don't we darling

Elliot and Angela kiss

me: oh wow, what a great friendship

Tyrell grabs Elliot by his shoulder, caressing him gently

me: look at that, true love, so pure 


I like doing my scenes with you the most. Do ya? I like doing my scenes with you the most!

Happy New Year, @honeylavendertea!  🌠

A Purpose (friggin finally!)

So, I’ve been on tumblr for a few years now. I’ve reblogged a lot of content and I likely will continue to do so. Some of it’s serious and some of it’s frivolous (okay, so a lot of it’s frivolous. Let me enjoy things) but I haven’t, until recently, posted a lot of personal content. Then when I did post a lot of personal content it was a lot of graphic, unhappy things for a short time. (those posts will be back, by the way, I have updates on what’s going on with the Project) I didn’t mean to never post personal things. I was looking for a niche and I couldn’t find one. I am not a stellar cosplayer. I don’t make GIFs, I can’t draw the way I want to be able to draw, and feel that I should be able to draw. I don’t have enough knowledge of politics to be an effective social justice blogger, and while I can take photographs, the composition never looks quite right to me, not enough to share a lot of them anyway.

So, nearly…oh god, three years? Four? Into having this blog (and a side blog about witch craft and such) I decided to…ask for help. I went into a private room with friends and I said that I didn’t feel like I was doing enough on any social media. I don’t want to be famous, I just want to know that something I do may touch another person. That it may bring a little joy or sorrow or …giggles or something, anything, to someone who needs it. I …I don’t know how to talk about this. Because it’s not a need to be recognized. It’s a need to have contact.  It’s a need to do something.

Something that I’m good at, that I’ve always been at least decent at (not to toot my own horn or anything) is writing. Since as long as I can remember I’ve loved the written word. Being told stories, telling stories. Making up characters and putting them in worlds that my family and friends would help me build, or that they had built. Then later, roleplaying, original characters and a little bit of fic writing (a little less publishing than actual writing) and then…for a while, there was poetry. That’s been coming back slowly.      

To get back on topic though, my words have never really failed me.

I mean, I’m really bad about the rules of the English language, and punctuation, and all of the things that sort of govern writing. I like to write, though, even if I’m sort of bad at it from a professional point of view.

A friend of mine, a newer friend, who is fantastic and lovely and brilliant (you sort of really rock) put the idea to me that I should write. She mentioned stream of consciousness and some of my personal dealings with grief and the struggles dealing with that sort of thing, and I decided that I’m going to take her up on that challenge.

I won’t dedicate this blog to it, but I will be striving to put out something at least once a week. One almost journal ish entry of brain thoughts or day dreams or something from one of my projects.

So, first conscious stream of writing, today. There may be something tomorrow as well, seeing as I don’t work weekends. Who knows I may find a writing prompt to scribble through.

I hope you all are ready for my over dramatic ass and accompanying written word.

Until next time, my dears and darlings, I wish you good evening and sweet dreams~


Ron’s trying to be a gentleman and she just wishes he would stop.

They’ve done some things already, some timid, shy, wonderful things, but she’s a little surprised at his behaviour. He had been as grabby as a million-tentacled squid around Lavender Brown but with Hermione he’s much more restrained. She thinks he is trying, in his sweet, clumsy way, to show her that it’s different this time, that it matters. That’s all very fine and good, and she does appreciate it, but she already knows that and it does very little to solve the problem at hand.

She’s a little surprised at herself too, on the opposite end of the spectrum. We Need To Talk About This and We Should Go Slow and a million other sensible platitudes that used to seem so reasonable go flying straight out the window the second she’s alone with him.

Resistance for resistance’s sake makes absolutely no sense. They’ve only been together a few weeks, it’s true, but the situation has been going on for years and she loves him, she’s never been more certain of anything in her life. He loves her too, she knows this just as strongly. It’s written all over his face, radiating from him like heat from the sun.

She’s planned for this next step and she’s ready, mentally, emotionally, physically. Logistically too. It’s not like these sorts of topics were covered in any books in the Hogwarts library but when you’re roommates with Lavender and Parvati, you tend to pick up a few things.

She and Ron are sitting outside the Burrow, mercifully alone, when she decides to broach the subject.

“I think we should have sex.”

He gapes at her for a moment then attacks, knocking her back onto the ground with the full weight of his body, his hands and his mouth mercilessly everywhere at once.

“Well not right now,” she gasps, pushing weakly at his chest with rapidly dwindling resistance.

“Oh. Right, right.” He helps her back into a sitting position, sheepishly pulling a leaf out of her hair.

They sit quietly for a moment, catching their breath.

“So what do -” she starts.

“Yes,” Ron says quickly. Extremely quickly. “Yes, I agree.”

She sneaks a look at him out of the corner of her eye and bursts out laughing because he looks so bloody smug.

He laughs too and shimmies closer so he can put an arm around her. “Love you,” he says easily.

“Love you too,” she says, marvelling at how right those words feel in her mouth, how right all of it feels.

He kisses her, hard on the lips, and she is left breathless by everything she sees in his eyes.

She does love it when a plan comes together.

The walls closed in—the ceiling dropped. I wanted to be crushed; I wanted to be snuffed out. Everything converged, squeezing inward, sucking out air. I couldn’t keep myself in my body—the walls were forcing me out of it. I was grasping for my body, but it hurt too much each time I tried to maintain the connection. All I had wanted—all I had dared want, was a life that was quiet, easy. Nothing more than that. Nothing extraordinary. But now … now …

I felt the ripple in the darkness without having to look up, and didn’t flinch at the soft footsteps that approached me. I didn’t bother hoping that it would be Tamlin. “Still weeping?”


I didn’t lower my hands from my face. The floor rose toward the lowering ceiling—I would soon be flattened. There was no color, no light here.

“You’ve just beaten her second task. Tears are unnecessary.”

I wept harder, and he laughed. The stones reverberated as he kneltbefore me, and though I tried to fight him, his grip was firm as he grasped my wrists and pried my hands from my face.

The walls weren’t moving, and the room was open—gaping. No colors, but shades of darkness, of night. Only those star-flecked violet eyes were bright, full of color and light. He gave me a lazy smile before he leaned forward.

 The first paragraph is beautifully written and I love that we got a lot of foreshadowing not only for Feyre’s depression arc in ACOMAF but also who helps free her from it. 

There’s just…So much contained in this part? Feyre breaking and knowing that it won’t be Tamlin who comes to her when she’s locked in the dark, terrified, losing her mind and starting to wish that she was dead. Instead it’s Rhys. Rhys who comes to her when she’s in darkness, devoid of colour, sure she’ll never escape, never paint again, never want to paint again. 

And it’s Rhys who kneels before her and prises her hands away. It’s Rhys who opens her eyes again and lets her find the light and the colour that are still in the world. The light and colour and hope that she finds in his eyes. It eases her claustrophobia and helps her calm down again. Rhys helps her see beyond the confines of her cell and the even more dangerous confines of her mind and it’s all foreshadowed in ACOTAR I’m going to go sit in a corner and weep now. Pray for me. 

I know it’s been said countless times, but Kanda returning for Allen is so damn important.

In his whole life, Allen never really thought of himself as someone important and this feeling only amplified after turning Mana into an Akuma and killing him; while Allen never let himself be intimidated by anyone, he always placed everyone else’s life, wellbeing and general interest above his. Even though it hurt him, he never really got angry at anyone who chose something else over him, he was never anyone’s first priority but he felt no rage, because he felt that - while it hurts, more than anything ever - he doesn’t deserve it. If there’s anyone who can understand that feeling, that’s Kanda.

From the moment he was ‘born‘ he was used and abused in the name of the Holy War and while he grew attached to people and he was taken care of, no one stood up for him, no one saved him so he had to save himself and cut down his best friend to survive. Just like Allen he too carries inmeasurable guilt and sadness, giving his all to stay true to his oath, only to realise that it’s all been in vain: Alma is alive and he needs to destroy him again to keep that promise.

However, unlike last time, there IS someone by his side, and no matter how many times he attacks him, he hurts him both physically and psychologically, Allen doesn’t give up on him; the guy he tried to keep away from himself the most did everything in his power to stop him from committing the same mistake. In the last moment, Allen’s sacrifice snaps him out of his trance-like state.

But in Mater, once Kanda cools down it suddenly crashes down on him: Allen risked EVERYTHING for his sake and Alma, both because he was a person, and both because he meant so much to Kanda. For once in his life, Kanda was someone’s firrst priority - and Kanda realises in horror, that it’s exchange of Allen’s own freedom. Kanda wasn’t only saved by Allen, but he asked for help, after he basically left Allen in deep shit, with a fully awakened Noah within him. Kanda doesn’t want to become like the people he both hated, so he gathered the little life he still had left and followed Allen, joining up Johnny.

Johnny’s part is incredibly important too, Allen tried to save Suman, who Johnny was friends with and then Johnny begged Allen to save everyone when Allen had a mental breakdown from seeing the soul of a Level 4 for the first time in his life. Looking back, Johnny felt selfish for not noticing how emotionally challenging this encounter was to Allen and did his best to cheer him up. So when Allen got expulsed, he started working out and then went after him, to help him like so many times Allen did.

Allen appreciates this, but doesn’t want them near, he pushes them away, not only because it’s much harder hiding if he has company, but because he can’t keep them safe - not even from himself.

And then his confrontation with Kanda in the alley: Allen is glad Kanda is alive, but he feels that he robbed Kanda of his peace, because Kanda gave up his freedom to return. For the first time in his life, Allen became someone’s first priority, but he’s scared to death of the notion that Kanda might die for him.

Kanda of course has none of that, he won’t die being indebted to someone to such extent and he won’t leave Allen alone in the shit he contributed to unleashing on him. I doubt Kanda knows about Allen’s past and feelings, but from the glimpses he saw he has a basic understanding and he wants Allen to know that he’s worthy of risking one’s life for, he’s worthy of being the most important to someone, he’s worthy of being saved.

That’s why, if there’s someone who can save Allen, from the Noah, from himself, it’s Kanda.


8th person voted out and the 1st member of our jury: Hali

au meme :: flower shop/tattoo artist
↳or when caroline’s tattoo boutique is threatened by the new big box flower shop in town and klaus is pulling all of the strings. 

“You can’t just waltz in here like you own the place, Flower Boy,“ Caroline sneers from behind the counter.

Klaus leans against the doorway and tilts his head in mocking thoughtfulness. “As a matter of fact, Sweetheart, I do.” With a flick of his wrist he adjusts the cuff links of his perfectly pressed suit, but not before she sees the ink etched onto his wrist peeking out from underneath. 

↠ for @goldcaught  💕


Happy birthday to VIXX’s youngest (and arguably evilest) member! Thank you for bringing an additional avenue of laughter to the group with your antics (although it wouldn’t hurt to rein them in just a little)! Even though you’re much younger, your perseverance and willingness to learn are admirable, and just charting your growth throughout these years is incredibly encouraging. Knowing how much you’ve to sacrifice, but still being willing to take the leap to achieve your dreams has imbued me with the confidence to try and pursue my own too. Thank you for being born! #HappyHyukDay

the-consulting-strange-vidder  asked:

I have a textchat idea. After the special and the mind trip Sherlock did to the victorian era, Sherlock appears at the morgue with a fake mustage and wears it in Molly, trying to figure if she's more adorable with or without it, but it get's in the way when he's trying to kiss her, so he throws it away! Can you please do it?


Sherlock: *enters the morgue, sporting a little brown moustache*
Molly: *looks up; sighs, shaking her head* No.
Sherlock: *stepping closer* It’s not for me.
Molly: *giggles as he presses the stache onto her upper lip* You’re something else, you are.
Sherlock: *strutinizing her closely* Shhh. Pull you hair back… *gesturing* sweep it over.
Molly: *chuckles nervously* Are you having some sort of turn?
Sherlock: No, don’t be basic *smiles innocently* Please?
Molly: *begrudingly does as she’s told*
Sherlock: *steps back; narrowing his eyes, mumbles* How did I not see it?
Molly: *confused* Huh?
Sherlock: *still watching* Shhh.
Molly: *annoyed* Sherlock, I have work-
Sherlock: Strange.
Molly: What is?
Sherlock: Don’t move.
Molly: Sor-ry.
Sherlock: Molly!
Molly: Sherlock Holmes, if you don’t tell me what you are doing right now-
Sherlock: I’ve never found a moustache adorable before. Stop moving.
Molly: *giggles* Something you want to tell me?
Sherlock: Have you ever thought about growing a moustache?
Molly: *thinking* Well, when I was a kid I always wanted to be Hercule Poirot. Or Inspector Clouseau. Or-
Sherlock: *kisses her*
Molly: *blinking; in between kisses* Have you gone mad?
Sherlock: *pulls away* Hmm, you’re right *gently peels off the moustache; smiles* It was alllways you *boops her nose*
Molly: *frowns* What was-
Sherlock: *kisses her again*