he really have to sit next to me? I blinked a couple times and subtly pinched myself, thinking I was possibly dreaming. After all, he was pretty attractive, couldn’t he be a figment of my imagination?

“It’s…not,” I said, staring up at him confusedly.

He smiled, clearly amused by my befuddled state. That, or he was just very polite and was trying not to let on that he thought I was crazy. “Then, may I sit here?” he asked.

“Um, sure.” I said, unsure of how else to respond. I mean, it wasn’t my seat, why should I care?

“Thanks,” he said cheerfully, his already-dazzling smile growing seemingly wider, if that was possible. “So, where are you headed to?”

I bit my lip, wrinkling my nose as I was reminded of my current predicament.

“I don’t really know. I kind of…got kicked out of my apartment.” I shrugged sheepishly. “Couldn’t pay my part of the rent. Now I don’t know where to go.” I blinked, realizing I had just exposed my problem to a complete stranger. “Sorry, I-“

“Whoa, that sounds terrible. What are you planning on doing tonight, sleeping on the streets?” He asked, cutting me off.

“Well, no. I plan on finding a cheap hotel, and resuming my search in the morning.”

“You don’t have any friends to stay with?”

“They’re all out of the country. Well, except for one, but she lives with her boyfriend, so…”

He made a face, and I chuckled.

“Yeah, I can understand why you don’t want to stay there.”

“Mm hmm.” I sighed. “So, where are you headed?” I asked, turning his question on him.

“Uh…” His face flushed. “Let’s say I’m looking for someone. In fact,” he tapped his chin, clearly thinking about something. “I think you’ll do just fine.”


“How would you like to strike up a deal? I let you stay with me in my apartment, rent-free, and you, in return, pretend to be my girlfriend?” He said, looking down at me.

I couldn’t help it, my jaw dropped as I stared at him. He watched me amusedly.

“What- You can’t- I mean… Wait… So…”

He laughed heartily, his entire body rocking. For such a cute face, he sure was a giant.

“What exactly do you mean?” I finally asked, not sure what was so entertaining to him.

“Exactly what I said. You stay at my apartment for free, you pretend to be my girlfriend. You get your own room, there’s wifi, a TV, a fridge…”

“And why would I agree to this?”

“Look,” he said, suddenly all seriousness. “You need a place to stay. I need someone to pretend to be my girlfriend so my mom will get off my back about it, who doesn’t ask for much. I have a place you can stay at, you are a female and aren’t looking for much, I provide food, water, TV, a shower, bed, wifi…need I say more?”

“Um, that’s very nice, but you do realize that we’re complete strangers, right?” I pointed out.

He grinned. “All the better. So, what do you say?”

I knew I must be crazy, but I was actually considering his offer. If he had all that and was willing to share, just for me to act like his girlfriend, who was I to say no? It would only be for a while, until I found somewhere better to stay. It’s not like I had any other options at this point…

Taking a deep breath and hoping he wasn’t a psychotic killer or something, I opened my mouth. “Deal.”

cutiemaso  asked:

If you blindfold someone, give them a glass of orange juice, tell them its milk and they drink it only to meet with a foul/unexpected taste, they will gag and likely throw up ;( its a prank i tried to my sister and she gagged. Which gave me a fic idea I want you to write :3 - Mila pranking Yurio! Since she likes to tease him so much, why not let her play that prank on him? ;) his trust is hard to earn but he drinks it anyway, then gags, and throws up which wasn't mila's intention ;(

Wow, I kinda want to try this prank out… And I totally adored this request. I got working on it right away (and I usually try to do requests in order, oops). This actually ended up getting a bit depressing at the end. Poor Yurio doesn’t like it when he feels he’s lost the trust of somebody. Just as a warning, there’s a bit of swearing in this. Anyway, I hope you like it.

“What is this all about, Mila?” Yurio asked suspiciously, as the older girl excitedly tied a piece of black cloth over his eyes, cutting off his vision completely.

“I just want you to drink this milk, that’s all,” she said, trying to keep the anticipation out of her voice.

“Why do I need to be blindfolded to drink milk?” Yurio said, pulling at the blindfold. Mila slapped his hands away.

“It’s a tasting experiment. Just trust me, okay?” she insisted.

Mila was jittering with excitement - she’d read about this prank on the internet, where you told someone they were going to drink milk, but actually having them drink orange juice. The sharp, sour taste when the person wasn’t expecting it usually made the person gag and cough. Mila had experimented on Georgi, and he’d choked and spluttered most satisfactorily.

Mila had been dying to try the prank on Yurio, and decided to give it a try while they were taking a break from skating practise. Yurio was wonderful to prank - he always had a big, loud reaction to whatever he’d been pranked with, and would then batter the trickster with violent shouting and cursing, which just made the situation even funnier.

“Okay, just take a sip of this,” she said eagerly, holding the glass of orange juice up to the boy’s lips. Yurio suddenly panicked, rearing away like a frightened pony.

“No! I know what you’re doing, Mila. You’re going to put something disgusting in my mouth,” he said desperately, trying to yank off the blindfold again.

“Yuri, Yuri, relax. It’s just milk, it’s fine,” she insisted, restraining the boy’s hands. Yurio nibbled his lip nervously, looking to be considering.

“Promise it’s just milk?” he said tentatively. Mila hesitated for a second. She didn’t really want to break a promise to Yurio - she knew how difficult it was to get Yurio to trust anyone. He’d be undoubtedly angry if she lied to him.

But still, it was only a joke. Something to make Yurio choke and cough a little, that was all. He’d surely see the funny side in a couple of days.

“I promise.”

“Okay.” Yurio accepted the cup, taking a gulp of the liquid gingerly.

The effects were immediately obvious. Yurio had been expecting the smooth taste of milk; when the tart orange juice hit his taste buds he got such a shock that he immediately gagged deeply, hunching over as his stomach lurched. He scrabbled frantically at the blindfold, tearing it off so fiercely that he yanked his hair too.

The heaving didn’t stop, and he eventually started bringing up his breakfast all over the floor, coughing and retching breathlessly. Yurio gasped and choked, his eyes blurring with tears. Mila watched in horror.

“Oh God, Yuri, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen. Are you okay?”
She tried to place her hands on his shoulders comfortingly, but Yurio pulled away violently. He glowered at the older girl, huffing miserably, his lips stained with vomit.

“Get the hell away from me!”

“Yuri, please, I’m sorry. I tried it with Georgi, it didn’t make him sick. Let me help-” Mila reached out to the boy, but Yurio lurched away from her.

“Don’t touch me!”

The blond dashed away from Mila, running down the hall and disappearing into the public bathroom. Mila followed him hastily, feeling awful.

Oh God, she’d really made a mistake. She hadn’t expected the juice to actually make Yurio sick - Georgi hadn’t been sick - but maybe she should have researched more about what this particular prank did to people before trying it out on the boy.

What’s worse, Mila had lied to him, promised him that it was only milk, and she knew he wouldn’t forget that. When he’d glared at her before he ran away, Mila hadn’t just seen humiliation and anger in the boy’s green eyes. There had been hurt. Betrayal.

Mila slammed into the bathroom, calling for Yurio frantically. Only one of the stalls were occupied. She could hear the boy sniffling behind the locked door.

“Yuri!” Mila pressed herself against the locked door. “Yuri, please let me in! I’m really sorry. It was meant to be a joke - I didn’t think it’d make you sick. Please answer me!”

The only answer she received was a loud, vehement string of Russian curses.

“Jeez, do you kiss your mother with that mouth, Yuri?” It was the wrong thing to say to Yurio in this state. Mila heard a choked sob from inside the stall. She cringed.

“Look, Yuri, please let me in. I’m so sorry, I’ll never do anything like that again. Please.”

“No! Fuck off! I’m never going to speak to you again!” the teenager screamed from inside the cubicle.

Mila sighed defeatedly. She knew Yurio wouldn’t budge - so she’d have to find another way to get into the stall. Whatever it took, she knew she had to reconcile somehow. If she left Yurio alone now, he’d simmer darkly and would plant a seed of resentment for Mila deep inside himself. It was Yurio’s way of protecting himself - he made everyone his enemy.

Mila crept into the cubicle next to Yurio’s. If she stood on the toilet cistern, she’d be able to jump down into Yurio’s cubicle after leaping over the gap where the cubicle wall ended. It was her only option.

Mila stood up on the toilet seat, trying to be as silent as possible. Mila stepped onto the back of the toilet, crouching so her head wouldn’t bump on the ceiling. If she craned get neck she could see Yurio in the neighbouring toilet, leaning with his back against the door.

Moving quickly, Mila hastily swung herself over into the other cubicle, landing heavily on the floor, startling a cry out of Yurio.

The blond immediately turned and tried to fumble with the lock, but Mila gathered the boy up in her embrace, holding him in her famous vice-like grip. Yurio thrashed and struggled furiously.

“Let me go!”

“Well, listen to me then! I’m really, really sorry, Yuri. I didn’t think it’d make you sick. I was an idiot. I’ll do anything to make it up to you,” she gabbled, still holding onto the boy. Yurio continued to try to push her away, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“You lied to me, Mila. You broke a promise! You told me to trust you and you fucking lied!” he sobbed, still struggling. Mila only grabbed him tighter.

“I know. It was awful of me. You have every right to be angry with me, Yuri. I swear, I’ll never do anything like that again. I’ll never lie to you.”
She pulled him round so she was looking right into the boy’s accusing eyes.

“I promise you this. This time I mean it. I swear to you, I’ll never lie to you again,” she said, tearing up herself. Yurio regarded Mila sternly for a second, looking as if he was considering. Eventually he gave up resisting her embrace, falling into her arms, clutching her jacket in his fists. Mila burst into tears too, holding the boy tight.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” she gabbled, over and over, as Yurio sobbed in her arms. It was several minutes before either of them calmed down enough to let go of each other, and then there was lots of nose blowing and mopping of wet cheeks. Mila looked at Yurio again as he wiped his eyes with a wad of loo roll.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know. You can stop saying that now,” Yurio sniffed.

“You don’t hate me now, do you?” Mila asked tentatively.

“No more than usual,” Yurio said. Then he grinned wickedly at the girl, and Mila smiled back happily, knowing they were okay again.

How Admin Taylor Writes

~oH sHiT I got this BOMB aSs idea

~literally texts everybody about said bomb ass idea

~writes prologue

~gets a new idea

~still posts first part anyways???

~loses new idea

~scrolls through inbox

~does half a head canon

~throws papers across the room

~let’s rip people’s hearts out

~V Amnesia Fic was born

~well that story is done

~i should finish those headcanons

~watches puppy videos

~gets an inspiration from the damn puppy videos

~let’s go back through the inbox

~people have good ideas

~makes a poll

~lays in bed


For those of you who wanted to know my writing process, that’s literally it. Plus like ten drafts of everything. Anyways, off to my break ~ Admin Taylor

Take pity on me

I was just on facebook looking at “on this day” memories, and saw one from 2015 where I was bitching about the people in my Doctor Who groups that were talking about Broadchurch season 2 as it was going on.  Obviously being in the US, I had to wait to see it.   I remember going through this with Downton Abbey as well, but I think it was easier to avoid spoilers back then.

Anyway, I’m realizing that the same thing is going to happen with Broadchurch season 3.  I know there are a few of you on here that love the show, like @annashipper, who will get to see it soon, but I will be deprived for…I have no idea when they’ll air it here in the states.  

Now that I am on tumblr, I think there may be a much greater likelihood of getting spoiled than when I was just on facebook.  I guess as a courtesy, if you all do watch the show and talk about it, make sure to put the name of the show either in the body or the tags, as I will be blacklisting key words when it starts airing.

I only mention this as a reminder because I remember when The Final Problem got leaked days before it aired, and I had some key words blacklisted, but some posts got through because they didn’t happen to have the key words in them. 

Thanks, I love you, and I’m super jelly that you get to see it so soon.

a cool idea: whenever you’re tempted to say “xyz trope is overdone and trite” simply because you see it often in white cis hetero romances, consider that not everybody else gets to have visible love stories, so the same standards can’t be applied. 

i see people on here talking about how it’s, like, damaging to write romances with a fairytale ending, or soulmate stories, or first loves that last forever, or childhood-friends-to-lovers, whatever the hell. all that cute, sometimes corny stuff. people try to frame it like it’s a terrible, bad thing, and why? because it doesn’t scratch your specific narrative itches? because it doesn’t perfectly represent your specific experiences, and you don’t think it holds water? it’s unrealistic? it gives people false expectations of ease and happiness?

if you’re not cis/het/white/abled you already know life isn’t easy and comfortable all the time, and as a matter of fact, nobody ever wants to remind you otherwise. if you’re not cis/het/white/abled, you probably don’t have many (if any) love stories in media that you can consider a fairytale. most of them end sadly. many of them are excessively edgy and nihilistic. nicholas sparks novels aren’t written about all of us. 

so like in the case of, i don’t know, soulmate AUs? you (an intellectual) might want to write 10 pages on why it’s a Bad Trope with Problematic™ Narrative Reliances, and Rote, Soulless Methods of Building Relationships, but you know what? some gay brown kid out there is reading about a world where they get to find the love of their life without any fear and pain involved. it’s escapism and wish-fulfillment, and they’re probably fully aware of it. again: nicholas sparks novels are not written about all of us. 

chances are, most people will never assume that they can walk into a flower shop and find the love of a lifetime behind the counter, neatly arranging bouquets. they’ve been reminded their whole lives that certain things for certain people don’t come easy. when you act like people will be given false expectations through cheesy stories, because life doesn’t work that way, you’re preaching to a very, very tired choir.

if somebody wants to write stories that makes the world more bearable for them, there’s nothing wrong with that. that is the opposite of damaging. leave those stories alone, lmfao. you think it’s boring? admit that you think it’s boring! move on! don’t try to frame it like it’s anti-progressive. 


It started as a small idea and it became a mini film!  I hope it’s not embarrassingly intense. Since I feel like those are kind of things I tell myself when I’m trying to get through some stuff. Anyway, Happy New Year to you and I hope everything you want comes true this year.


movie dates! i love how all of these pairings have completely different dynamics, it’s ridiculous and beautiful

When they’ve got him in the interrogation room every officer seems to have the same question; was it worth it? With all that happened, with how it turned out, the years of drunken revelry, the constant media attention, the heists, the hubris, the way it ended in a bloodbath the likes of which Los Santos has never seen. This is your legacy Ramsey, was it worth it?

They ask like his answer means anything, ask like they even care what he thinks, ask like they don’t think he feels anything at all. They ask like it wasn’t his plans that brought him here. Like it wasn’t his plans the led to six body bags and a single pair of handcuffs, a room full of tactless officers and a kingpin with no one left to call crew. They ask like can’t help themselves from asking.

Was it worth it?

There’s never a serious discussion, no big heart to heart, but there’s no escaping the fact that the Fake’s all know they are dying in slow motion. More or less signed their own death certificate’s years ago, living on stolen time, and sooner or later they’ll find themselves in the ground.

They took Los Santos by storm and defended it with their lives. With each others lives. Have sacrificed themselves and the ones they love to a city that takes no prisoners. They fought hard for their crown, and kept on fighting every single day to succeed, to profit, to reaffirm themselves as the city’s biggest bads. They knew that they would only be unstoppable until they aren’t. Until the day they fall, and eventually they must fall.  

Even after all the years of action, all the blood, sweat and tears they’ve poured into this empire, everyone knows there is no such thing as retirement for the Fake AH Crew; for all they’ve already trained their own successors the frontrunners of the reigning crew in Los Santos will never be allowed to simply step down and move aside when their time is over. Between old enemies and constant rivals, members of law enforcement and anyone simply looking to boost their own reputation, there are countless numbers who would hunt them to the ends of the earth. Everyone knows, one way or another, the FAHC is going out bloody.

And by god, did they go out bloody.

The Fake’s die halfway through the afternoon on a Tuesday. What a fucking inconsequential day right? They were owed a Friday at the very least, were meant to go out past midnight, meant to go out in a blaze of glory. They were meant to go out all together. They weren’t meant to go out at all.  

The wheels fell off weeks before, a series of questionable jobs and public fights, a level of disorder totally out of line with the crew’s trademark cohesion. Rumour has it they were rife with in-fighting. Rumour has it after all this time the cracks were finally showing. Its easy, afterwards, to read into the events that came before, to manufacture clues, to swear the writing was on the wall for anyone to see. In reality no one saw it coming. In reality the whole damn city was taken by surprise.

Maybe they bit off more than they could chew, maybe they were distracted, out of sync, or maybe it was just the inevitable finally catching up with them but in the end the Fake’s wind up in a firefight they aren’t winning. After endless years of near misses and close calls, of lucky runs and brilliant timing, after thousands of impossible victories, the FAHC finally lost.

To lose like this, picked off one by one, powerless to save themselves, to save each other, must have been their worst nightmare. With every body on the ground those left only grew more furious, more reckless, lose whatever feeble grasp on self-preservation they ever had, throwing away any possibility of retreat in favour of retribution. It wasn’t enough.

In the end the only one left breathing on either side is Ramsey. The scene finally gone still, silent, the echoes of screams and gunfire fading away into a shivery stunned kind of shock. They say Ramsey’d fallen to his knees amongst the grime, iconic suit near indistinguishable under all the dirt and ash, the blood of men and women who thought they’d live forever. He kneels there in silence while sirens grow ever louder, makes no move to flee, doesn’t even look up from bodies as cars scream to a stop around him.

The messed up thing, the really fucked up part? They say Ramsey was laughing by the time the police got there. Say he stood and brushed himself off, surrounded by the bodies of those he claimed family, drenched sickly red while his empire lay in ruins, and laughed. And god doesn’t that confirm what everyone’s always thought, doesn’t that just prove he always was a monster. Never cared for anyone, for anything, not really. People used to say the one thing Geoff loved was his crew but it seems Ramsey’s cold-blooded ruthlessness won out in the end.

In the fallout of a travesty, of a victory, of an unexpected bloodbath, in a stark grey room faced with a distressingly apathetic villain, in circumstances none could have predicted, all the detectives seem capable of asking is if it was worth it in the end. They ask and ask and Ramsey’s answer never changes, his cold smirk never fades, so calm and unconcerned they catch him glancing at the clock, as though he’s bored. As though even now he’s got somewhere better to be. And still, full of horrified disbelief, they have to ask.

Was it worth it? Yes. Was it worth it? Always. Knowing what you know now, knowing how it ends, how they all go down for you, would you do it all again? Every damn time. Surely you have regrets, you had to know one day it would end like this.  

Oh baby, who says it’s over?

It comes together as a joke more than anything, the cumulation of too many late nights followed by too many bad movies. Their last job was tense, a heist with months of preparations and so much on the line, and while they’ve certainly celebrated their victory like royalty they didn’t come away unscathed. The injuries, numerous though mostly minor, serve to once again remind them all how lucky they’ve been so far. How most don’t make it nearly this many years without tragedy, couldn’t be in the game this long, let alone running the game this long without signing up for devastation. How losing a member, to outright death or crippling injury, is without a doubt only a matter of time at this point. How such a loss will be so much worse in this ridiculously close-knit crew than any they’d experienced before.

Sobering thoughts, combined with the difficulties of winding down after endless weeks of  stress eventually leads to the discussion they never have, the question of what else they could be doing with their lives, what choices brought them here, what they would do if they could just step out, sign off, retire. It’s not that they’re bored of this life they’ve built – how could they be when the world is their oyster – but there’s no denying the fact that after all this time terrorising Los Santos doesn’t quite thrill them like it used to.

If you’d asked any of them ten, five, hell even two years ago they’d have scoffed at the idea of ever retiring, would have sworn up and down that they wanted to go down in flames, to end with a bang, and at the time they meant it. At the time it was true. It still is, in a way, they’ll probably always see something dreadfully appealing in going out on top, but with every passing year it’s harder and harder to look at a room full of people they love and consider playing a role in their deaths. Every time they get hurt it takes a little longer to heal, the old aches and pains are becoming more prominent, and their ever growing patchwork of scars have started looking less badge of honour than they do morbid countdown. Obviously they’ve still got it, still in their prime enough to keep their crown, but between age and gratuitous injury, time is creeping up on them all.

The Fake’s used to joke about the end, said whoever lasted longest won, got to make off with the fortunes, live like a king, but that reality isn’t quite so funny anymore. The idea of surviving, of being left behind with nothing but cold hard cash and heyday memories is enough to make them physically ill. So maybe retiring doesn’t seem quite so unappealing anymore.

Maybe a passing comment way too late at night, after far too much mixing of alcohol and pain meds, in the spirit of some dumb con movie they’d all been heckling, was enough to plant an idea. A ridiculous, unrealistic, completely unattainable idea, but still an idea nonetheless. They’re all a bit hung up on it, still joking, still assuring one another that they aren’t serious, but still bringing it up all the same, running through all the possibilities.

It would take far more than simply disappearing; they have too much wealth and notoriety, have far too many enemies, the world is simply too easy a place to comb through these days. People, at least the vast majority of people, would have to be convinced not to come looking. Convinced there was nothing to look for, nothing to track, would have to think the absent members of the Fake AH Crew were in the one place no one could ever reach them.

There are ways, of course, to feign death. For those with the right contacts, with endless money and enough resources, there are ways to trick the body into something close enough to pass, at least for a time. But even then it’s not so simple; there must be witnesses, there must be evidence, crook and cop alike must be sure. Of course with a public death comes increased risk- it wouldn’t do to go so far in their act that appearances became reality, to go to such lengths to imitate death only to wind up that way regardless. Somehow, someone’s going to have to play guardian, prevent anyone’s corpse from catching a stray bullet to the brain, or jerking back to life too late with guts already laid out on an autopsy table. Someone has to be ready to whisk them all away, and who do any of them trust more than the man they’ve been following all these years. The boss they’d die for. The boss they will die for.

They don’t talk about it, because no one wants to admit it might be happening, no one wants to burst the bubble, to invite reality to rush in and crush the unbelievable thought that the Fake’s might get a happy ending, but at some point they stop laughing. At some point they each quietly start getting all their ducks in a row, using their free time to organise their affairs.

No one questions the way Geoff and Jack have started having day-long meetings with the support crew in-between jobs, the way Lindsay’s spending far more of her time recruiting than ever before, the way Gavin’s taking calls at all hours of the day, rarely in english, clearly haggling over something. They don’t wonder why all their money is getting moved around, why Ryan and Michael are busy collecting all outstanding debts while Jeremy and Ray are plotting the layout of the police station, the morgue.

It’s all happening on the down low, all behind business as usual, but eventually, after nearly a year of quiet organisation, they are just about ready to disappear. All that’s left is the bang, the flashy smoke and mirrors, the hook to stop anyone coming after them, anyone even thinking to track them down. One final step, one last decision to make, a choice they must commit to as one or not at all. All they’ve got left to do is die.

Over the years the Fake AH Crew has grown exponentially but the original elements have never drifted apart, never gone looking for something else or turned on one another. The crew has flourished, become a full blown empire, but nothing can touch the unity of the innermost members, as strong now as it have ever been. For all their loyal familiarity was mocked back in the day, for all their closeness was seen as a weakness, after all these years it seems only death itself will seperate them now. If they had the chance to evade their own mortality one last time, to get out, to be free, would they make the leap?

The Fake’s die halfway through the afternoon on a Tuesday. Pattillo, the Vagabond, Mogar and the Golden Boy, Little J and Brownman, but not the boss. Well not on paper anyway – any who knew them must know Ramsey’d never recover from the loss. Any who didn’t just know the LSPD took seven bodies away that day and none of them ever came back. It’s not a stretch to assume Ramsey’s survival was a rumour. To believe it wishful thinking, to say he died at the scene or died at the station, delayed injury or the cops cleaning up the last loose thread of the group who’d made their lives living hell for years.

There’s paperwork out there, somewhere, claiming a different story. A report that barely makes a lick of sense, the sworn record that a kingpin arrived in chains and left with corpses, slipped out of his cell like he was never there, without a hint as to how he got free. He disappeared like smoke, not a trace left behind, and none of the seven alive or dead ever resurfaced. The story is embarrassing, inexplicable, and it reflects badly enough on the LSPD that it is quickly buried.

Even if it hadn’t been there are few who would believe it. Few who could believe for even a moment that Ramsey could walk free and not be with the last of his crew, that he would let another run his empire, run his city, if he was in any way capable of preventing it. No, however it went down Ramsey did not survive. It’s fitting, really. No one can live forever and the OG Fake’s were certainty pushing their luck, had been pushing it for years; a crew that close should go out together.

The Fall of the Fake AH Crew isn’t much of a fall, in the end. The seemingly inevitable power vacuum one would expect following the death of the group who’d been running the city for endless years never comes. It shouldn’t be possible but even after the most devastating loss imaginable the the FAHC isn’t toppled from their throne. They restructure almost overnight; many of the oldest, original members of the support crew bow out, disappear on the wind without a trace, but there are more than enough left behind to fill their shoes. It’s almost perfect, almost unbelievable, some of support shuffling into the spotlight while still more unknown faces are revealed to boost their ranks. Their ability to keep their enemies at bay during the turmoil is impressive enough, but it’s the absence of internal conflicts that is truely boggling; there are no betrayals or executions, no public power plays or jealous feuds, somehow the city’s most scrutinised gang managed to completely restructure after the loss of not just their leader but all their key members without a single hitch. Almost like they were ready, like it was planned.

If the Fake’s had the chance to stay together, to start over somewhere else, stop waiting for the day one of them inevitably doesn’t make it home, but in return they had to step away from the action, give up everything they’d built, hand if off to legacy and fade out into legend, would it be worth it?

Apparently, yes. For all of them, from the moment the possibility arises, throughout every conversation, every debate and consideration, with everything they will lose, with everything they stand to gain, every goddamn time without fail, yes.

Somewhere out there, worlds away from Los Santos, a man sits on a private beach. He isn’t armed with anything more than a beer, there are no weapons, he simply sits upon the sand enjoying the breeze. There’s a woman to his right, sunbathing, a man to his left doing the same; golden tans make their startling number of scars stand out in stark relief but the heat of the sun does wonders for stubborn pains. At the shoreline old friends are knocking shoulders, bumping each other nearer and nearer to the water, not quite rough-housing like little boys but they’re getting close, voices rising on the wind.

The single house behind them is huge and noisy, full of music and chatter, full of monsters and overgrown children, the most loyal humans the man has ever had the honour of knowing. In a brief moment of silence sound from the television drifts down to the beach, an American news anchor reporting the latest infraction of some criminal organisation in a far away city; the house cheers and kicks back into a merry roar. Down by the water there is a betrayal, a splash and screeching protest as one winds up in the waves against his will. Safe on the sand, without a trouble in the world, the man laughs.

The 100: A Summary
  • someone: let's do this!
  • clarke: that is a horrible idea why would you do that don't do that
  • someone:
  • someone: *does it anyway*
  • everything: *goes wrong*
  • innocent people: *die*
  • someone:
  • someone: this is your fault! fix it!
  • clarke:
  • clarke: what the actual fuck

oohh myy gooood if i see ONE MORE PERSON talk about how even is simply playing isak and he doesn’t care i swear i’ll….well, idk, but i’m going to be very annoyed. have you not SEEN his face when isak came back to school?? and how he literally could not keep his eyes off of him??

and then his face when he bumped into isak at the cafeteria???

and how nervous he seemed?? and the fact that he remembered that isak told him ONCE in person like a MONTH AGO that he liked cardamom on his toast, that he remembered what isak said about parallel universes and that he took the time to draw this very very personal and meaningful drawing and made sure isak got it?? 

idk how you could possibly get “i don’t care about you” vibes from this?? like are we not watching the same show?? 

idk what even’s deal is. none of us do. i’m not saying that the guy is behaving perfectly, because he’s not. but if there’s one thing you can’t say about him, it’s that he doesn’t care about isak 

anonymous asked:

Jocasta Nu survives that bit with the murder (somehow) and winds up with Rebel Intelligence (where else). Post ANH she ends up teaching Luke and possibly also Leia. Certain truths may get told a sight earlier (cough*Vader*cough). On a completely unrelated note it's not exactly easy for sundry rebels to take Vader seriously anymore due to someone spreading Temple gossip courtesy of the de facto Jedi Grandmother.

Okay but why not go full AU here and drop Jocasta into the Double Agent Vader storyline.

She’s an intelligence agent, of course, and by the time we reach the OT period she’s probably working closely with Mon Mothma herself. And if we assume that Anakin shared a bit of Tatooine culture with her (though far from everything), then she might very well recognize the name Ekkreth. Especially since she already knows that Anakin is Vader.

If Jocasta survived, I think it would be because Anakin failed to kill her in the Temple. Which, realistically, would probably mean he knowingly let her escape. So she knows better than anyone, even Obi-Wan or Yoda, exactly what he did. She was there.

So it’s going to be difficult for her, to say the least. She cared a lot about this kid, and she did what she could to help him without fully understanding the situation and without having regular access to him, and obviously something went horribly wrong. She was there in the Temple. She knows what happened. She knows what he did. It’s not something she can ever forget. Sometimes the thought of it makes her physically ill.

But she also sees what he’s doing now, and she’s perhaps better equipped to work with him than most other members of Alliance Intelligence. When the Inquisitors’ lists of Force sensitive children start coming in, she knows what that means. And when his coded phrases reference Tatooine stories, sometimes she knows what that means, too.

Eventually she sends him a coded message directly. That wouldn’t be completely out of the ordinary - Anakin’s primary Rebel contact is Leia, but sometimes he communicates with Mon Mothma as well. But when he gets this message, he knows it’s not from Mon Mothma. She doesn’t usually send physical deliveries, and she certainly wouldn’t send something like this: a carefully wrapped package of biscuits, with a note included that says “Don’t forget again.” It’s signed “Grandma.”

It’s a pretty big risk, even if there is no directly incriminating information. But Jocasta’s felt alone for a long time now. She has a place in the Rebellion, but most of her life was spent surrounded by other Jedi, and now it’s just her. Just her, and on the rare occasions when they’re stationed on the same base there’s Ahsoka Tano, grown now and insisting she’s not a Jedi. And now Ekkreth, someone she once knew as a boy called Anakin. He’s grown now, too, and it’s no less strange than Ahsoka. She’s used to thinking of both of them as children.

And yes, there’s quite a large part of Jocasta that blames Anakin for the loss of the Order and the Republic. But he’s also the only one left, and sometimes she isn’t sure if she blames him or if she blames the Jedi or even herself. It would be easiest, and maybe best, to simply blame Palpatine, but Jocasta’s learned that logic alone can only get you so far. Her emotions are harder to tame. It’s funny, she thinks bleakly sometimes, that it took the loss of everything she’d ever known and believed for her to start questioning those beliefs.

So she doesn’t know how she feels, really. But a few weeks later, when a delivery arrives for her on the Rebel base on Settra, she lets herself smile about it. There’s a seemingly untouched package of biscuits inside. Beneath every biscuit there’s a datastick. She runs each of them through the decryptions. They’re copies - abbreviated, limited, but there - of the Jedi Archives.

Eventually, she hopes, they’ll meet again in person. She still doesn’t know what she’ll do. But this is something. It’s a beginning.

misc soulmate aus

- You get to 18, then don’t age at all until you meet your soulmate

- you are born with a few unique tattoos, which only your soulmate shares. When they die, your tattoos burn off

- whenever your soulmate feels an intense emotion, you feel the opposite. They just lost their parents to a war? You’re having the time of your life, despite knowing the reason why you’re so happy is because your soulmate is dying inside

- their signature appears on the back of your neck at a random point in time

- their last name appears on your wrist at a random point in time

- streaks of their hair colour start to appear in your hair and vice versa

- one of your eyes slowly starts to change to match theirs and vice versa

- when you look in the mirror at a random point in your life, you see them. Even if it’s after they’ve died

- everybody knows your soulmate but you. It’s illegal to say

Add some more if you want!