as in i am genuinely sorry

anonymous asked:

I love your sarcastic ass 😂❤️

😂😂😂

if the show doesn’t even care to remember that rebecca has mechanic experience than i don’t see why i should care to treat her like anything other than a plot device to get aaron and robert to suffer a bit and then eventually deal with their problems

which actually genuinely offends me but hey ho

(in fairness probably we should all ignore the salt bc i am basing this off assumptions rather than actual concrete spoilers sorry @ show i’m being the thing i most hate)

and potentially to give some extra oomph to an inevitable “who inherits lawrence’s money” storyline

if rebecca dies it might be robert (as parent of the baby) which is quite literally the most hilarious thing i have ever heard in my entire l i f e and the fact that we wouldn’t be able to see larry’s reaction to this actually breaks my heart I WANT HIM TO RISE FROM HIS GRAVE AND YELL “NOOOOOOO” ah but alas this is but a pipe dream

anonymous asked:

Sorry to bug once again but I am genuinely interested how you work. How many versions of a scene you used to do? And I was reading about an interview with an illustrator and he was talking about how difficult it is to draw hair. Do you feel the same way? Thanks for sharing your Art with all of us, you talented girl :)

Awww, thank you dear Anon, for your interest in my work and process. I really appreciate it.

Ok, so to answer the first part of your question, I sometimes just go straight into drawing, if I am working straight from a photograph, without any rough draft first. I do a basic outline in that case, and then build upon that, once I’m happy with it. Hence why my wee lucky flesh coloured pencil that I draw the outlines with, is now barely 2 inches long! I need to buy another! Quick!

Now for more of the imaginative pieces, that I have been doing over at picturethefrasers, for these I normally do a rough sketch first, to work out where all the essential elements will go. Then once I’m happy, and maybe have discussed the draft with the other mods for their input, only then will I start working on the actual piece.

And between the rough draft and the finished sketch, whole body positioning may change. ( This is in fact true of the piece I am working on, atm - I wasn’t happy with how Claire was looking in my rough sketch, so have moved her considerably and it works much better - much more cleavage on show !😏)

Now for hair and what your illustrator said. I would agree, ABSOLUTELY, YES. Hair is incredibly hard to draw, and curly hair in particular. Hence my threat a couple of weeks ago to make Jamie bald!!!! 😂

But as I am slowly learning, you find your own way, as an artist, to get around these problems, and develop your own techniques, to suggest individual hair strands, wayward curls and degrees of colour. And Jamie Fraser’s hair is most definitely a steep, but very enjoyable, learning curve! 😀

That was nearly immediate.

I admitted right off the bat that I know I have no art skills, so I don’t fully disagree. But please, be gentle. I really am trying my best here.

As for why I’d want him to see the post, it’s mostly for the effort. I think showing effort in making something is a really good way of showing appreciation. 

That being said, if I get too many more of these I will take the post down. I genuinely don’t want to bother anyone, and if it truly does, I will get rid of it.

I’m sorry. I truly am.

There are roses on Derek’s doorstep.

No note. No scent trail. After determining that there is nothing inherently magical or deadly about them, he spends the entire rest of the day researching symbolism and archaic demon customs, trying to figure out what kind of death threat he’s just been handed.

It doesn’t occur to him until nightfall, when the neighbors start discussing their romantic dinner plans at a decibel he has trouble tuning out, that he realizes the flowers might not have been delivered with malicious intent.

Because, apparently, today is Valentine’s Day. And apparently someone decided that Derek should receive flowers to celebrate the occasion.

Derek Hale has a secret admirer.

He honestly would have preferred the death threat.

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Humans Are Weird

It is well established among all sentient species that Humans are Weird. Exceptional Humans, however, make the regular humans seem almost tame in comparison.
Yatrov was to show the newest crew member- another Human- “the ropes”, as Human Jenny phrased it.
Upon arriving, however, the newest Human barely spared xir even a glance, which was odd, seeing how Humans prize interaction above all else. Shrugging it off, xe delicately held out a clawed hand to engage in the Human positive-meeting greeting, a “hand-shake” it was aptly named. “I am known as Yatrov, in Human Common tongue. I am sorry to say that I was unable to read your file report, and am thus left without your name. What is it you wish to be called?” Yatrov was genuinely sorry; the ship was in dire need of repairs, and this Human was coming to help.
Instead of taking the proffered hand, the human’s brown eyes stared into xi’s own violet. “I am Giovanni. And you are approximately 7 minutes late. I do not fault you for your tardiness, your job is a busy one, so your apologies are void. I do not need to see the entirety of this ship, I only require the engine room. Take me there and I will begin repairs immediately. Social niceties and other such meaningless things can be done at a later date, if done they must be at all.”
Yatrov felt somewhat slighted; xe’s species did not greet with touch, but it was seen as an insult- a social misdemeanor- to deny the shaking of hands. Attributing it to the Human having been under circumstances that made him “cranky” and to the fact that the Human was excited to work- humans forgot norms when excited, xe had found- Yatrov continued to try to create a pack-bond with this Human, “I have heard many great things about you.”
“Truly?” The Human considered this for a moment, head tilting, “I am merely faster than most, mentally. A marathoner or racer is not spoken of in as high-esteem as those with quick mental facilities are, are they?” The Human was speaking out loud, xe found this practice odd and ignored it. “What exactly have you heard?” The Human tapped their legs with their fingers, adopting a rhythm unknown to xir, and hummed. 
Arrogance or curiosity? “Admittedly, not much has been told. I know that you have several thesis papers, have repaired and improved upon numerous ships, and that you were good enough that our captain was surprised that you even bothered to consider joining our crew.”
“Huh.” And that was that. Giovanni did not speak after that, made no effort to communicate. Giovanni did not try to obtain physical contact. Giovanni remained aloof with even Human crewmates long after he had joined. He also remained fidgety, seemingly unable to keep still, unless it was to engage in a staring contest with the resident cat- to keep the Humans from adopting a weird, deadly creature- or to continue his single-minded work with machinery.
Three weeks after he had joined, the ship was attacked. Vernians boarded the ship, using their many appendages to apprehend multiple members of The Highlight- the ship- at once. No one knew where Giovanni was, and no one would have been surprised if he had left to save his own hide.
Which was precisely why everyone, who were all bound and trying to negotiate with what was essentially pirates, was surprised when Giovanni came around the corner, a knocked out Vernian held under gun point.
Guns pointed at him, Vernians shifted to attack him. “What you need to know: firstly, I have hacked into your language processors. All Vernae will sound like gibberish.” He paused, then grinned ferally. “Try”, he dared.
“Kir-ah?!” They did, and did not seem pleased with the results.
“Back! Restore!” the voices of Vernians screeched, their language translators on the fritz. 
“Secondly,” he paused, “I will shoot your friend if you do not release my own.” When an uproar of shouting started again, he blandly stated, “Blank point will be quite messy, won’t it?” He hummed, as though in thought, though his eyes trailed after every movement the Vernians made.
A smaller one, likely emotionally closer to the Vernian Giovanni was holding captive,  pounced.
ZZZZZT-PA! The Vernian howled, two of its 11 “arms” gone. “My threat is not idle.”
The room quieted, members of the Highlighter slowly being released.
“Thirdly.” His lips pursed, his nose tilted, sneer deadly, “Run, and pray that I never see you again!” He shot a wall, and they scattered, leaving the crew of The Highlighter mostly unscathed.
It was hours later, after the chaos was settled and the ship fixed up again, that Yatrov approached Giovanni.
“Why did you save us?”
Giovanni scrunched his thick eyebrows together, “Why ever would I not?”
“You make no attempt to communicate with us.” Yatrov insisted, trying to discover the reason Giovanni would do something without some sort of gain.
“Oh, that.” He dismissively waved his hand, his face again lax and bored. “I do not see the point in wasting words. I enjoy the presence of the crew, and- while I see no point in engaging in it- their idle chatter is amusing to listen to.” He raised an eyebrow, “Why do you ask?”
“The crew operated under the belief that you disliked us.” Yatrov felt a small bit of shame; clearly, Yatrov had been wrong to assume that all Humans were so similar.
“I-” He looked hurt, eyes filling with water- tears, they were called, and Yatrov knew that this was not a good sign. His lips twitched, his words near whispered, “Did you not consider me a friend? I thought we were.” He had begun nervously threading his fingers, humming lightly.
“I thought you disliked me.” Yatrov’s admission only increased xir’s guilt, and the slight tremors of the Humans smaller body.
“I made you and the others a new computer.” Giovanni’s eyes searched Yatrov’s one, and again found no solace. A computer did not equate to friendship. “I *made* you and the others a new computer.” The emphasis hit Yatrov. Why would one handmake something if the person receiving it did not matter to them.
“I am sorry.” Yatrov paused, xe had seen it in a Human film once, maybe…? “Can we start over?” A small nod eased Yatrov’s mind and reaffirmed xir’s decision. “I am the one known as Yatrov, and I enjoy reading: fiction, typically.” Xe did not hold out his hand, but stared Giovanni right in the eye.
The smirk on Giovanni’s face told xir that the actions- or lack there of- was not missed. “I am known as Giovanni.” He held out his hand, looking smug and slightly proud of remembering this, as their hands clasped, he said, “I enjoy sandwhiches, science, and conversations on how realistic or achievable a work of fiction can be. It will be a pleasure to work with you.”

Humans were odd, but exceptional Humans lived by a very different set of rules. Intelligence changed their perceptions. Yatrov knew, from personal experience, that they were still Human, still fantastic and horrifying, at their core. Yatrov put down the book xe was reading, looking up to watch Giovanni’s animated expressions as he ranted about machinery. Yes, truly, Humans are Weird.


(Please excuse any grammar/spelling mistakes, my hand has been cramping up lately and it is hard to write at the moment. And I should not be writing sci-fi, because it is NOT my forte, but I had a plot-bunny and felt the need to attempt it. This is basically a shortened version of what I wanted to write, skipping over much of what I actually wanted to put down. Feel free to take the general idea and write something better XD )

“A Wish for 100″

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Midnight strikes, officially marking Bucky’s 100th birthday. You surprise the super-soldier with a small treat and a gift that has potential to change everything.

A/N: ending the last few hours of the day by wishing a happy 100th to our sweet plum, bucky barnes! // i wrote this in 7 minutes (i timed myself, hurrah) so it’s an incoherent mess. i’ll probably delete this sometime next week xx

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Bucky leans against the headboard of his bed, bringing the covers closer to his body before crossing his arms against his chest. He watches as the second hand of the clock make its way around, hypnotically ticking away.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

In a few minutes, he’ll be 100-years-old, and it baffles him that he’s been on this planet for a century. He’s outlived his parents, his contemporaries, and everything he considered to be home. His age isn’t something he’s too keen on, especially since he’s spent over half of those “one hundred years of life” as a brainwashed weapon for a terrorist organization.

Birthdays are still a weird concept, and he prefers to not make a big deal out of them. He’s requested his teammates to treat it like any other day, and he doesn’t want any special attention. Lucky for him, the Avengers members with a flare for surprises and events are on a mission, and hopefully the rest of the team will oblige to his request.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

His breath hitches.

It’s midnight.

Keep reading

reality

my body fakes a smile so everyone thinks i’m fine
i’ll even laugh once in a while too
but even with this fake façade and persona that i play
i’m not getting better and im not okay

i cry at night because i’m too deep in my thoughts
and i’m a hypocrite for telling people that they shouldn’t cry
i’m so bent on helping others that i can’t help myself
my mental state is broken and my world is shattering in front of me

and to those i talk to and hang out with
i’m sorry i’m not fun
i’m normally just thinking of the worse that’s yet to come
or what tonight’s miserable thought will be

i haven’t been happy in months and i don’t know what it’s like
being genuinely okay doesn’t seem right
and even if something good happens i’m too sad to care
i may talk about it like i’m happy but i’m actually just scared

i’m an antisocial mess with a extrovert life
talking to everyone that knows me
and making them perceive i’m alright
and when i make a joke about how sad i am
that’s me saying what’s wrong and i hope you listen

What always struck me about Robin was how you could tell even from his limited public interactions, how wholly and completely he loved and adored Anne, Gemma, and Harry. What kind of immensely humble human being it takes to meet someone who’s already started a family and to come in and be a presence of love and stability and genuine care in a world where that is so rarely found.

Robin was a gem of a man and I am so sorry to the Styles-Twist family for their loss and for the limited time they had to process their grief before taking it to the world.

“ENOUGH OF THE GAY STUFF”

Sent to my website email this morning - Subject: Enough Message: Enough of the gay stuff on Bright Sessions. Please we are begging you. Sent on: June 2, 2017.

So here we are, two days into PRIDE month. How’s everybody doing?

I’m going to start off by leaning into the mic and saying with full-throat clarity: “Fuck you…you fucking fuck”.

I am a gay man…and before that, I was a gay kid…a scared and angry kid who had so much internal homophobia brewing inside of him that he thought he might explode because nothing in the world was convincing him, or trying to convince him for that matter, that it was normal and okay to be who he really was. And I can tell you, when I was that scared kid, shows like The Bright Session were almost non-existent; and what a shame.

I would have cried from happiness if The Bright Sessions existed when I was a boy. Shows like The Fosters, Glee, Eye Witness, Riverdale, Shadowhunters…shows where I could see myself on the screen in a way all of my heterosexual friends could without question since birth. 

Today I turn on the radio…and 99.999% of the music is, narratively, written/produced with a straight audience in mind…and in some cases/genres it’s used to target and ridicule me and my sexuality.

I live in a world where gay men are being thrown off of rooftops and “exorcized” in Chechnya because they are seen as aberrations; less than…underserving of love and existence. I live in a world where in my own country, a venomous discriminatory fear-based movement validated by the election of their figurehead sent a resounding message that my rights are actually up for debate.

In a world where there is so little positive reflected back at me…so little out there saying that my truth and the stories that express my life and experiences on this earth are valid…in a world where I feel like every day and every breath is a stand to qualify my existence…In that world, I get a message that tells me “enough of the gay stuff”. 

So…to the person who sent this message, I feel sorry for you; I genuinely do…I truly, genuinely and absolutely do. How terrible your life must be, and how delicate your self-image must be to reach out and say something like that. At first look, the message is mean and evil…but then the shaky-ground of masculine fragility reveals itself, as it always does, and I pity you. 

This is Pride Month…It’s meant to celebrate the LGBT+ community and our allies by opening up to share the beauty and diversity of our lives with everyone. I am proud of who I am…and it took a damn long time to get here.

I can’t really speak for Lauren, our creator/show-runner, or the rest of the cast, but…we have a gay character, a bi character, a lesbian character and a “no labels at this time” character confirmed as canon in The Bright Sessions…and I’m here to tell you we will never “enough with the gay stuff”. We are here to celebrate the people and stories that matter to us…Caleb, Adam, Mark and Rose are my friends; these are the people I have in my life and I think you’d be lucky to know. So yeah, no…not “enough of the gay stuff”. 

*throws glitter in the air and walks off*

- Briggon 

Fall Apart. Patch Me Up. Restart.

So… I was meant to write fluff? But then I listened to a song and got inspired to write angst soo… sorry Mira! I promise I’m working on your fic. Also the title is based off a song called Machine but Hi I’m Case.

Summary: Logan is dead inside. Or is he?

Warning: kind of self harm through hair-pulling

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I still can’t get the image of Matthew Mercer crying in a silk robe drinking port wine out of my head. I don’t think I’ll ever forget how genuinely sorry he was for how the Tary thing went down, and how much he trusts several thousand strangers to tell us about his Uncle Ted. He’s such a good person, and I hope he’s happy forever.

Traitor

Request: “can i request a draco fic where you move to hogwarts from another wizarding school in like year 10 (10th grade idk how you might say it) and you come from a really well known Gryffindoor family, you know the Weasleys, but get sorted into Slytherin and everyones really shocked and you become friends with Harry and Hermione (you already knew Ron) but you have a secret fling with Draco and it somehow gets revealed and backlash from Pansy and Harry, Ron and Hermione of course. Thanks so much xxx”

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader

Word Count: 2216

Warnings: implied SMUT boiiiiiiiiiii also i feel like this fic is v incoherent and messy but i hope u guys enjoy it anyway hehe

Originally posted by imaginesandmoreforfandom


You were green in a sea of red. Since your first day at Hogwarts, you had felt misplaced. There had been many hushed meetings with the sorting hat, with Dumbledore too. You asked and asked until you had more questions than you had started off with. Your Father’s side of the family, all Gryffindors, and your Mother’s side all American Thunderbirds. Neither pointed towards the outcome that occurred the day you arrived at Hogwarts, the same week you had returned to the UK to live with your father.

Slytherin.

And yet, you felt shunned by them. Your last name carried deep significance to all Gryffindors, the name engraved in many trophies and plaques. The day you joined the cunning house of Slytherin was the only time you sat at your table, for even though you now wore the green robes, the only people who you felt at home with were the brave ones; the lions. You were a snake amongst strong beasts, and it really showed. That was, until you met a young blonde boy who helped you understand where you belonged.

You had met him on your first day, his eyes quick and calculating as you walked down the hallway, surrounded by your new supportive Gryffindor friends.

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4

hippo campus pictures as ads (thank u @ the bippo cambus gc for making me laugh at the idea of nathan as a model. and then this happened.)

featuring Levi’s (Go Forth campaign), Converse (Shoes Are Boring Wear Sneakers campaign), Urban Outfitters and Abercrombie & Fitch

don’t delete caption please!

Patater Week Day 3 - Fake Dating ( Part 1/?)

Another partially complete one because this fic has decided it wants to be really long. Here’s like 4k though.


“Kent?”

Kent looked up from his cocktail to see Jack looking at him with a frown on his face, various Falconers arrayed behind him and looking on curiously. Oh shit. He had been successfully avoiding Jack for months, and now he goes and picks the same goddamn bar after the game. Is this the universe telling him to stop drinking? Fuck you, universe.

“Jack,” he said evenly. There is an absolutely zero percent chance that Jack will believe him that this is just a coincidence, especially because none of his teammates are here. Sue him for wanting to have a quiet night. Next time he’d just go with them to the shitty club.

“Why are you here?” Jack said forbiddingly. “I thought I made myself clear—“

“Yeah, yeah, I got it, Zimms, you don’t want to see me.” He pushed back from the bar, mouth twisting bitterly, and abandoned his drink. “I’m not stalking you, promise.” He made a split-second, impulsive decision. “I’m here to see him.” He reached out and pulls in the nearest Falconer, not even looking at his face.

“You’re here to see…Tater?” Jack asked incredulously.

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2

Requested by anonymous


“(Y/N). Your brothers are here,” Charles said.

“Oh no. Why?” you called back.

“(Y/N), go see them.”

“Why? They haven’t come before? And I’ve been here for three years.”

Sherlock and Mycroft rarely visited you or even interacted with you outside of family holidays. You were so much younger than both of them that when you were born Mycroft was in University and Sherlock was off doing God knows what, God knows where.

Charles shrugged and you snorted.

“Just go,” Charles told you and then left your room.

You contemplated how you should use your powers to scare them. You had the ability to teleport and you could use it to appear behind them and scare them.

You snickered and closed your eyes. Summoning your strength, you visualized the front porch and your brothers standing there facing the door. You grinned and then pushed yourself to teleport behind them.

You appeared behind them seconds later and cleared your throat. Sherlock and Mycroft both jumped and you laughed.

“Brothers,” you greeted.

“(Y/N), it’s good to see you,” Mycroft smiled. You raised an eyebrow and crossed your arms.

Sherlock was giving you a flat stare, but you thought his lips twitched when you glared at Mycroft.

“What do you want?”

“We just wanted to visi-“

“Cut the shit. You haven’t visited me ever and even before that we never talked.”

Mycroft frowned, but you stood your ground. Whatever they wanted it had to be serious, they wouldn’t be here otherwise.

“We need your help,” Sherlock finally relented.

“With what?”

They both hesitated there and you rolled your eyes.

“You’re both geniuses, but dammit you’re idiots. How the hell am I supposed to help with something I don’t even know about because you two don’t trust your own sister?”

Sherlock looked nonplussed at your outburst, but Mycroft seemed a little more hurt at the accusation and you couldn’t tell if he was genuine or just playing it up to make you feel sympathetic.

“We need you to…” Mycroft hesitated.

“What?”

“Go undercover with Moriarty.” Sherlock finished, crossing his arms.

“I’m sorry? You want me to what?”

“Go undercover in Moriarty’s organization and use your powers to gather information.”

“And this is a good plan how? I’m Sherlock’s younger sister. He’ll have to have heard of me.”

Mycroft shrugged at that and you narrowed your eyes.

“What. Did. You. Do?”

“When the car crash happened and your powers were triggered…”

The car crash fifteen years ago that had led to the discovery of your powers of disguise and teleportation had led to you being sent away and you hadn’t seen any of your family since then. You assumed it was because they were ashamed to have a mutant Holmes, but you didn’t really know.

“Mum had you declared dead. Then she sent you here. That’s why we never visited,” Mycroft admitted.

“She… Why? What…”

You clenched your fists and glared at the two men before you. They were six and thirteen years older than you, they could have reached out to you at any time, but they still went along with Mum’s plan to have you dead and missing from the world.

“I’m going now. Please don’t come back.” You tried to speak harshly, but your voice broke on the word please and you looked away.

“(Y/N), we… care about you.”

“No! No you don’t. You need me. You could have come earlier, but you didn’t.”

“Gentlemen, I believe it is time you took your leave,” Charles announced from the doorway. You brushed past your brothers and into the house leaving your family behind.