Colored of Flapper Glamoured Hilary. I had to learn a whole new other program for school since I had to stay away from photoshop and Procreate for some assignments, so I painted the sketch in Autodesk Sketchbook Pro app, because thats what my final has to be done on. Digital painting is still really hard for me, I’m not very good at it at all, but I hope this looks okay @littleagranger because now I’m working on Emily, as well as some finals for school. My whole week has been hell when it comes to technology because one program didn’t work and then my cat ate three of my iMac and iPad charging cables so I’m a little ticked with using my works for school. But of course I can’t be mad at my cat because he’s a kitten thats teething but god dammit still. Anyways, I let a load off, so I’m just gonna end this conversation with me hoping you enjoy this one colored piece I managed to do as an experiment to understand a new program that I still have no idea how to use it.
Some big progress with Hades this week! First off he can now sleep in the bed with Nalla, me, and Mr. Pi! This was a challenge because he wants to play all the time but he’s finally learned bed=sleeping. Also he no longer slaps Pi, making it safe for them to be near each other.
Secondly, he was startled by another SD at the park yesterday and didn’t pull or bark. It’s something we’ve been working hard on, because again he just wants to play all the time. It’s something we’ll have to keep working on but I’m quite proud of his progress on that yesterday.
For your Transformer Universe, maybe you can write up one character or a portion of it once a week? That way you can have time to actually type it all up and iron out the detail and you wouldn't be spamming your followers . You could also make a new tag for it so people can blacklist it if they want to.
That’s a good idea! There are a lot of characters though, if it takes off enough I might put it on its own sideblog
An important piece of how well-off you are, which measuring income isn’t really going to catch, is how much shock absorption your community has built in.
Some people don’t have an in-person community, of course, and so the shock-absorption available to them is just whatever is in their own savings account and how much credit they have access to and maybe the knowledge that in the worst case they could move across the country and sleep on a friends’ couch for a few weeks but not longer because the friends’ landlord is strict about subtenants.
On the opposite end of the spectrum, upper-class communities have tons of shock absorption - if your home burns down, you probably have a friend who has a vacation home or an in-laws suite or a guest room where you can stay, if you lose your job it was the kind of job for which you get unemployment and you know someone who can get you an interview for another one, if you have a medical crisis you have lots of friends who can bring food and help out, and they all work jobs that let them take off on short notice in the middle of the day.
I’ve been helping a friend recover from surgery this week, and I’ve been thinking about this a ton. I could work from home for three days to be with her; her girlfriend had a spare bed where she could sleep for two because she was supposed to be near the surgery center and her house was an hour away; her girlfriend’s boyfriend could come over to help when girlfriend had to go to work; when her doctor’s appointment was changed to a time when I couldn’t drive her, another friend could take three hours off to do it. That’s a community with shock absorption.
It’s a class thing, but it’s not just a class thing. Doing this sort of thing is one of the things religions do. When I describe what I value about my community, my religious friends tend to go “oh, so, like what my church does”. A poor community where a dozen people from church will bring meals and support after surgery or after a loss or during cancer treatment has vastly more shock absorption than a same-income community where people have no way to coordinate that (and I think the decline of religion has been particularly costly in poor communities for exactly this reason).
And lots of money can’t fully substitute for a community, because lots of disasters (like medical emergencies) are of the kind that make it hard to advocate for yourself and independently arrange all the things you’re going to need.
I don’t know how you increase shock absorption. Lowering the cost of housing does part of it; a spare bedroom is a particularly critical kind of shock absorption that protects lots of people from homelessness. More leisure time increases shock absorption, and cutting the expected work week has been at least partially successful some places. My impression is that Social Security dramatically increased shock absorption, by giving elderly people (who often end up needing community support to remain independent or survive) more financial resources; it’s much easier for poor families to take someone in if they will get regular money towards housing and expenses. UBI would do it too, of course.
Angus McDonald normally wears his hair buzzed down pretty close to his scalp. It’s easier to manage that way. But in recent months he’s been very busy, with school and new cases and making sure to spend as much time as he can with all of his new family, and now it’s much longer.
Lup told him yesterday that she liked his little ‘fro, but Angus can’t shake the feeling that this particular hairstyle is not conduscive to inconspicuous detective work. He’s with Taako and Kravitz for the week, and is just about to buzz the whole thing off, when he hears the familiar tearing noise that means Kravitz is back, and gets another idea.
“There you are Angus, Taako told me you’d be here, I’m sorry I wasn’t around to welcome you home last night,” Kravitz says when Angus walks into the living room downstairs.
“It’s alright sir! But, umm, actually I was wondering if you could help me something? It’s alright if you can’t or don’t want to I imagine it takes a long time and lots of work and I know you’re probably tired and-“
“Angus,” Kravitz interrupts, “of course I’ll help you. What is it?”
“Um,” Angus tugs at his curls for a second or so before answering. “I was wondering if you could help me do my hair… so that it’s like yours…”
Kravitz blinks, and then smiles.
When Taako gets home he finds the pair of them in the living room, Kravitz is sitting on the couch with Angus between his knees on a little cushion. While Kravitz is carefully parting and twisting together Angus’ much shorter locs, Angus reads aloud from the newest Caleb Cleveland novel, squinting a bit without his glasses. It looks like they’re about halfway done. In the doorway of their little house, Taako’s heart swells (twice over, actually, when he spies the little pile of enchanted silver beads Kravitz is picking from every now and again).
They haven’t noticed him yet, and so Taako loudly clears his throat, and says, “I suppose this means you haven’t started dinner yet?”
They both look up and give almost identical sheepish grins and Taako is nearly floored by the domesticity of it all.
“Sorry Love,” Kravitz answers. “He asked for my help.”
“No, no it’s fine, I’ll just do everything around here like always,” Taako replies, strolling towards the kitchen to make those little personal pizzas that are Angus’ favorite, that he’d already been planning on making anyway.
Kravitz is a section away from being done with Angus’ hair by the time dinner is ready. When he’s finished, Angus darts up the stairs to the bathroom mirror and comes back down a minute later wearing a smile so big it looks like his face might split in two.
Pairing: Dean/Cas Length: 2.5k Tags: Fluff, Mild Angst, Pining, First Kiss, Canon Divergent Read on AO3
A special thank you to @braezenkitty for being my awesome beta <3
“You just gotta get laid,” Dean said, reseating the burger beside the pile of fries on his plate, this time with a big bite missing. “Or a decent kiss, at least.”
He crumbled a napkin between greasy fingers, tossed it to the middle of the table. Shoved his shirtsleeves up one more time as he tucked his black fed tie under the table ledge and away from the plate. “It’d loosen you up, buddy. And maybe you’d quit tryna live vicariously through horny eighteen-year-olds.”
This was because of the door-to-door canvas. The couple at the park who’d been all over each other, that Castiel hadn’t been able to stop looking at—even after the old, blue-haired lady at 512 Bakersfield Court had made a comment. “Your partner likes to stare…” like she’d never in her seventy-five years of life seen someone curious about such a thing.
“If only that was the first time I heard it, too,” Dean’d smiled back from her stoop, the sharp sun cooking them both in the stuffy Tennessee heat. A marked jab to Cas’ ribs, and a walk to the nearest pub later, and Dean was bringing it up again, because, of course he was. Why talk about the case?
“I only glanced at the couple in the park,” Cas sighed. “It’s not a recurring issue. It doesn’t mean anything.”
Dean laughed, lipped his beer bottle, and took a stout drink. “Sure,” he said. “Glanced at them. Glanced at those girls holding hands last week—though, I’ll give ya that one. I gave ‘em a couple once-overs too.”
“Point is, it ain’t the first time, and you’re a damn liar.”
Cas rolled his eyes. “My being, or not being with people has nothing to do with anything—”
“Has everything to do with everything when you’re touch-starved.”
“I’m not starved. I’ve been… touched.”
Dean scoffed, swirled his beer bottle. “Sure, if you wanna count Reaper-Fools-Day.”
“I’ve kissed more people than April,” Cas bristled back. “How about we talk about what you know of touch starved instead?”
Dean snapped shut, cocked his head as a follow-up comment seemed to slip from his mouth quick. He replaced the words with a couple fries and averted eyes. “Fine,” he relented around the bite. “And?”
He looked back up, eyebrows jumping. “Were they any good?”
“Who? The people?”
“The kissing, idiot. Was the kissing any good?”
Cas’ heart flopped. He slipped a hand down his beer bottle, and then back up again nervously. The motion pulled Dean’s attention in a glance, so Cas tucked the rogue thing back onto his lap instead. Fingers lacing together under the shelter of the slick waxed top where no one could see. “I don’t know. Yes?” he offered carefully.
“Are you tellin’ me, or askin’ me right now?”
“No—I mean… ” Cas cleared his throat, shifted in his chair, and listened to the wood slats groan. “They were fine. They were… wet.”
“Wet?” Dean repeated. “Cas, wet is how you describe a swimming pool… Oregon in the winter, maybe… Not a kiss. Never a good kiss.”
“Then how should I describe it?”
“No, I mean… if they were wet, then they were wet—”
“No, please. You tell me.”
Dean’s face suddenly fell wide in mock innocence. “What? You want me to describe a good kiss to you right now? In the middle of a restaurant.”
“If wet is insufficient—”
“Oh, yeah. It’s like, miles of not-sufficient-ness, dude.”
Cas chewed a smile down and gestured Dean’s way. Crossed his arms, and sat back. He watched Dean waffle before finally sliding back in his chair to think. He splayed wide, elbows up on the armrests and knees hugging the corners. His face caught the dim overhead lights, and the sun-kissed healthy pink of his skin shone back like warm earth.
He had white in the creases beside his eyes where his smile lines had shaded him from the harsh afternoon sun. A little cut of tan at the bridge of his nose where his sunglasses sat after he’d gotten sick of squinting through the reflections of every bright midday door.
“Okay, it’s like this,” he said finally, tapping an erratic finger on the neck of his bottle, and pausing to worry his lip. “A kiss is a kiss is a kiss, til it ain’t. If you’re with the right person, then the tension between you’s gonna be thick enough to cut. It’s gonna feel like you’ve got a firecracker in your gut, and that other person’s just flicking the Bic. The minute the two of you kiss, the fuse lights. That bastard explosive rips up through your chest, and pops behind your eyes, and I’m talking—screw seeing colorsat that point—you’ll be so wrecked, you’ll know what they sound like.”
Castiel smiled as Dean came back in with a languid look, and a tongue tip between his teeth. He peeled forward, hovering over the table, so much closer than before, that there was only the dragging smell of his burger all tangled up in his woody cologne for Cas to breathe.
“That’s a good kiss,” he said slowly, and maybe it was Castiel’s imagination, but the sun kiss on Dean’s cheeks had spread to his ears now. “Sounds good, don’t it?”
“It sounds very good,” Castiel agreed. “Very surreal.”
Dean let a long, animated sigh into the room and it mixed happy with the gentle murmur of the busy forks and glasses around them. “Oh, it’s very real,” he said. “Just not very common.”
He poked absently at the pile of cooling fries, and sucked the salt from the end of his finger. The gorgeous smacking sound it made curled red ribbons in Cas’ stomach. “Still, you find someone who’ll give you that, and it’s the kinda thing that’ll right some wrongs. Know what I mean?”
Cas took a long drink, smile falling as the carbonation from his beer prickled reality back into his tongue. “Sure,” he said quietly. “I’ll have to take your word for it.”
Dean’s mouth thinned, and his eyes ping-ponged away uneasy. He tailed and tacked down the waitress, kept locked on her as she floated behind the counter poking something into the mounted LED screen beside the register. “Doesn’t that rub you, though?” he asked, “not knowing for yourself. Don’t you… want that with somebody?”
Cas puffed surprised, and his mouth went dry. Try as he might, the beer wouldn’t wet it. “I mean, yes…” he said earnestly, and the admission ate holes in his stomach.
“Then… how come you ignore all the waitresses I send your way? You’re never gonna get it if you don’t even try.”
Cas was suddenly, and shamefully aware of his attention at Dean’s lips, and when Dean snagged a glance at him, Cas tore his eyes away, shoved them onto the table instead. Focused everything he had on the bleed of condensation below the cool, brown bottle to his left.
“Those people wouldn’t change anything,” he said to the ring. “Colors were never meant to make sounds for some.”
Dean fidgeted the fries again, finally pushed them aside, and brushed the salt off his hand this time instead of eating it. “I guess we better head out,” he said, flagging the waitress. “Sam’s waiting.”
They paid, and headed back out into the melty summer heat. It was sunset, but the air was still laying in the city thick as a wool blanket. Shadows stretched through the streets like plastic-capped Halloween fingers, crowding up in the alleyways and turns, painting the dingy brick walls black.
Cas flared his coat to check his back pocket for his wallet as they passed a couple people with hungry eyes, but just as quickly remembered that he’d dropped his last twenty for the meal, and let the impulse to feed them drift out. Still, he welcomed the brief breeze it gave him, and he wondered if maybe it was getting time to rethink the coat. Grace or not, he seemed to be touchier to the temperatures these days, and it was starting to seem like wardrobe was becoming more important—practically speaking.
Dean shed his own suit coat as if he’d just read Castiel’s mind, and slung it over his shoulder with a hooked finger. His shirtsleeves were still shoved up to his elbows under the blazer, as if he’d put it on after dinner, distracted. “Nothing fancy,” he murmured to his feet.
“Hmm—?” He looked over quick, eyes wide, before blinking them back down. “What?”
“I just didn’t catch what you said.”
Dean shook his head. “I didn’t—” But when Cas frowned, opened his mouth to contest, Dean relented. “Oh, you mean the, uh, thing I said out loud…” He cleared his throat, added “apparently” under his breath, and slowed down for some oncoming foot traffic.
“I was just thinking about the, uh, Nichols’ story,” he said, temporarily falling in line behind Cas as a group of people passed. He touched the small of Cas’ back out of nowhere, and kept his hand there. Cas’ chest snagged. “The alibi Brent was peddling didn’t feel right.” His voice was soft in Cas’ ear, almost breathy—but brief, and when he pulled up beside Cas again, sidewalk clear, Cas grabbed a shaky glance, but Dean wasn’t watching.
“You, uh, think they have something to do with the black magic we’re seeing?” Cas asked, and his voice managed to pour out level, despite his stomach coming off that quick rollercoaster dip.
“I mean, the house was a little much for a twenty-hour a week gas-slinging gig at the local area Gas n’ Sip, don’t you think?”
It was the most they’d talked about the case all day.
“Fancy,” Cas reiterated, then, “I certainly never would’ve been able to afford that place when I worked there.” For some reason, the comment pulled Dean tight at the joints. “But I couldn’t even afford hourly motels.”
“Well… the hourlies charge more.”
Cas frowned again, started to ask why when Dean squirmed past it. “But, you’re right,” he said. “Doesn’t add up no matter how you flip the numbers.”
“So, do you suspect they’re the source of the black magic, or victims of it?”
They hopped down the curb, checking the way for traffic, and ended up on the grassy side of Spring Street, just down from their motel. Dean popped a piece of gum in his mouth, balled the wrapper, and stuck it back in his pocket instead of tossing it away.
“I suspect there’s something screwy going on,” he said, “and that’s as far as I’ve got.”
He plucked the gum from his mouth a moment later, and flicked it to the bushes, ran a hand down his face. “Sam’s doing backgrounds as we speak. Here’s hoping there’s a smoking gun in there somewhere. But, ‘til we get that, we’re pulling straws.”
The streetlamps kicked on, buzzing like fireflies in the thick night, the light falling on the street in goldweave strings as they hustled past a defunct sporting goods store—hollow bones brick and mortar now. No one missing what used to be inside.
Dean scanned the streets, watched another few strings of dusk foot traffic pass on the left while he chewed his cheeks.
“Did Sam find anything at the morgue?” Cas pressed, because the silence seemed oddly unnerving.
“No—I mean, uh, I don’t know. Haven’t talked to him.”
“I thought we were meeting him.”
Dean’s attention caught up in a little alcove at the end of the street and he gripped his jacket tighter, tucked his chin and let a heavy breath out. “We are,” he said quietly.
“Not at the morgue?”
“Um, no, he’s at the motel,” Dean said, and he sounded nervous. “Waiting to take us.”
“Maybe we’ll get lucky and we’ll find a hex bag, or—”
Dean suddenly shoved Cas’ sideways, off the street and into the alcove, shadows tangling up in the corners of it, all those long witch fingers bleeding to flat black. Castiel grunted, surprised. “What’re you—” and his throat went dry as Dean pushed him into the stuccoed brick backside of a closed Chinese restaurant, hands curling up on both sides of Cas’ jaw, but fingers combing a soft arc “—doing?”
“Nothin’, if you don’t want me to,” Dean whispered, conviction skippy at best. His body was hot against Cas. Heavy and hard. Nothing like April’s… Meg’s… Hannah’s…
The question—and it was a question—coiled in Cas’ belly like a fever dream, but an answer never had a chance of bubbling back out. Because a response would’ve been moot before it ever left his lips. Castiel’s pause was too long to be a no, and his fingers had already found their way to Dean’s waist. They were making note of the way his blue button down clung to his sides, like the tee underneath had been soaking in all that sudden, nervous heat since before they’d ever even left the bar.
And so, Dean brushed their lips together, not a hesitation so much as dipping a toe, and a rush of butterflies went right to Cas’ head without mercy. Cas whimpered without meaning to, and Dean landed the meat of the kiss, hands falling down Cas’ neck and dragging that unruly sensation through. His lips were soft and his cheeks, five o’clock gritty. He worked Cas’ mouth open with a roll of his jaw, and a flirty burst of mint graced Cas with the pass of Dean’s tongue.
Castiel melted into it, fingers curling around the back of Dean’s head as he tried desperately to get a handhold on something. Their hips rolled together. Cas stole himself a handful of Dean’s ass. Felt Dean hard against him as he moved against Cas’ thigh.
Dean’s breath went rocky, like he was fighting some kind of tightrope walk of heavy and thin, and the sound he made was dirty enough to sin. Castiel nosed him, combed fingers through his hair as Dean pulled back. His eyes fell hot on Cas’ mouth. The shadows ate the flush from his face, but not the burning heat of it.
“Now tell me again,” he whispered, voice licking at Cas ear and coming out like gravy. “Tell me again what a kiss feels like.”
Castiel huffed, tried to catch his running brain. He couldn’t help himself, hands still at Dean’s waist, he held him there. The both of them were hard, and neither of them were in a hurry to do anything about it. “I would say… green makes a helluva sound,” he whispered back.
He watched a wicked smile crawl through Dean’s face. “There it is,” Dean hummed, dragging a chill with his thumb from the skin he’d bared at Cas’ side, and chasing it to Cas’ neck with a soft breath, a kiss. “An’ I’m just getting started too.”
Then, he pulled away, the absence of his sticky heat leaving Cas bare. The gravel chewed under Dean’s heels as he headed for the street, pausing only to stoop for the jacket he’d shed at some point on the way. He shook it off, straightened his tie. “Let’s go! We’re late!”
Castiel swallowed, hand to his stomach, and peeled himself from the brick.
A compilation of things I haven’t finished this year…
Ok, so I haven’t been active at all this summer and fall, and it’s because of my health. This week, I am doing a program that has cured a lot of people, and there’s a good chance it will help me too! I plan on drawing and posting again soon, since drawing will be part of my training. Thank you guys for being patient with me!
The rain dripped across the glass windshield of the baby blue car parked in the middle of the street. It created tiny puddles on the dark concrete, pools of the liquid spilling along the curb, surging towards your feet. The headlights were illuminating the space in front of the car, the raindrops speeding by in the lit beams. Kyungsoo’s eyes were hard as he rolled down the window of the car, hair covered by a baseball cap as he stared off into the distance around you, tongue poking out to lick his lips once as he exhaled. His hand extended from the window, the water spotting his palms and turning the skin slick as his eyes floated shut, chest deflating.
After some thinking. And listening to Gorgeous a zillion times. I’m going to believe what Taylor is telling us.
She was dating Calvin when she first met Joe. Remember when the reports came out that joe and Taylor were dating and that they had been friends for awhile? And we were all TF?!? That part now makes sense. Bc they had known each other for months before they started dating. Taylor was with Calvin. Joe was off working and living in London. Timing was terrible so they could only be friends. Taylor then meets Tom at the met gala. Goes back to LA and dumps Calvin and then Tom makes his move. Taylor’s all why not. Bc really why the hell not. Soon she realizes her and Tom aren’t right together so they breakup and then weeks later she runs into this gorgeous guy she met months before and would you just look at that. Taylor is single and Joe had a lot more free time.
Can u do an angst imagine when yoongi calls you clingy, you change and then regrets it
“I love you,” you sang with a giggle into Yoongi’s ear. He seemed to cringe, a flash of annoyance passing over his brow, before he removed your hands from around his headphones which you’d lifted and replaced it on his head. “I’m trying to work right now, (y/n),” he drawled. “What,” you pouted playfully, “just my name? No baby, sweety, or honey? No milk, no suga?” You laughed at your own joke. He didn’t.
Tom was an idiot, he was sure of it. The only reason he even decided to go to these stupid weddings were because Joanne was going to be there, she was going to be at each of the weddings, and of course, when he found out she was seeing someone else Tom just had to RSVP with, “Yes I will be attending, with one guest.”
Now it was three days before the first wedding, and he was just as single as ever. “How hard can it be to find a girl to go with me to a few weddings?” he remembered telling himself when he sent in his RSVP months ago and had since forgotten about it. That is until his old friend, Jerry, who was getting married, sent him a message. It read, hey man! Can’t wait to see you and your girl at the wedding, been too long. Tom knew he was royally fucked.
Summary: Modern-Day (AU) Bucky and you are exes. He moved on but you couldn’t since you both are still friends, he asks you for a favor - a ridiculous one. You reluctantly agree, not thinking of the future consequences you’ll have to face. You just hope everything will be fine. But it doesn’t always work out, does it?
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Word Count: 4774
Warnings: implied smut,angsty af, FLASHBACKS again bye
Author’s Note: read and enjoy while it lasts, bc this part is the last one i will be updating until November :) but i’ll tell you guy the story is nearing its end
ps. the grammar in this part is fucked up bc of the flashbacks and i didnt bother correcting it
The first time Bucky met you, he never thought he’d be so infatuated with just
your laugh alone. It was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard, making him forget
the whole world and put all his focus on that beautiful sound that echoed from
your chest and delivered into his ears like a symphony. Like a gleeful morning
in the season of spring; like birds humming on a sunny day. It was like music
to his ears. Hell, it made his heart sing with joy and he just loved to see you
laugh. As if that was all he was finding for a reason to live, as long as
you’re happy, it made him happy.
that day, the very first day – he took upon himself to make you laugh. Even the
slightest opportunity was enough and if he was the reason why your day got even
better, then it just made him even prouder. And he kept that promise; even if
it was the simplest thing in the world, he stuck to it until the day he held
“Tell anyone and I’ll murder you and sell your body
parts for money.” 3.
“How long have you been standing there?”
Warnings: swearing, that’s all. Just lots of floof
Word Count: 1901
When you heard the team heading off on the latest big operation,
you were too exhausted to see them off. There was no way you were dragging your
ass out to say hello or goodbye. You’d been out for nearly two months on an
undercover op that had ended poorly and the only thing on your mind when you’d
slipped home at 1:30 am that same morning had been sleep.
On the flight home you’d forced yourself to stay awake and write
up your mission report and check the docket for the upcoming work. You couldn’t
be more grateful for the week off, even if you were a little disappointed that
the rest of the team was going to be gone for the first three days on assignment.
You missed them. Undercover work was lonely work. It left you feeling grimy and
worn. You missed Sam’s teasing wit; you missed Steve’s rich laugh, and Clint’s
relentless pranks. You missed Tony’s clever jabs and Nat’s knowing smiles.
Most of all you missed Bucky. You missed the comfortable way that
silence with him wrapped around you like a heavy comfortable blanket. You
missed how he knew what you needed even if you didn’t ask, bringing you shitty
cup-o-noodles in your room after a rough mission or a long day. You even missed
how he and Sam bickered and taunted each other, Sam usurping the washer in the
middle of Bucky’s laundry day, or Bucky dropping loads of Lua’s fur into the
dryer after brushing her in retaliation.
Life has its hardships especially being fresh out of college luckily you have a gummy smiled friend to help you with your struggles. You managed getting a shabby apartment with a shared bedroom and when worst comes ends up having to share a cold shower as the warm water is shut off. Things arent going so pleasant as the electricity follows off too but the most treacherous of all, you being able to face what your feelings might actually hold. But your just friends right?
Warning: Smut, cursing, stuff, Best friend Yoongi!, So much friendly bickering like damn just fuck already
Genre: Smut and fluff
Word count: 13.2K Got a little carried away..
A/N: A wild update appears. Okay this damn comeback needs to back the fuck up. Yoongi looks like a meal and bighit is now becoming a jin stan everything it beautiful. School sucks thats the main reason my updates are late as hell. also i found this promt on pintrest but switched some shit. ALSO i am supposed to be doing homework but needed to update please pray for my grades. ALso my teacher was talking about college and im not even a senior so you need to calm the fuck down with that damn word. Okay im done
Oh and you know i had to get a blue hair yoongi on the screen.
Having a longing companion was a necessity to a longing life. Having someone to share the necessitates you were used to sharing alone. The feeling of having another comforting body against your side defeating the odds always seemed appealing. It was often rare for something to come along like so. You would rather find a needle in a hay stack then finding something as extraordinary as other couples demonstrate so. It was never an easy task to accomplish as everyone seeks for so, making your chances limited.
I soon accepted this fate and decided on second best, another companion that seemingly resembled the same. A best friend was well suited for my need, as they held the same traits but still remained rather different. A significant other held the qualities of love and romance as a best friend held the traits of honesty loyalty and bundles of fun. No argumentative sides or going a long period without talking as being away from the seemed like the end of your whole soul. I needed someone to rely on and cherish without that sexual desire yet it seemed almost impossible to find. I was hovering over ever possibility i could get, still lost in the endless hay stack.