How the Dads Got Primary Custody of Their Children

(Excluding Mat, Robert, and Dadsona, whose situations are all canonically death of the spouse)

While Craig and Ashley started (and still work on) their business as a team Ashley was always more single-minded about it, and involved in all the most time-consuming aspects. When they finally accepted that their marriage was over they sat down, had a long, longtalk, and reached the conclusion that Craig was in a better position to take care of the girls full time. However, their relationship post-divorce is very amicable, and Ashley still regularly makes time to see her kids.

Brian’s S/O was an ambitious workaholic. It never bothered Brian until Daisy grew past infancy and they started constantly pushing her to do more, do better, aim higher. The last thing Brian wanted was for his daughter to grow up in a broken home, but when he realised how much it was impacting Daisy’s self esteem (and how much of her childhood she was missing out on) he decided enough was enough. He left, and won full custody of Daisy without much of a fight. He doesn’t know how to repair the damage his ex did, but he’s determined that his beloved daughter is never going to have to live without the praise she deserves ever again.

Hugo’s ex is a free-spirit artsy type. For a long time they had a great relationship, but as they got older (especially after Ernest came along) their individual goals started to diverge, and it became clear that the lives they’d both come to want where just too incompatible. When it came to the custody battle Hugo was the one with the stable career and the good income, so he was the one granted primary custody. Ernest’s other dad gets him on weekends and some holidays, and Hugo has resigned himself to his role as the unfavoured parent.

Damien became pregnant relatively early in his relationship with his S/O, before they’d had the chance to properly discuss the idea of children. S/O couldn’t handle the idea and bolted, leaving Damien alone. Damien briefly considered an abortion – he wasn’t confident of his ability to raise a child by himself, and keeping it would cost him the money he’d put aside for his transition and set him back several years. However, he’d also always wanted to be a dad, and who knew when the chance would come along again? He decided to raise his kid on his own, and found that the gap his S/O had left in his life vanished the moment Lucien was born.

When Joseph and Mary finally decide that they’re doing more harm than good, the custody battle is over almost as soon as it’s begun – Joseph is an upstanding and important member of his community, Mary is an alcoholic and provably neglectful of her children. To her surprise, Robert comes to Mary’s aid not as a drinking buddy or sympathetic ear, but as the tough love no one else will give her. He has, as he points out, been estranged from his child himself, and as much as he loves Mary he’s not going to tell her she’s a fit mother when she isn’t. Eventually Mary resolves to clean up her act, both for herself and in the hope of one day being allowed more than occasional supervised visitation rights. Joseph, for his part, works hard to give his children a loving home, and regularly sends Mary updates on how they’re all getting on.

On one hand I see Maglor as a sensitive, passionate, artsy type, but on the other hand I headcanon that when his brothers were young they had a saying along the lines of: it’s all fun and games until Makalaurë gets pissed off.

anonymous asked:

What do you do with Too Many Ideas Syndrome?

At first you embrace it: “I’ll never stop writing ‘cause I’ll never run out of ideas! This is awesome!!!!” And then you realize that with so many ideas, you’re going to have to pick one to run with and then it’s like uh…yeah…  

Too Many Ideas

This question has given me the opportunity to bring back the cute bunny post from 2015. In it I discuss how you bounce back and forth between ideas, so take a look. It might help!

In that post I mention that it’s really a matter of going with whatever idea is most interesting to you at any given time. This could change from day to day, so one day you might work with one idea and the next you work with another. This is really basic advice, so I’m going to try to take it one step further. 

Start with Your Characters

If you’re overwhelmed by how many concept/plot ideas you’ve got, make a list of each concrete idea and set it aside. Then, work on character development. Start with one key character and then work outward. 

You might be wondering, how do I create characters without any kind of plot, but writers do actually do this. We’ve got questions in our inbox right now from writers that have developed characters and are stumped on the plot. So it’s definitely possible. 

This key character you’re starting with? Begin by establishing aspects of them that are separate from plot, things like age, gender ID, racial/ethnic background, sexual ID, and obviously their name. Go as far as you feel compelled to go, but start with these basic facts. 

Then, think about their relationships/friendships. Do they have lifelong friends they knew as children? Do they have siblings they’re close with? A parent they bond well with? Think about those they’re friendly with, and then do the same thing you did when you started with your key character - their age, gender ID, ect. ect.

Next, think about potential future relationships. These don’t have to be romantic relationships. If your key character is an artsy type, maybe you envision them clashing with someone who operates with logic and reason, and then seeing how they become friends or enemies over it. This leads you to create yet another character. 

What you’re doing here is developing character dynamics. You’re thinking about who these characters are first, before you even begin to consider what will happen to them. Having a cast of characters in place before you plot anything out can immediately draw you in. As I’ve said before, this is one reason we write fanfiction. We’re attached to the established characters and we want to imagine them in new situations. 

The Character Quick-Change

Grab the list you made earlier of all your plot ideas and concepts. Start casting them in roles in the ideas you’ve already come up and see how they fit. One of your ideas might be set in a fictional, fantasy world with fairies, werewolves, dragons, while another idea might be an urban fantasy where they are no magical creatures but there is magic. And maybe another idea has no magic at all. So as you plug your characters into each vastly different idea, the two start to mold each other. Your characters drive the plot, and the plot you chose will help you add deeper levels to your existing characters. 

If something doesn’t feel right, move onto the next idea. Imagine your characters are standing on a stage, and you’re simply switching out the scenery and the costumes. You’re giving them opportunities to play different roles, but you’re allowing them to bring their own personalities and backgrounds to each role they take on. 

Eventually you should find something that just fits. And when that happens, you keep going with it. You might run into problems as you’re writing, and you might be tempted to move onto another idea, and that’s okay! Go with your instincts and see what happens. Discipline with an idea is hard to maintain, so don’t feel guilty about it. It’s something all writers struggle with. 

When it comes to frustration during the writing process, the trouble is differentiating between your idea just being dead and the typical writing problems that you’ll see with any idea. But I think that’s a whole other topic that maybe I’ll get into at a later date ;)

Writing = experimentation. Try things out and see what’s working and what isn’t. You’ll know an idea is worth exploring when it happens, because your excitement and enthusiasm will soar. 

And as an afterthought, here’s another post that might be useful to you: Focusing on One Project.



Artist/Craft Witch: Witches who put their magic into art, such as drawing, sculpting, painting, and creating. Magic is in everything they work hard physically and mentally to produce. They may worship artistic and creative deities. After all witchcraft would only be “witch” without the craft. I myself am an artist witch!

Witch Art

Witch Art Shop

Strictly Professional

Summary: You recognized the problematic customers the second you saw them. Lin, however, took the cake with being the most memorable client you’ve ever had. (TattooArtist!Reader)

Paring: Lin x reader

Words: 4,428

A/N:Thank you to @strongenoughfoundation for being awesome and giving me tips for certain parts of the story (you’re the queen of dialogue)! Also, thank you to @how-could-i-do-this for proofreading (I’m glad i’m getting better at not switching tenses lol). I wrote this in celebration of my first tattoo lol! Thanks for reading!

Edit: @whenthingsgettoughdontpushmeaway - I remember you asking to be tagged when I posted. @buckybarneshairpullingkink - You already read it, but I didn’t forget (well, I did, but ya know lol)

“Is that him?” you mumbled to your coworker Liz as you emerged from your room to the front desk, watching the man that paced back and forth in front of the parlor.

You could always spot the first-timers the instant you looked at them. You could sense the excitement and nervousness rolling off them in waves, their bodies tense from the anticipation of the ink that would soon permanently mark their skin.

But him?

It was more like a tsunami of emotions, crashing and tumbling over his body as he questioned his decision to get a tattoo. You felt it before you even stepped foot into the same room as him.

“It’s so unfair that you always get the cute ones,” Liz whispered as she handed you his paperwork. She had an appointment in ten minutes, and with the piece being a fairly large and intricate one, she passed him off to you.

You rolled your eyes, ignoring her comment and scanned his papers, noting his name and birthdate. “Lin?” you called.

He spun on his heel at his name, his swift steps having him in front of the desk within seconds. “Hi, yes, that’s me,” he answered quickly.

You inwardly sighed, knowing exactly what kind of patron he was going to be: the spazz that spoke too much, asked too many questions, and would hold his breath until he turned blue. “My name is Y/N and I’ll be with you today. What kind of tattoo would you like Lin?” you asked, watching as he nervously drummed his fingers against the counter.

His eyes widened, looking at you disbelievingly. “You’re the one giving me the tattoo?”

The neck cramp that you got when you handled frustrating customers reared its ugly head. “Yes. This is a fairly small tattoo shop and you just happened to come in last minute, without an appointment…” you said slowly, narrowing your eyes and challenging him to say anything further.

“I didn’t expect someone that looked like you to give me a tattoo. I’ve always pictured a big, burly man and not a beautiful woman that…” Lin trailed off, sighing when he realized what an ass he must have sounded, “I’m just going to shut up now. Sorry.”

Keep reading

Penny Lane

A/N: This is a one-shot I wrote like four years ago, and it is by far my favorite thing I’ve ever written. I modified it slightly and I hope you guys like it! There will more than likely not be a part two, but that could always change. Enjoy!


He stood in the doorway leading out to the back porch of the little lake house, feeling the warm summer breeze, watching the sand colored curtains move with the wind. The little girl, a mere five years old, sat on her stool with patch-work paint, struggling to strum the strings of the vintage dark-wood Taylor. Her small frame was barely enough to accommodate the much larger guitar in her little lap. He smiled, watching her try to strum a chord with her little fingers. The crease in between her eyebrows deepened as she concentrated on the instrument and became flustered.

“Need a little help there squirt?” He asked, his voice gruff and deep from years of singing.

“I can’t do it daddy.” She pouted, her little pink lips jutting out in the slightest. She felt too small to do anything, she could barely get her tiny arms over the guitar to reach the strings, much less play a decent chord. All she’d ever wanted to do was be like her dad and perform. He wasn’t famous, but in her eyes, he was a rock star.

He frowned, “Sure you can. Come ‘ere.”

She stood, shuffling her bare feet over to be pulled into his lap along with the guitar. He reached around her, putting his hands over hers and guiding them to the correct positions to play a G chord. They strummed, and she smiled, loving the pretty sound that was the product of her movement.

“Daddy! I did it! I played!” She squealed, delighted to say the least.

“You sure did, look at you. On your way to being a musician already!” He smiled, so much adoration in his eyes for her. She was his little girl, the light of his life, his whole world and to see her so happy about something made his heart fill with warmth.

For the next hour or so, the two continued to play random chords, eventually beginning to add a few lyrics from his favorite song.

“Penny Lane is in my ears and in my eyes. There beneath the blue suburban skies I sit and meanwhile back…”

They sang together, his rough and worn voice against her twinkling, pixie-esque soprano, and he found himself thinking about her future and how bright he knew it would be. He felt it in his bones and in his heart, she would have her name in lights one day. She would be a star.

It was a quiet night in south Louisiana, the usually busy New Orleans streets almost empty as the late hours of Thursday evening slowly approached. Not many people came to the quaint bar, only the few usuals that came for a pitcher of beer after a long day at work and tonight was no exception. The suit-clad men huddled at tables together, shooting the bull and complaining about the load of work piled up on their desks and also their wives, who were probably nagging them come home soon.

The bar was slow that night, not that business was expected to skyrocket, especially during the week. The owner—an intimidating woman in her mid forties—was left the place when her husband passed away. In some ways, it was her baby, in others, it was just another burden. He had been a good man, well, until alcohol consumed his life and he lost control. Although he had lost the way of his life, she knew that he loved that old bar and more importantly, their daughter.

She sat on the wooden stool on the stage at the corner of the outside deck, strumming quietly on the old guitar that had been her father’s. Her long brown hair billowed around her shoulders, the slight breeze picking up, making it flow gracefully beside her as she picked at the strings. Moments later, her raspy, alto voice came through the speakers that sat just at the edge of the stage, and just like always, her mother’s attention was on her.

It was always something she enjoyed, watching her daughter perform in a place that her husband held so near and dear to his heart, but it also saddened her a bit to know that he would never get to hear her strong, pure voice that she’d heard so many times before. She knew that her daughter would go far, she had no doubt about it, but it was all up to her, it was her choice and she had to make it. She had to be fearless and realize just how much talent was bottled up in her small body. She wasn’t meant for the local bar performances, she should be sharing her music with the world, showing them just what they’d been missing.

I turned around and the water was closing all around like a glove, like the love that had finally, finally found me. And I knew in the crystalline knowledge of you, drove me through the mountains, through the crystal-like clear water fountain drove me like a magnet to the sea.”

From a table close to the stage, Harry watched the girl on the stage intently. His green eyes trained on her face, watching her features scrunch up as she belted out the notes. Her voice was different; so smooth and even with the slight raspy tone, he found it so pure, so invigorating. And though he’d heard voices similar, there was nothing compared to hers.

For three songs, he watched and listened to her and in the end, when her set was finished, he found himself wanting to hear more. He rose from his seat as she thanked the small crowd that had gathered throughout the bar, occasionally offering her a glance, none of them showed much interest in the young girl, figuring she was just another wannabe, but that’s not how Harry saw her, she was a star.

Her eyes had travelled over to him, catching his and she felt her heart skip a beat. He was not a boy that you would see hanging out in a small run down bar in south Louisiana, no. He wasn’t like the boys around here. He seemed to be infatuated with her, she noticed it too, feeling the blood rush to her cheeks, making it obvious that his stare had had an effect on her.

She collected her guitar and quickly made an exit off the stage to scamper over to the bar to find Ivey, the curly-locked bartender that had been taken under her mother’s wing  just a few years prior. As she walked, she could feel the strange boys eyes on her, and suddenly she felt the urge to turn around and confront him for his incessant staring but decided to let it slide, kind of liking the attention she was getting from him.

She wasn’t one of those over the top girly types, she was the hippy, artsy type, not too worried about anything but her music and her mom, who was really nothing to worry about but ever since her father passed away, she’d noticed her mother’s bright eyes lose their sheen, the green dulling a bit. She felt it her responsibility and obligation to take care of her, even if she thought she could herself.

She didn’t find herself overly pretty, just average. Just another girl that you pass on the street and didn’t give a second glance at. She was nothing special in her mind, just Penny.

“Great set tonight Pen, I think that was your best one yet.” Ivey commented, wiping down the dark wooden bar.

“Thanks, has my mom already left?”

She nodded, “Just ducked out after you finished. Said you could stay as long or as short as you’d like. She’d leave the light on for you when you got home.”

Her mother was never overly protective of her, and she really shouldn’t have to be, she was an adult and more like her mother than she would like to admit. She could handle herself.

“Okay, what time are you leaving? I’ll just go home when you do.”

“I’ll be here until closing seeing as Briony left early to go fuck some random.”

“Okay.” Penny nodded, knowing that Ivey and Briony didn’t have the best relationship, especially at work. Somehow Briony had talked the manager into letting her slip out early on multiple occasions with just a bat of her long eyelashes.

“Um babe? I think you have someone that wants your attention.” Ivey noted, cleaning the last pint glass that was left on the bar and nodding her head over to the corner where the strange boy had previously been sitting. Penny’s eyes trailed over in the direction she had nodded,  noticing the tall, lanky boy making his way over to her. He came out into the smallest bit of light and Penny felt like her insides were going to burst.

The boy wasn’t just any boy from out of town, he was way out of town. She knew who he was, it was undeniable. Those curls, those dimples, the familiar inking on his left arm, it was him. The boy that had donned the cover of nearly every magazine on the rack, along with his four band mates. She didn’t consider herself a huge fan of the music, just the lyrics and in particular, Harry’s voice. It was just something new, something different. It didn’t fit the boy band mold. It was no Justin Timberlake or Nick Lachey voice, it had its own category. It was so smooth yet so rough at the same time, it made her insides melt and her heart flutter. Whenever she heard him sing, whether it be the song he had wrote personally that had gotten leaked or it be on an award show she had just happened to stop on, she felt like the overly-girly girl that she swore she’d never become. She became the biggest pile of mush.

Before she was ready, or could even process another thought, he was in front of her, towering over her small frame. His eyes were on her, taking in her face with the now closer proximity. She felt like she couldn’t breathe, her throat suddenly tightening as she tried to find words or at the least, a coherent thought.

“Hi,” he murmured lowly, “that was a great set you just played. You have a lovely voice.” His accent rolled off of his tongue like smooth velvet, sounding like heaven to Penny. “I’m-”

“I know who you are,” she commented, a little more eager than she would’ve liked. “I mean, you’re Harry Styles, you’re everywhere.”

He grinned sheepishly, looking down at his shoes. “Erm, I guess I’m not as low-key as I want to be.”

She giggled, feeling over the moon even with just a few words spoken between them.

“What’s your name, love?”

“Penny, Penny Lane.”

“Like the Beatles song?” He grinned, quirking an eyebrow at her.

“Um yeah, my parents were huge fans. My dad especially. He loved them.”

“Penny Lane.” Harry murmured, grinning softly.

Throughout her life, she had never particularly liked her name, thinking it sounded like a bird’s name, but hearing Harry say it, the way it fell from his lips, just made it seem so sweet.

“Um, I’m going to go straighten up outside.” Ivey muttered, awkwardly shuffling away to leave the two alone.

“So, what brings you to New Orleans?” Penny asked, taking a seat at a bar stool as Harry did the same.

“I have a little time off and I’ve always wanted to see it, so here I am.”

She grinned, she loved New Orleans, it was home, it may be labeled as a city full of drunken football-crazed fans, but it was so much more. She lived on the outskirts, right along the bayou. She loved the water and loved the atmosphere that her little town had. It wasn’t very busy, not very known, just thought of as another town people pass through on their way into New Orleans.

“Well, I hope you’re liking it so far. It’s a pretty great place.”

“Full of some pretty great people, from what I’ve encountered so far.”

She blushed, looking down at her fumbling fingers in her lap. She had never really been flirted with, especially with a boy like Harry. He was so beautiful and so talented, she couldn’t put her finger on just what he found intriguing about her. She was nothing to swoon over, or so she thought.

As the two talked, Harry took in the things he couldn’t quite make out when she was on stage. The small dimple in her right cheek, the small diamond stud piercing her left nostril, the bright green irises of her eyes, the perfectly straight teeth just inside the plump pink lips that he wanted to kiss more than anything. To him, she was one of the most effortlessly beautiful girls he had ever seen. He noticed the minimal makeup she wore, how the length of her dark, ombre hair flowed naturally down her sun kissed back, how she didn’t feel the need to dress in skin tight clothing, even to a bar. He liked it, it was much different than he’d encountered before.

“C-can I ask you a question?” Her voice brought him from his stare, as he chuckled nervously, shifting in his seat and nodding.

“What’s it like?” She started, and for a moment, he was confused by what she was asking. “Living your dream I mean. Like is it all everyone puts it out to be? Or is it not? Or is it a mix of both? I mean, is it really a dream?”

Her question stumped him, he had never really thought about it, he’d never really had to, no one had seemed to put any interest in what he truthfully thought about all of it. He was simply told to share a few short sentences, and to Harry, that wasn’t far enough.

“I think that it varies, to be honest. Some days, I feel like I’m on top of the world, like nobody can touch me a-and I feel like I’m actually worth something you know? And then others are just horrid, I mean, you don’t really expect people to actually voice their downwards opinion directly to you, and sometimes I become overwhelmed with the pressure of it all. Having to say the right things, look a certain way, act a certain way around my friends. It just comes crashing down around me sometimes.”

Penny listened to his every word, genuinely interested in what he had to say. She was infatuated by him and by his views. Somehow, she knew he wasn’t the womanizing punk that every magazine on the rack had put him out to be, he was a person with substance, and feelings, and so much insight on the world around him.

“People tend to take things way out of proportion. I can’t even hang out with a girl without them being labeled as my new fling.”

He stared at his now empty glass that had been previously full of beer, contemplating his next words. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve actually met a girl that I would even consider dating?”

Penny shook her head, “How long?”

“To be honest, never. There’s never really been anyone, aside from a girl I dated when I was fifteen. But as for the past five or so years, there hasn’t been a girl that I’ve felt comfortable enough with to actually be myself, full-fledged Harry, around.”

Penny’s smile slumped into a frown, thinking about how she has felt the exact same way about guys. They all seemed to be attracted to the girls with little to no ambition, living off of their father’s fortune. She had never really found a guy’s company enjoyable, well that was, until she was sitting at the bar with Harry.

“But that was before I met you.”

Penny’s eyes brightened, her ears perking at his words. Had he really just said that? About her? Harry Styles?

“It’s only been two hours since I first met you and I feel like I’ve known you for ages. I haven’t been able to act like this around a girl that wasn’t my mum or sister, well, ever.  You’re different, a good different.”

Penny found herself blushing yet again, this time letting out a giddy giggle. “Um, thank you? I think.”

“You’re welcome.” He grinned. “What about you? Any guys lucky enough to see the real Penny Lane?”

“Um, never. It’s really hard for me to trust people, I used to be so open but people took advantage of my trust and betrayed me. So now, I hardly let anyone in.” Penny admitted, realizing that Harry had been the first person she’d told. “Especially guys, I let them in in other ways, and they all turned out to be complete asses.”

“And it hurts you know? To know that you put that much trust in somebody and it mean so much to you but so little to them. It’s kind of heartbreaking really, when you think about it. I was giving them all of me and only getting a tiny piece of them in return.” Penny felt a bit of a release from her confession, she hadn’t openly said what she felt in so long, she was never comfortable enough to. Harry brought a sense of security to her and she didn’t know how she had felt so comfortable and safe around Harry, she had only met him merely two hours before.

A silence fell between the two, Penny’s eyes falling on the Jack Daniels’ bottle just across the bar as Harry’s trained on her face. His heart ached for her, knowing exactly what she meant, every single word reflected what he’d experienced with girls. None of them really understood what they were getting out of him when he put that trust into them.

“Would it be any consolation if I told you I know exactly how you feel?” Harry spoke, trying to pull her stare away from the whiskey bottle.

She turned and before she could process another thought, she molded her lips to his. He didn’t fight it, immediately cupping her face in his large hands, rubbing his thumbs over her cheeks. There was a fire burning between them, passionate and emotionally raw, something Harry nor Penny had ever felt before.

“I’m sorry, I just- I had to do it.” She breathed as they broke, her face flushing a deep red.

“Don’t apologize, I was about to do the same thing.”

She blushed again, feeling her heart flutter and butterflies erupt in her stomach. No one had ever made her feel this way, except Harry. It was strange, knowing that he’d only walked into her life just a short time ago and already she felt so attached and addicted to him.

“I hope this isn’t too forward, but um, would you like to come back to my hotel with me?” He asked carefully, not wanting her to think the wrong thing, but simply just wanting somewhere with more privacy.

She hesitated, but met his eyes again, melting into his stare and muttering a strong, “Yes.”

Somehow, the two had managed to sneak into the hotel unnoticed, through the back door. Harry was quite thankful that he didn’t have to deal with the ever-curious paparazzi that followed him nearly everywhere just trying to get a story out of anything they could. That was one of the parts about his job that he absolutely hated, the constant spotlight. He loved to sing, it was his passion and his life, but he hated constantly being put under the radar and often found himself wanting to be just a regular guy again.

“Wow.” Penny stated, utterly stunned at the luxurious hotel room. She didn’t take Harry for the over-the-top hotel type, but remembered that he was used to the posh lifestyle.

“Um, just make yourself at home.”

“So where’s your posse?” She giggled, referring to his always present group of friends.

“They’re home taking a rest before we go back on tour.” He rested his arm on the back of the couch, wanting the space between them to decrease soon, she was too far away for his liking. He wanted her as close to him as possible, in every way. He’d never wanted to be with someone so much. “I’ve talked about myself more than I really want to, I want to get to know you. So who is Penny Lane?”

She giggled nervously, feeling herself blush again. She didn’t necessarily like talking about herself, there wasn’t really much to talk about in her opinion.

“Um, well I’m twenty-one. I usually tend to keep to myself and my music now that I’ve quit college. Thankfully, I have a house full of people who support that, even though the one that started my obsession with it, my dad, passed almost four years ago so it’s just me, my mom, and Ivey now.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, what happened to your dad?”

She sighed, feeling the tears coming. She always got so emotional talking about her dad. No matter what anyone said about him, she would always think of him as the greatest man in the world, because to her, he was. “Um, when I was thirteen, my grandmother was diagnosed with stage three breast cancer and it took a big toll on my dad. He took care of her nearly every day, some nights he even spent the night at the hospital, and when she got worse, he turned to alcohol.” She sniffled, looking down at her lap. “Over the next three years, it just got worse and worse. People in town whispered about him, speaking his name with such poison and hatred, it was like he was the devil. They were almost sure that he had abused my mother and me, but he never did. Sure he would yell and get angry but when it would get really bad, he’d go and sleep at the apartment above the bar. He never once laid a hand on me or my mother. He was too much of a man to do that, he loved us too much.” Tears were falling slowly down her cheeks as she took a deep breath. “He died four days before my seventeenth birthday.”

Harry’s heart ached for Penny once again, scooting closer to her and wrapping his arms around her small frame, letting her crawl into his lap. As soon as his arms wrapped securely around her, she wrapped hers around his neck, burying her face into his neck. She had never cried in front of a stranger before, but as she had realized three hours ago, Harry was no ordinary stranger.

She sniffled again, wiping under her eyes with her fingers and letting out and embarrassed laugh. “I’m sorry, you must think I’m some emotional wreck.”

He grinned, rubbing his hand up and down her exposed thigh comfortingly, “No, now I know you’re human.”

She smiled, running a hand through her hair, meeting his eyes again. Her desire to feel his lips against hers was increasing rapidly, she wanted to feel the fire again, feel the passion that was elicited in the first kiss. Never had she wanted someone so much.

Unlike the first time, Harry made the first move, cupping the back of her neck to pull her down to his lips, molding his around hers. He suckled on her soft, plump bottom lip as she cupped his face in her small hands, feeling the burning passion again, her heart was pounding and butterflies filled her stomach, fluttering around rapidly. Harry’s hands worked their way down to her back, pulling her closer to him as he ground his hips into hers. She unexpectedly let out a small moan, breaking their heated kiss.

“Harry.” She whispered breathlessly.

“We can stop if you want.” But Harry wanted to go all the way with her, to have her completely, cherish every inch of her body, make her feel absolutely beautiful.

“No, I want this. Please… Make love to me.” Harry wasted no time in pulling her face back to his to mold his lips to hers.

Time seemed to slow down as Harry slowed their kiss, wanting to cherish every single moment they had together, not worrying about time or interruptions. She wanted him to make love to her, and he would do that, even if he had just met her a mere three hours before, she made him feel something, something amazing and it was indescribable and addictive. If it were up to him, he’d never let her go, never let her feel anything less than absolutely beautiful and completely loved. He wouldn’t say he loved her yet, but he was sure that someday he could and would.

Harry stood from the couch, scooping her up in his arms and walking over to the bedroom to lay her down on the soft mattress, keeping his eyes locked on hers. She smiled as he broke from their stare and he walked over to the iHome sitting on the desk, hearing a soft tune come through the speakers. He made his way back over to her, leaning down to press his lips to hers tenderly, letting her know silently that he would take care of her, she didn’t have to worry, not with him.

Settle down with me, cover me up, cuddle me in. Lie down with me and hold me in your arms. Your heart’s against my chest, lips pressed to my neck, I’m falling for your eyes, but they don’t know me yet. And this feeling I won’t forget, I’m in love now.”

Her hands found the hem of his shirt, reaching underneath the soft fabric to feel his warm, toned torso, running her hands greedily up and down his tight stomach, loving the feeling of his warm skin against her fingertips. Wasting no more time, she peeled the unneeded fabric off of him, leaving his endless torso bare. She took in the many tattoos scattered across his slightly tanned skin, admiring the swirls of ink that he had collected over the years. He was beautiful, every kind, every shape, form, and fashion. It was almost frustrating to her because of how godlike this boy was who was already so perfect to begin with.

He reached for her now, pulling her up by the hand to stand before him. She stood in front of him, watching him intently as he reached to lift her dress from her body. Letting him, she lifted her arms as he pulled it above her head and tossed it to the floor to join his discarded shirt.

Harry pulled her into his arms again, attaching his lips to her neck, hearing her soft moan again, loving the sound knowing that he was the cause. She knotted her fingers in his curls, tugging in the slightest making a low groan erupt from Harry’s throat. He was doing wonderful things to her neck, biting and then soothing over the now sore spot with his warm tongue. She was sure there would be spots to find in the morning, but she wouldn’t care.

Taking the straps of her bra between his fingers, he pulled them down slightly before reaching around her again to unclasp her bra, watching it fall in between them. He took her in, her perfect chest, her sun-kissed skin, her endless curves, the small birthmark near her belly button, everything.

“Beautiful.” He breathed, watching her blush a deep crimson before pressing a chaste kiss to her flushed cheek. “So beautiful.”

Penny pulled his face to hers once again, reveling in feeling his soft lips against hers. She could kiss him for hours, days even. Every time there was the same intense, burning passion between them. There was no denial that he was now her drug. She couldn’t get enough of his touch or his kiss. His lips were addictive, just like the rest of him.

The bed felt cool against her bare back as she was laid back down on the fluffy duvet, watching Harry strip himself of his jeans and boxers, leaving him completely bare. She took him in again, appreciating his seemingly perfect body, how could someone be so godlike, yet so real?

Their lips were attached in a heated kiss, desperate to taste more of each other. His hands gently caressed her bare body, making sure to appreciate every curve. Her breathing hitched when his tongue slid over the raw spot on her neck.

Her mind suddenly swirled with thoughts and doubts, her heart beginning to pound rapidly. She wasn’t ready, as much as she wanted to be, she wasn’t ready. Yes, she wanted Harry, more than ever, but there was just something inside of her screaming ‘Stop!’.

“Are you okay?” He asked, feeling her stiffen suddenly. Their green eyes met and Harry saw the evident doubt written across her face, feeling slightly guilty. His heart dropped, thinking that he had pushed her too far, pressuring her into going all the way when they had only met hours before.

“I-I can’t do this Harry. I’m sorry.” She scrambled to get out from under him, searching desperately for her clothes on the floor, feeling the heat in her cheeks increase. Embarrassment flooded her entirety, wanting to crawl in a hole and shrink away into nothing. “I’m sorry about this, I-I just need to leave.”

“Wait, what’s wrong? Did I do something wrong? I’m sorry if I pushed you too far, I didn’t mean it honestly, sometimes I just get carried away, ya know? I just wanted to make you feel good and I’m rambling and you’re staring at me like I’m a madman.” He rambled, scrambling to find his own discarded clothes.

“Harry, you didn’t do anything wrong, you were perfect. It’s just I-I thought I was ready to do this, but I’m not.” Her voice was quiet, she felt like a small child, scared and tiny. When she looked up at Harry, she saw regret washing over his face, as if he still thought that he had done something wrong, but that was the thing, he didn’t, he was absolutely perfect and such a gentlemen, but her heart just wasn’t ready for the kind of trust that sex required. “Please, don’t think you pushed me too far.”

The room fell silent as Harry watched her dress herself once again, aching for her to stay but knowing that was too far-fetched of an idea. He knew he wanted to see her again, but would she want to see him?

“Wait, can I see you again?” He asked, grabbing her hand before she walked out of the door.

She sighed, looking down at her shoes, before offering him a small smile, “Of course.”

He couldn’t fathom the idea of her not being in his life after their conversation at the bar. It was like he needed her in his life. He couldn’t explain what it was about her that just drew him in, kept him begging for more. She was his drug, and he was hooked.

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Pretzel day! @superdeluxe @hplus_creative #gif #art #3d #c4d #octane #designspiration #gifmk7 #artsy #endless #loop #pretzel #type

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p5 music taste hcs

akira listens to the type of jazz on the ost of the game

ryuji listens to hip hop, and i think he digs western rappers more than japanese but wont shy away to either

morgana is a cat

ann listens to general pop charts for sure but i also think she listens to some more eclectic dream pop too

yusuke listens to very “high-class” and artsy type things, classical, enka, things like that. also aphex twin

makoto listens to pop and edm in public but she actually secretly loves hardcore punk… she adores fugazi

futaba listens exclusively to drum n bass and video game osts

haru listens to deathcore but doesnt dislike anything in particular

goro listens to sad shit. he’s emo as fuck, probably loves the hotelier and foxing and stuff. probably also loves skramz and shit. in public though he listens to whatever’s considered the classics


Only You | 2

Overview: It’s junior year and Riley’s best friend develops a crush on her first love, Lucas. Not wanting to stand in between them she lies and says she’s okay with them being together. As it turns out, Lucas has an older trouble making brother that none of his friends knew about. One that just so happens to take an interest in Riley.
Author’s Notes: In this AU, the triangle never happened and Farkle never outed Riley’s feelings.
Previous Chapters: 1 |
Chapter Two: “Cliché.  ”
Word Count: 2,255

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Washed out under the overcast sky, the cafe hunched in itself, fighting against the September heat. Dozens of people rushed by it, outside on the crowded street not noticing the beauty around them. Sure, New York wasn’t heaven on earth but if you looked close enough you could see the obscure beauties hidden throughout the city.

The tiny royal blue café lies straight ahead, smacked between the tall city buildings. Riley’s face smirks upward at the sight of the flower shop next door. Jackson hovers, allowing her to literally stop and smell the flowers. A soft smile crossing his face as he watches her. Though they’re in no hurry she keeps walking, the flower shop isn’t their destination, just a microcosm of happiness.

As they pushed through the front door, a hot breeze flew inside catching the attention of the customers sat at their booths. Unlike the outside, the interior of the cafe was cool and cheery, with bright lights and colorful walls. The customers returned to their conversations as the door swung closed behind them and the humid breeze was forgotten.

Riley follows Jackson to a booth towards the back and slides in opposite him, their knees almost touching under the narrow table. His steady gaze flickers from her to the menu on the table, pretending to be interested by what was inside. Riley removes her elbows and sits a little straighter, grabbing a menu for herself.

The waitress comes and takes their order leaving them with nothing to distract them from the lack of conversation being held. Riley can’t seem to stop thinking about Lucas and tries to convince herself that its just because this was his older brother she was sitting with. Really, she has a thousand questions she wants to ask him, the main one being what caused him to become this elusive older brother that Lucas kept a secret his entire time here in New York. 

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The Wonders of a Mindscape

This is the next lesson on Astral Travel! Enjoy~

What Is a Mindscape?

What I call a Mindscape also goes by many other names: Mindspace and Headspace are a few of the ones I’ve seen most often. A Mindscape is a protected space in the Astral reserved specifically for you. No other entities can enter the Mindscape unless they are A) attached to you in some way or B) have your explicit permission. Often, your mindscape already has many features that you have subconsciously introduced. Sometimes a Spirit Teacher/Guardian/Companion will chill there.

A Mindscape is a place that is influenced by you and your state of being. Let’s say you have a really Nature-y Mindscape. Forest sounds are playing almost all of the time, you can hear the distant waterfall, a gentle breeze is going. When you feel sad, sometimes your Mindscape will become sad right along with you. The Birds might stop singing, the waterfall in the distance might become silent, the air might become still. If rain is a “sad” thing for you, it might even start raining. Because your Mindscape is influenced by you, you can also consciously change it. You can change the landscape, or make flowers grow in a blink of your eye. You can zap a pretty little dress or an awesome leather jacket on yourself and build a castle on top of a shallow mountain. It’s the only place in the Astral where no rules apply.

In no other Astral Space can you do these things because the space will not be connected to you. You might be able to make flowers grow in the blink of an eye, but only if you have the talent, seeds, and energy to do it. If you zap on a piece of clothing, you’re taking that thing from somewhere else in the Astral. Remember this when you start to visit the Astral.

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lowat-golden-tower  asked:

so googs is your favorite ego. i was wondering about your thoughts on how he might perceive the more "artsy" egos, like artiplier and mark bop and maybe even chef iplier, the ones who are less "logical" like him and more creative. does he envy them? find them annoying? (i know you're not exactly an egos blog but he's your boi so i figured i'd get your opinion. :o)


Google, I think, is just an AI bot who definitely knows they are there. He knows there are people who are less logical than him, knows that there are people who are in the creative/artsy types. I mean, his first owner was Matthias! He’s probably is just indifferent to them.

However I do know logical people in life (I’m between logical and artsy, lol) - and they’re always fascinated. They always ask how the artsy people create their designs, how they came up to develop their talent, et cetera, et cetera. And that’s why I think Google will be the type that is just fascinated with the art types, although he won’t show it. It’s why in the past his color and design was…. (excuse me, //coughs) quite stale. Now as he expanded and got to know more of the egos, I think he knows more about design, though he doesn’t explicitly say it.

He’s sassy, plans to take over the world, but he’s still an AI of the search bar. He’s certainly going to cock his head, raise an eyebrow, and say “Huh. I guess that’s how creative people see the world.”

Klaine one-shot - “The Life You Think You Deserve” (Rated PG13)

Blaine is making a huge change in his life. He’s starting by going to Kurt, a man with a specific talent that will help him move on. (5274 words)

Notes (or, in this case, petty commentary. Read if you want, or skip to the warnings down below): This is the re-write that I was actually the most excited about because it’s kind of a huge f-u to everyone in the K*urtbastian fandom who’s ever sh*t on my work. When I wrote this, it was a character study. But it actually got torn apart by two fandom writers - one K*urtbastian and one multishipper. One of them even made a post on tumblr about how I don’t write Sebastian, I write badboy Blaine and pass him off as Sebastian, and this fic was the focus of that. Well, I thought this one was touching and brilliant, and hopefully, now that I’ve changed it, it will get the love I think it deserves! (See what I did there? I … well, never mind.)

Warnings for mention of self-harm scars, mention of blood, and mention of Blaine being married to Quinn.

Skank Kurt. Closeted Blaine.

Read on AO3.

Blaine paces outside the run-down, red-bricked, residential loft that he had to bribe a taxi cab driver to take him to. He can honestly say that he has never feared for his life before tonight, so he can chalk this up as a first on his list of life experiences. He runs his hands up and down his arms while he tries to decide whether he will push the buzzer for the door or not. No matter what happens, he came here willingly, so he has no one to blame but himself.

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Watchdogs 2

I didn’t even know this was coming out already, took me by surprise a litte.

The first game was… problematic. White stubbly lead character full of manpain and dubious motivations, barely any women who don’t just need protecting, no poc… 
Despite that, I played it through because dammit I liked the gameplay and I did the whole thing sneak-mode with hacking everything.

This game though?

Different creature entirely.

Your lead? A black man who has a criminal record because the system is rigged. 
Your friends? Another black man, a white guy who’s face isn’t shown so far (though this household has firmly classed him as pansexual), an autistic man who isn’t a joke and an Indian woman (I was worried first that she’d just be an artsy type, but hell no, she kicks these guys’ butts in coding and daring do just as much)

Setup? Forget manpain. No such thing here. This is activism (and hacktivism, of course). This is the actual war against the surveillance dependent big brother state. It breaks the fourth wall plenty with tons of references to real world business and shady dealings. It’s not even all that subtle about them.

In the end, yes ok, it’s still a Ubisoft game, lots of money is made off this and it’s in itself part of a capitalist system, but fuck I’m so glad to not be playing the same game for once.

I’m not far in yet, only a couple main missions and plenty of ‘nudling’ on the side, and it could all still change, but fucking hell I love it so far.

grumps teacher au

so the lovely and kind @dontcareajot and i have been working on a grumps teacher au for a Long Time now, and since she’s posted bits and pieces of it, i figured i’d put up the bios for the teachers, and the relationship diagram, because yes, this shit needs a diagram. probably one in four dimensions, if we’re being honest. 


here be the bios!

~The School~

  • Look, this school isn’t exactly all one would hope for from a higher-learning institution. It’s the only public school in the district, and it’s one of those places where most of the funding goes to sports, then to academics, and then, if there’s anything left, the arts departments can squabble over the scraps. The football team, headed by the gross coach (*cough* jontron *cough*) gets a lot of attention. Everything else, less so. That said, the teachers are dedicated and work hard, and they do their best to teach their students well.

~The Grumps~

  • Arin Hanson, art teacher: No one’s quite sure how Arin got hired as the art teacher. He just appeared in a cloud of Dorito dust and drawings of Dragon Ball Z characters. It’s mostly sketchwork, lineart, collage, relatively simple stuff in his classes, because cleanup is a bitch and shit like clay and good paint is expensive. (They don’t do sculpture because it’s high school and someone will either make a bong or a dick.) A couple students work on digital art with Barry and Arin. If you want to piss him off (and potentially waste class time) bring up character design in video games or just talk about Sonic for a little while and he might start swearing, or he might just let it go. (He always knows when students are trying to bait him, but sometimes he just feels like screwing around.) He used to keep his hair short when he first started, but at this point he gives no fucks. Expect to see him in a pink women’s cut shirt that says “magical anime girl” and when you ask, expect a lecture on unnecessary gendering of objects and colors. He has no preference on whether you call him Arin or Mr. Hanson, so it varies from kid to kid. In three words: Boft Art Dude.
  • Suzy Berhow, director of the theater department: Suzy was originally hired as a librarian for the school, but after a while wanted something more creative. She primarily does costumes, props, and makeup, and helps produce shows, along with guiding her student directors—all of her productions are student directed. Unfortunately, the school only has funding to run two sections of Theater 1 and one section of Theater 2, but she does a lot of after school stuff for her kids. There’s a small (primarily male) portion of the student body who signed up for Theater 1 as a throwaway elective in their junior or senior year because they thought Suzy would be a pushover (and because she’s attractive—they are high school boys); after all, she’s so nice and sweet! They were sorely mistaken. They either dropped the class or stuck with it and ended up loving theater. You’ll call her Ms. Berhow, or you’ll visit the principal’s office. In three words: Takes no shit.
  • Holly Conrad, biology teacher: Legend holds that Holly flew into the school on the back of an enormous parrot. (Actually, she was hired normally as a biology/ecology teacher, and just happens to really loves birds.) She likes bringing her pet birds in for classes, and for some of her shyer students she has bird-snuggling lunch periods. She dyes her hair new colors and is so genuinely enthusiastic about biology that she becomes well liked by a majority of her students and beloved by a smaller number. She has an after school birdwatching club (the Tweethearts, because I DO WHAT I WANT) and they sometimes go hiking. In class, she’s Ms. Conrad, but with the Tweethearts she’s Holly. In three words: Sweet bird mom.
  • Ross O’Donovan, history teacher: Ross is the teacher who gives you pop quizzes two days after starting a new unit. He’ll offer extra credit, but only if you know some bizarre fact about trilobites. His history classes are some of the hardest courses in the entire school curriculum, but they’re also fascinating. Students oscillate between loving and hating his classes. He also genuinely cares about his students, and his lectures are fun and animated, featuring funny voices and doodley animations. He has been mistaken for a student not once but twice, once by a visiting student and once by another teacher who had known him for five years. (We’re not sure whether Brian was just fucking with him or was genuinely confused.) He goes by Mr. O’Donovan, and a common sound throughout the halls is “Wait, O’Donovan’s giving a quiz today? FUCK!” In three words: This fucking dick.
  • Barry Kramer, video and photo stuff: Barry runs the AV lab and teaches video and photo editing. No one is sure how this class got on the curriculum of the school, considering the shitty budget they’ve got (is this school somehow set in the Chicago Public School system? Am I throwing unnecessary shade at Chicago? Who knows?) but it’s a favorite among artsy types. It’s generally relaxed but does involve some actual learning. There’s a universal consensus that if you get Barry to yell at you, you done fucked up. Everyone calls him Mr. Kramer, though we’re not sure why. In three words: Sweet summer child.
  • Brian Wecht, physics teacher: Brian teaches physics, and he’s the teacher who’s cuttingly sarcastic. His physics class is a go hard or go home class. He’s also the teacher who ends up on people’s snapchat stories the most, because he gives the most sass. Somehow the only teacher who understands memes, and he uses them ruthlessly. On days where there’s not much going on, he’ll break out the ethyl alcohol and write words in fire on the lab tables. If you question how it’s related to physics, he’ll just say “Everything is physics. Now shut up while I draw a ninja.” No one is ever certain whether he’s joking or not. Everything he says is Schrödinger’s joke; both a joke, and not a joke, simultaneously. He wears a “I have a PhD” t-shirt under a blazer with elbow patches on it, and if you ever call him Mr. Wecht, he will point to his shirt and say, “That’s Dr. Wecht to you.” In three words: Meme-loving fuck.
  • Dan Avidan: Dan is the newest teacher in the school, hired as a music teacher on Brian’s recommendation. He and Brian are still in NSP together (because it’s an AU, and, I reiterate, I do what I want) and he and Barry are roommates. His class is so completely chilled out. It’s music with a splash of music history, but you can get Dan off on a tangent about pretty much anything if you try hard enough. He wears glasses usually. He’s never in dress code, and his jeans are always ripped. His classes are so well-behaved because no one wants to disappoint him. He sometimes gets Brian to do piano during classes if they need him. The classroom has a couple beanbags, which are highly coveted. He is the Nice Teacher, and he will 100% always listen if you need someone to talk to, especially if there’s something wrong. He tends to forget not to swear around the kids, a tendency exacerbated by the presence of Arin in his classroom. (My common sense has won out over the siren song of hot teacher!Dan, so) he goes by Dan mostly, because he’s a cool guy. That said, Brian calls him Mr. Avidan in a ~sultry tone~ and we’re not sure it’s a joke. In three words: Chilled out dude.

and HERE is the diagram because I can’t actually copy it into the post.

idk, some fun background on the au. enjoy!