anxious spaces

He wanted to feel cute!

if ka//ura is canon then i will be stuck with a permanent cringe for the rest of my life

anonymous asked:

I hope this isn't weird but it makes me excited that you're excited to draw stuff with your tablet. Also for the color palette thing amajiki & anxiety if you can!

He loves standing in the snow and has his cloak to keep warm

ID #87844

Name: Ariana
Age: 14
Country: United States 

Hey! I’m Ariana. The best words to describe me would be Fangirl, awkward, bisexual, latino and anxious.

I’m a big nerd and i’m always geeking out over Space, NASA, videogames, musicals, bands, and books.

I like fangirling about Sherlock, Glee, Riverdale, Gotham and a bunch of other TV Shows and fandoms. I spend most of my time reading and writing, attempting to draw and watching random stuff on youtube.

I know english and spanish and i’m open to mailing actual letters but we would need to chat over email/tumblr first just to make sure you’re not a serial killer. (Even tough i like true crime)

Pronouns: She/her

Preferences: I’m pretty open minded, i don’t care about countries as long as you speak english or spanish. i don’t care about gender or sexuality.

Ages: 13-17.
I only ask that you’re not homophobic, biphobic or tranfobic, also don’t talk to me if you’re racist. Or a Trump supporter.


listen…shepard will always been my no1 video game love but honestly I ADORED andromeda and my smol anxious precious space daughter ryder???? she’s a sassy hot mess who’s just frantically making this shit up as she goes along but she’s also so pure and genuine and enthusiastic in a way we never got with poor exhausted war vet shep. I was really excited to try out the CC but ended up sticking with cutie pie default sara because after seeing her in the trailer I was really weirded out hearing her voice come from someone else’s face (if that makes sense…)

I actually finished the game over a week ago but with all the crazy of moving house I’ve only just got around to scribbling some ryder stuff and trying to get to grips with drawing her. notes under the cut…

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bad days

Neil doesn’t always have good days.

Some times he can go for weeks feeling light inside. He can go out for dinner with Matt and Dan, and hang out with Allison without flinching. He can sit shoulder to wrist next to Andrew without thinking twice.

Other days Kevin is a bit to tall to look at properly and sometimes his heart starts thudding the moment a class door shuts and there’s so many people separating him from the escape route and he has a hard time sorting out math equations to memorized nearby cities. Sometimes his phone goes off from a text and the vibration feels foreign and other times a classmate asks what’s it like being a mobster’s son.

It’s an article though that gets taped to his locker outlining his connection to murder and inside on a plate sits a pig heart. He knows exactly what it is the moment he sees it, slamming the door shut hard and backing away slowly.

That’s when he goes back to the tower and finds the nearest knife and cuts his arm delicately.

He’s hunched over in the tub and through the shut door he can hear the television going. Every time he shuts his eyes he thinks or dashboard lighters and count downs and black rooms and the overwhelming need to r u n but he can’t, he promised he wouldn’t.

So Neil makes another neat cut on his left arm, a cut amongst a backdrop of angry damaged and exposed skin. Some days he thinks his scars are the only real sign that he’s still alive.

Someone knocks on the door but he’s more distracted by the knife in his hand. He never liked holding knives, cutting baby pigs open and hearing them scream. Lola would cut him like this, her hands cold and sharp. He can still hear screaming.

He drops the knife thinking about her, blood on tile floor and his eyes wide. His father is coming, marching down the halls and he needs to run and not look back.

The door flies open, lock picked and Andrew standing there with Nicky and Aaron as a backdrop. Neil’s chest lurches and he doesn’t know where to go but tries slipping forward, aiming to slide past Andrew but instead got trapped up in arms that haul him away from the bathroom, the fallen knife and the blood.

In his struggle he remembered a row of pigs sliced open with flies buzzing. For punishment once he was locked in a room with rotting pig bodies.

“Get off of me!” He shouts, trying to kick and thrash but Andrew squeezes tighter around his waist and he’s not making any headway in escape. “You have to let me go, he’s coming.” Cold icy fingers (Lola’s fingers) are tightening around his heart and no one understands that he needs to be gone.

Andrew doesn’t spare him a word but barks an order at Nicky to get the first aid kit while Aaron is hovering close by to take over. “I thought he was doing fine.” Aaron commented.

“You need to calm down,” Andrew informed Neil as he protested, trying to twist away but only succeeded to being put on the floor with Andrew wrapped tightly around, holding him back. “Neil Abram Josten. You’re in the Fox Tower. Do you understand that?”

Nicky was back with towels and the kit that Aaron snatched up. “He’s going to need stitches for that one.”

“I’ll hold him still,” Andrew sounded grim. “Grab Kevin’s vodka. It’ll help.”

“He’s coming, Andrew. He’s going to cripple me,” Neil whispered, slumping down and feeling the terror cling to his bones.

“Who are you so afraid of, rabbit?” he asked. There was a note of anger in his voice, creeping into his words.

Everyone came to a still when Neil whispered, “Nathan.”

“Your boyfriend went mental,” Aaron noted. “Remind him that he witnessed him straight up murdered.”

Andrew shot him a dirty look before accepting the shot glass worth of vodka from Nicky. It took a few attempts to get Neil to take it, shuddering and trembling. “Nathan wouldn’t be able to get his hands on you again. Aaron needs to stitch you up so you can either make this easy or I keep you still.”

Everyone knows Neil is as skittish as a wild animal sitting on the ground, Andrew’s legs and arms wrapped around him. The moment Aaron even touches his bare arm he flinched, startled. Andrew waits for the panic to settle before repositioning his grip, one arm wrapped around Neil holding him tight while the other held his bloody arm out straight.

The vodka was making his emotions much more distant and his eyes fell shut the moment Aaron began examining the cuts. “Go quick. Junkie is a bit of a lightweight.”

The feeling is familiar. His mother used to sew him up before, after a gun shot or that time he caught his leg on barbed wire. He almost doesn’t realize when everything is done and he’s being pulled off the floor and towards the couch.

It’s only Andrew now, the others vanished and Neil can’t remember where the pigs went. There’s a documentary in the background on British castles, a nice safe backdrop. They’ve experimented in the past when the good days turned to bad and exy videos made his anxious and space films of failed attempts had him remembering burning bodies. They’ve watched the same document over twenty times, enough for the comfort of memorization.

“What triggered that?” Andrew asked, looking tense like a grenade pin.

Neil shrugged in response, looking at his hands. Dried blood ruined them. “I’m fine.”

Andrew snarled at that and grabbed him by the back of the neck. “Don’t you ever say that.”

He had never broken down so violently before. He had never needed to be pinned down and restrained. Never had he gone as far as to cutting open his own skin to bleed out the terror.

“There was a joke,” Neil began without wanting to. “It wasn’t a good one.” Andrew hummed, his face inches away. “A pig’s heart was in my locker, it was like being a kid again.”

Andrew understood. He had known that Neil had practised on pigs. Once during breakfast he had gotten sick from the sight of bacon and since then Andrew avoided the meat on principle. “Who the fuck is the comedian?”

“I don’t care.”

“Then I’ll kill everyone who even looked at your locker.”

Neil gave him a tired look. “I didn’t want to run.”

“So you decided bleeding all over the floor was a better solution?”

“It helped clear my head. Slow me down.” Words feel heavy and he doesn’t want to be awake anymore. “Can I sleep now?”

Andrew loosened his grip and allowed him to shuffle down his position a bit to lean against him. Neil was effectively in place against his side, blanket used to further restrain any flailing limbs. “Go the fuck to sleep.” He makes a point about not looking at the bandages.

I’ll post a sequel soon! Also if you want to request andreil stuff feel free! ❤️❤️

Elevator Rides and Expert Tongues

Yoongi x Reader 

Genre: Smut 

A/N: Kinda missed his birthday…whoops :P This is actually written for the other admin L.E.D because her bias’s birthday is also her birthday apparently! Enjoy <3

                                                                                 -Ray :)

You were just returning home from the art exhibition that your university held. It was late and you were tired. All that you wanted in this moment was to take off this skin tight dress and welcome the soft covers of your bed. You had said your goodbyes to your friends at the lobby of your building before arriving to the elevator. The doors opened and just as you were about to step in, you collided head first into someone. You almost stumbled back when the person you collided into caught you by the elbow.  

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@ cw give me back my captain canary and coldwave dynamics. please and thank you : )

Perception of Proximity

Most of the time, I perceive the proximity of people and objects slightly differently than neurotypical people do. I’m very aware of things near me because my brain does not “tune out” or “filter” sensory input to select what’s important very well. Also, my feeling of “near me” includes objects further away than what a neurotypical person would consider near them

When I’m overwhelmed, this phenomenon gets even worse. Sensory input makes my state of being overwhelmed worse. I feel trapped a lot of the time, or I’m trying to focus really hard on holding it together/not having a meltdown/finishing what I’m trying to do that’s overwhelming. Then, I have a really hard time tolerating things and people within about 10 feet of me, especially people who might be focused on me. I need a little extra space.

Word count: 596

Pairing(s): Alfie x Reader

Warnings: language

Tags: @james-k-delaney @yjrevolution

Send me a request.

“(Y/N)?” Your husband called and you emerged from the kitchen in a flour-caked apron. Alfie looked at you and grinned appreciatively. “What are you makin’ darlin’? It smells lovely.”

“Baked ham with trimmings and a sweet cherry pie.” You hummed, planting a kiss on Alfie’s cheek. You were a younger than your husband by about 15 years but you loved him dearly.

“Sounds delicious, doll.” Alfie wrapped his arms around you, hands coming to rest on your rear, as he leaned to whisper in your ear. “What’s the occasion?”

“We have a guest for dinner this evening, if I recall our conversation from this morning correctly.” You purred, gently pushing him away. Alfie growled in discontent.

“Yeah, his name’s Tommy Shelby, he’s from from a Brummie gang.” He muttered. “Lovely lad, I trust him.”

You froze.

“Shelby? Tommy Shelby?” You asked in shock, not quite believing what you’d heard.

“Aye, you know him?” Alfie seemed to notice your sudden change in demeanor. “What’s wrong, love?”

“I… He’s my father.” You whispered, voice breaking as you stared into space, an anxious look falling upon your features.

“I thought you said you didn’t know your father.” Alfie remembered, guiding you to a seat at the kitchen table.

“I never met him. My mother was 14 when I was born, she only told me Tommy’s name. I never really thought about trying to find him - I don’t think he even knows I exist.”

“Fuck. So he doesn’t know, then?” You shook your head.

“My mum ran away as soon as she found out - she thought he’d want to get rid of me.”

“Listen, sweetheart, I’ll cancel the dinner. You can come to me office and talk it out with him, alrigh’?”

“What do you mean you’ve got someone I need to meet, Alfie? Don’t fuck about, I’ve got other things to be doing.“  Tommy complained,  fixing his coat.

“Trust me, mate, you’re gunna wanna meet her.” Alfie guided Tommy into his office. Tommy sat across from Alfie’s office chair, which you were sitting in. “Tommy, this is my wife, (Y/N)… She’s uh, she’s also your daughter.” You smiled sheepishly at Tommy.

“She’s…. what?” Tommy asked quietly, trying to come to terms with the situation.

“I’m your daughter. Mary (Y/L/N), she’s my mother.” You quickly explained.

“Mary? Jesus, I haven’t seen her in - .”

“20 years.” You interjected, looking hopefully up at your father through your eyelashes. “She didn’t tell you because she didn’t think you’d want me. Her mother wanted her to get an abortion so she ran off to London. 20 years later and here we are.”

“She didn’t think I’d want to know my own daughter?” Tommy was horrified.

“Tommy, you were 14, she just thought it would be too much for you to handle.”

“Mary was only 14 herself. She moved to London alone - I could have helped her.” Tommy’s eyes welled with tears. “You need to know, (Y/N), I loved your mother as much as I could at 14.”

“I know. She knows, it’s okay.”

“I have a daughter.” Tommy chuckled, the good news finally settling in, until his gaze found Alfie. “You’re married? What the fuck, Alfie, that’s my daughter.”

“I guess I could call you Dad now, Tom.” Alfie chuckled, a cocky smirk on his face.

“You bloody well can’t. Call me that again and I’ll fuckin’ cut you.” Tommy frowned.

“You’ll do no such thing.” You giggled. You were happy that this situation had turned out so well; you could finally know your father after all these years.