chest carpet

I Like You

Happy denial-riddled month of mourning!! I hope you enjoy this. Please tell me what you think at @potting-lilies :)

-

Rubbing her eyes with the back of an ink-stained hand, Lily Evans yawned. Her fingers were cramping and she was long past being able to feel her butt, but the end was so close. So close. If she took a break now, she knew she’d-

Bloody fucking-”

James Potter sighed, dropping his head with a dull thud onto the cold wooden floor.

“Look, James. Maybe if we moved back to the desks-”

“Bollocks. No.”

“You haven’t got anything down since-”

“ARSE.”

“Mmmmm.” Lily yawned again.

“This is bullshit. I’m telling Flitwick to change the due date of this damn essay. It’s not our ruddy fault we all got the flu last week.”

“Isn’t it though? Who went out naked in the cold last week, and coughed everything onto me? I swear we do way too much spit-exchanging for two people who don’t go out.”

“It was Sirius!” James cried indignantly. “He dared me to, and you know I haven’t turned those down since second year!”

Lily hacked a cough that sounded suspiciously like child.

“Anyways. Flitwick can’t do this to us. I’ll just go to his office in the morning and-”

“You will do no such thing.”

James glared at her. “Just because you’re the head girl-”

“And you’re head boy, idiot.” Lily smirked. “You set his hair on fire last week, remember? I’ll ask.”

James raised his brows. “Alright.”

Lily smiled weakly, forcing her drooping eyes open. Stifling yet another yawn, she squinted at the clock.

“Thirty more minutes and we’re definitely going to bed.”

James grunted in agreement, wrinkling his nose to hold his slipping glasses in place as he scratched into his parchment.

-

Cramming one last word into the bottom corner of his parchment, James sighed. Groaning, he rolled his head once clockwise, and then once anti-clockwise, hearing with satisfaction the cracks in his ridiculously stiff neck.

“One more page and I’m done.” He sighed. “Where are you up to, Lils?”

Silence.

James carefully rested his quill beside his blotchy parchment and looked up.

“Lily?”

Lily was sprawled out on the floor, her red hair glowing in the firelight as it fanned across the carpet. Her chest rose and fell gently as she softly snored, making the soft curls on her cheeks lightly flutter.

This girl had the most ridiculous hair. James could remember, pre-friendship, when he used to tug on her hair from behind and make crude jokes about Medusa. And anacondas. And his anaconda. He’d rather not remember the details.

He’d always liked her, he reckoned. Ever since he met her on that train, even though she was friends with Snivellus. He didn’t stop liking her through the countless times she told him she hated him, or when she stopped him from pulling that one fateful prank. Now, in seventh year, they were friends, heads, and just friends. It was better, he reasoned, to be her friend than nothing at all, but still.

With a clatter, Lily’s quill fell out of her hand. Rolling his eyes, James sat up.

“Come on, Lils. Let’s go upstairs.”

No reply.

“Lils. Lily?”

“Hmmmmmm?” Lily rolled her face to him, but did not open her eyes.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake. I’ll carry you up, shall I?”

“Hmmmmmm.” Lily smiled softly, her eyes still closed.

Snorting under his breath, James stood up. Bloody typical of Evans, working hard until she collapsed. No wonder she always got so annoyed with his half-arsed attitude, furrowing her brows in that cute little way of hers as she told him to get it together.

Bending down, James gently lifted Lily into his arms. She was surprisingly light. As he couldn’t go up the stairs to the girls’ rooms himself, he had no choice but to take her up to his room. Right?

Steadily ignoring the forehead nudging at his neck, James carried her up. Reaching his bed, he quietly laid her down. Brushing her hair from her face, James sighed. He’d have to sleep on the floor tonight.

As he turned to get some spare blankets from the wardrobe, a small hand closed around his wrist. James froze.

Turning around, he sat on the bed next to her. “What?”

Eyes still closed, Lily smiled, her lips soft with sleep. “I like you.”

James froze. “What?”

Lily sighed softly, turning her face away. After a moment, her breathing settled back to a slow, steady rhythm. She was asleep.

James didn’t mind. It might not be today, but someday he’ll get her to admit that she likes him too. For now, this small moment seemed good enough for him.

Standing up, he gently pried his wrist away.

On second thought, he added, “I like you too.”

The closed curtains around the next bed rustled. James froze, then held his breath, bracing himself.

Hah,” He heard Sirius whisper. “laaaaaaame.

In the sweet in-between

To fill in the days after 6.08, and because somebody requested a fix of Shelagh breastfeeding (I cannot remember who or where I saw it!). There is no cut, I’m afraid, because I am on mobile.
—–


The light was brighter here, more dazzling, and she’d still not got used to it. She couldn’t hear neighbours coughing through the shared wall, and there was no bus going at all hours to play the bass in the symphony of background noises. No, here there was quiet, and she could hear birds chirping in the trees that grew around the house. It was a wonder, to have so suburban a haven so close to Poplar.

But all of that wonder did not compare to the wonder in her arms, to the weight of him, the smell of him, the sound of his little mouth moving as he searched for her.

“I’m right here, little one,” she told him, unbuttoning her nightgown one-handed in a move that had taken her the first three days of his life to learn. She settled him in the crook of her arm more comfortably as he began to suckle, and the feel of him pulled tears from her eyes. It did every time, the very real feel of a miracle she’d resigned herself to never knowing.

She reached for her Bible then, from where she had left it next to his cot, although she didn’t open it. It was her reassurance on the darkest days, but these days were bright, and she heard God’s love echo clearly every time she saw the curve of her beautiful baby’s head, or felt the exquisite softness of his tiny feet. Hers, hers, born of love and miracles and hope that did not burn out, although it was dimmed.

“Mumma?”

Angela was always the first up these days, the only one immune to the baby’s cries in the night. Her curiosity was insatiable, and she padded over to her mother, past her snoring father, with deliberate softness.

“Brother’s awake?” She asked, standing on tiptoe to see.

The baby turned his head then, finished with his breakfast, and seemed terribly keen to go back to sleep.

“Not quite yet, little one,” Shelagh told him, propping him against her shoulder.

“I do it?” asked Angela.

“May I do it,” Shelagh corrected automatically, but she hoisted her daughter onto her lap anyway (in a move that had come rather more instinctually than one-handed unbuttoning).

Angela patted her brother’s back carefully, and when he eventually let out a burp, she squealed in triumph, earning a “harrumph” from the lump under the duvet.

“I did it,” she told her mother.

“Let’s see if you can coax one more out of him,” her mother encouraged. But the baby was not having any of it, and when he fell asleep again, she didn’t have the heart to wake him.

Angela settled against her mother’s shoulder as Shelagh tucked her son back into the crook of her other arm. For this moment, at least, her lap was big enough for both of her wee ones, and she was content to take advantage of that.

“Mumma and Daddy love you so much, Angel Girl,” Shelagh told her daughter. She smoothed the messy blonde hair, so like her own at that age, and pressed a kiss to the top of her daughter’s head. “From the moment we saw you, when you were as tiny as your brother, we loved you.”

“I know,” said Angela, her foot flying and connecting solidly with her mother’s knee.

“And you know that will never change,” continued Shelagh. She couldn’t seem to stop reassuring her daughter, not when her heart overflowed, straight from her chest to the carpets, covering everything in its tracks.

But Angela didn’t respond this time. She had been lulled by the somnolence in the room to join her brother and father in the Land of Nod, so Shelagh remained where she was, her arms full of miracles, and watched the first fingers of sunlight colour the curtains as the sun ushered in a new day.

...and there goes the washing line!

And the support pole too.
It would help if said pole hadn’t just been shoved into the ground without any concrete support to keep it in place instead of being free to move and widen said hole.
Da-aad…

2

“You―oh, I like you.“ 

 "Where is she?” Amren demanded. 

 Where is she where is she where is she 

“Get the Book out of here,” I said, dumping the piece onto the ground. I hated the touch of them, their madness and despair and joy. Amren ignored the order. “Where is she?” Amren said again, pressing a hand to Cassian’s ravaged back. I knew she didn’t mean Mor. 

As if my thoughts had summoned her, my cousin appeared―panting, haggard. She dropped to the floor before Azriel, her blood-caked hands shaking as she ripped the arrow free of his chest, blood showering the carpet. She shoved her fingers over the wound, light flaring as her power knit bone and flesh and vein together. 

“Where is she?” Amren snapped one more time.

3

A couple of days of perspective with Lawrence Marvit again!
it’s been a pain in the ass but very educative!
First one is antique shop filled with random junk.
Second one is very specific: Italian mobster is studying math with older jewish teacher in the latter one’s lower-middle class New York apartment during the 1950′s.
third one is just our thumbnails for Tutankhamon running around in an Art deco New York.

Very crazy perspectives! much work. 

anonymous asked:

--> *From that beard post* Maybe bearded men are his kinks. I mean, Gou has this whole "bara" design going on, so...who's to say that's what he finds in a guy?? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

(In reference to this post.)

Originally posted by joesdaily

But please everyone, don’t picture Yusaku playing with Shoichi’s beard.

Don’t imagine Go’s beard tickling him whenever they kiss.

Do not entertain the idea of Yusaku melting every time he sees a shirtless, well-built man with a thick carpet of chest hair. 

He doesn’t read bara, you’re into bara!!1! 

Why is it ok to laugh about ‘male tears’ and ‘fragile male egos’? Meanwhile, if a man laughed at women for being hysterical and joked about destroying them mentally, he would almost get crucified by feminists.

Why is it that certain feminists mock men who get abused/raped by women, and then turn it around and blame ‘the patriarchy’ for that? So you’re telling me, YOU, feminists, are the ‘evil patriarchy’? Or what?

Why is it that if a man as much as looks at a little girl, he is seen as a pedophile, but Lena Dunham who admitted to sexually abusing her little sister, is still worshipped? If a much older man gets into a relationship with a young (but above age of consent) woman, the relationship is seen as disgusting and he is ‘just using her’. If a much older woman gets herself a very young boyfriend, such comments happen much less - she is seen as good sexually, getting herself a ‘boy-toy’.

Why is it ok to mock a man for being short and tell him he will never be in a relationship with a woman, but if a man is not attracted to an overweight woman, he is a shallow, sexist pig? Height cannot be changed. Weight easily can.

If men do not like women’s clothing trends because they’re weird or unattractive, they’re, again, sexist pigs. But women can mock men for wearing certain things and it’s alright. Like fedoras. Hell, there are *girls* who wear fedoras. It’s just a hat.

If a man assumes a comfortable position on public transport, it’s seen as some sort of hidden agenda to assert dominance and crush women. Meanwhile, it often happens that women spread out on seats even worse at times and put their bags everywhere, won’t even give up space for an old person with a cane. Assholes come in both genders and it has nothing to do with dominance, it’s just poor social behavior.

It’s now bad if a man finds body hair on a female unattractive, but show me a woman who genuinely finds a raging chest/back ‘carpet’ on a man attractive? It’s people’s business what they do with their body, but noone is obligated to find their choices appealing.

Why is it that if a woman disagrees with modern feminism and has her own opinions, she is told she is brainwashed by the ‘patriarchy’? Anti-feminist women often get rape or even death threats from some feminists. Aren’t feminists supposed to respect women?

Why is it that if a woman dislikes a female public figure because of what they stand for, her opinion is made invalid by feminists and she is told she suffers from ‘internalized misogyny’?

Why is it that the Barbie doll is seen as some horrible toy that promotes bad beauty standards for small girls, while at the same time noone is bothered by the fact that many superheroes and other male protagonists who appear as action figures are very muscular and have perfectly lean bodies? Hell, in the end, they’re both just toys. Why is this even an ‘issue’, it’s literally just fictional characters.

Double standards are not cute.

Request:  
anon: Do you think you could do a part 2 to the “ Luke Hemmings imagine where you broke up and some paparazzi pics come up showing you having cuts on your arms and legs and he freaks about it?” Maybe a spin off kind of thing where it’s in Luke’s POV and he comes back to find you? If not that’s fine :) you’re writing is amazing btw!
lucasdoge:  hi :) can you do hard break up part 2? i think it would be great if luke found her and save her and then realize he cant lose her

Warnings: trigger warning, self-harm, mention of it, mention of suicide.

Word Count: 515 (short)

He could tell you were drowning. God, it was so obvious. In all the paparazzi photos, he could see the scars and cuts scattering your arms and legs multiplying. He hated to just watch and do nothing about it. But you had told him you didn’t want him around.

But in his mind, he knew you were lying. You needed him more than anyone -anything - else. He just didn’t know what the hell to do. He didn’t know how to approach you and just manage to get you back.

It was a cool evening, Luke was watching the TV. He liked to watch the celebrity news. Access Hollywood happened to be on, so he settled on the couch with some popcorn, eating it quietly.

Before he knew it, there was a video, again. Of you. But you looked so much worse. This time you were wearing long sleeves and jeans. You never did that. He furrowed his eyebrows, watching as the vicious paps pull at you sleeves, trying to get a glimpse of the cuts that probably lined your arms.

And, fuck, then it happened. You stumbled, but over your own to feet. You caught yourself quickly, your face red in embarrassment. You took a few more steps before you stopped, seemingly wobbly. Luke watched in horror as you toppled over, falling to the ground and just laying.

The paps were going crazy, zooming in on your face and shouting questions to you. A headline popped up on the screen after the video ended. Luke just stared, his eyes wide.

‘Luke Hemmings’ Ex Girlfriend Attempted Suicide - In The Hospital’

He stood up so quickly, the bowl of popcorn resting on his chest fell onto the carpet, scattering all over the ground. There was only one hospital around where you had collapsed, so he grabbed his keys and went out to his car, driving to the hospital.

When he got there, he asked the receptionist at the front desk what room you were in. She told him, smiling softly, almost sadly. He thanked her before running to your room.

You looked so peaceful, sleeping in the hospital bed, an IV hooked up to your arm. He almost winced as he saw cuts and scars going in all different directions. He sat beside the bed, gently taking hold of your hand.

“Hey, babe,” he whispered, afraid of waking you. “I’m really sorry about all this. I never wanted any of it. I know I’m such an ass. You’re sad, and I haven’t even tried helping. Fuck, you tried to commit suicide. I love you so much, you have no idea.”

He meant every word. He never wanted to break up, he never wanted you to be sad, he never wanted you to hurt yourself.

“It’s okay,” he heard your raspy voice say. “I forgive you. I still love you so much.”

He smiled, kissing your hand gently. He squeezed it slightly, leaning forward and pressed light, gentle kisses over the cuts and scars.

Maybe in the near future you could both fix each other, mending everything together

melodyandpond  asked:

What's going on in Australia with onions and those three women?

That’s Julia Gillard. 

Our former, and only female, Prime Minister. In the previous term, she was elected with the Labor Party, into leadership of the country.

Tony Abbott spent her entire term (before she was shanked in the back by internal issues in the Labor Party and her then-successor Kevin Rudd placed in her role), making the most degrading, misogynistic marks at her.

He even… take a moment to compose yourself… he even waited until a FUCKING INTERNATIONAL LEADER DINNER and put ‘The Gillard Special’ on the menu… I can’t remember the exact details, but it was something about tiny breasts, huge thighs and a ‘red box’…

Like… this man, has absolutely no regard for women (famous for saying women will never be equal to men/all women would be happier as housewives/telling young female netballers that ‘abortion is the easy way out’)… he couldn’t even RESPECT the most powerful woman in all the country.

He’d probably tell the Queen herself to get back in the kitchen… the guy’s a cunt. 
But he panders for votes every election and old, stupid people + misogynistic twats think he’s a-okay, s they vote for him.

You may have noticed I always talk about him as the Lizard Overlord from Jupiter…it’s because he literally doesn’t ACT human in any way.
His hand gestures, facial expressions, manner of talking… the way he walks, deals with information and interviews… 
Only recently has he begun acting less fucked up (mannerism wise) and that’s because most of the country suspects he’s being puppeted by one of the others in the cabinet.

He has done some terrible things… including, as you may have heard, human rights violations (sending asylum seekers on to a country KNOWN TO TORTURE AND EXECUTE REFUGEES AS SPIES)…

But the picture refers to the time when, as he usually does, Tony Abbott was on his ‘the people love me’ tour of Aus (which he does 80% of the time -on taxpayer money, that apparently we ‘don’t have enough of to fund schools, health, etc.; the remainder of the time is spent fucking up the country).

Normally this is when we see spindly, shag-carpet-chested gollum in his budgie smuggler on the beach… or shaking hands with confused children… or asking sexist/racist questions of women/POC with a straight face (like when a kid says ‘So what does cunt mean?’ inquisitorially as the adults around have a heart attack)

But this time, earlier this year… he was on the ‘rural people love me’ edition of his aus tour… and he was on an ONION FARM…

During his interview/photo op… the farmer handed him an onion to pose with…

…HE FUCKING ATE IT… SKIN AND ALL… A RAW FUCKING ONION…

Thus confirming my lizard-lord from Jupiter theory… because that’s EXACTLY what you’d expect an alien to do, if handed an onion.

-

And so, that’s the backstory of former PM Julia Gillard on an onion background with ‘TONY WHAT’S GOOD’ 

How did you know I was bluffing?

Whenever William goes on his bimonthly vacations to Risa, he activates the PokerBotNumber1, a suitable replacement for him in the Enterprise crew’s poker games.  Number1 prefers to wear the Angel 1 robes because the lack of pants gives him “substantial comfort and freedom” compared to other clothing items.