every detail on this picture is perfection

Prompt #161 - Baby Raptors

ness345: Owen apologising to Claire for the raptors (babies) eating her hat. 

This prompt is near two years old. But aye - I got to it eventually! 

AO3


BABY RAPTORS

He was a mess when he shouldn’t have been.

Owen Grady was supposed to be the picture of cool, calm and collected. He was most days. There was something particular about that Tuesday in June as he slid off his bike in the Research Quarter. They were still a few miles from what would soon be his and the Velociraptors. Owen was still reeling from their hatching. Four perfect little creatures. Girls. His. They were living in a temporary paddock beside the lab while their home was still under construction. Owen, for the last month, had spent most of his time at the Raptor Paddock ensuring every minute detail was looked over and double checked. The girls were going to grow fast. They would have no time to go back and fix mistakes at a later date. Even now, a week old, his girls had morphed from the ankle biters they had been, to stand an inch below his knees. They constantly fought, small balls of hate each and every one of them. Owen loved them. When the project was handed to him, he hadn’t been sure, dolphins were a far cry from Velociraptors, but he was ready for a sea change, in desperate need for something new. So, he took InGen’s offer and wasn’t planning to look back.

Keep reading

2016 memes

2016 memes

January:
•bad new year jokes
•if a dog wore pants would he wear them like this or this
•all these suggestion blogs
•orange soda please
i’ll have the strawberry soda
me too, the strawberry soda
•You fucked up a perfectly good x is what you did. Look at them. They got anxiety.
•kylo ren is shredded
•Jared Leto: *does something*
Director: oh my God…it’s like…is he Jared…or Joker right now?????
•tag yourself
•super mario 64 half a press
•this is x. be like x

February:
•the finebros suing something
•secret government agent: *punches me in the face* SAY IT
me: never
secret government agent: x
me: *spits blood in their face* fUCK YOU
•bernie or hillary things that have a ridicilous issue and even funnier answers
•jean something, jomething
•damn daniel
•ted cruz is the zodiac killer

March:
•the dad from kuzco being like 👌
•kazoo kid
•everyone who watched zootopia is a furry
•history of japan
•x or y? *insert similiar pictures here, like donald trump and raw chicken*
•get you a man that can do both
•going to papaw’s house for burgers
•no oscar meme is dead meme
•we dem boyz
•i’m you but stronger

April:
•marge simpson
•different variations of the hs panel where jade picks up the note
•tumblr’s lizard voting
•everyone’s a dirty homestuck
•lot of those powerpuff selves
•baby stevens
•ruining someone’s dream journal
•there’s no way out of it you’ll just have to decapitate me
•autocorrect in verbal conversation
person1: i love you
person1: *hate
person2: this is a verbal conversation
•WHAT WE REALLY AREEE
•don’t talk to me or my son ever again
•dark x show me y

May:
•dan backslide (and dover boys)
•dat boi
•stone age spongebob

June:
•are you x or y person? (tag yourself meme in text format)
•get a man who can do both is getting more popular again
•it’s june where the fuck are halloween memes???

July:
•america memes
•IT’S HALLOWEEN
•the vacuum cleaner playing a harmonica
•associating characters/songs/etc. with spongebob screenshots
•this👏emoji👏after👏every👏word
•(any videogame) go, go outside and x
•a picture of something with text, and more pictures after that, in every one of the pictures the picture starts getting waaay worse, but the text gets really detailed
•HANDSY👏CLAPSY👏IS👏A👏NEW👏TROLLSONA👏
•judge: how do you plead?
x: *looks at y*
y: *mouths ‘not guilty’*
x: hot milky
y: jc just lock them up
•hitting the blue button

August:
•arthur screenshot where his hand is a fist
•9-1-1 for kids
•Exeggutor
•harambe
•RANDY YOUR STICKS
•sausage party
•how (character) are you feeling today? *numbers from 1 to ten with silly pictures of the character*
•alola form

September:
•the thing with voltron fandom where there’s train tracks and “death in season 2” and two characters and u have to choose which one to kill
•someone: a basic word
me, an intellectual: that word said with synonyms to make it sound weird
•gonna prank dad when he gets home ((he never gets home))
•[song] but it keeps getting faster

October:
•userboxes
•the presidental debate, i can’t believe that there still are people who want to vote trump after that, yikes
•dedede
•you vs the guy she told you not to worry about
•photofunia retrowave
•picture of someone with those math things
•my longest yeah boy ever
•taking a picture of something that requiers two hands in a bathroom
•posting ur favourite vines

November:
•christmas stuff
•dick: out
•sir, you’ve been in coma
•kermit with a hood on his head
•blurred image that says perfection, after that an image where glasses are being cleaned, and then something u like
•WE ARE NUMBER ONE

December:
•BODE
• *picture of really basic or bad food with text that’s spelled wrong and the phrase “bon appetit” is spelled even more wrong"
•*dropping something, and it spells send nudes*
•x but every time y happens it gets faster
*bee movie but every time they say bee it gets faster
•several spongebob memes
•i described the meme about bad pictures with detailed text in july, it’s wildly popular now
•dramatic youtubers

apparently i missed a few things so, additions:
•steven’s knife
•joe biden
•aux chord
•dabbing
•a lot of spongebob memes, like the blurry mister crabs
•nebby get in the bag
•clowns
•harambe happened earlier than it says on the list
•several stranger things memes
•we die like men

It starts like this: She’s sitting across from you, and you’re watching her like you may never see her again. You study her every detail in hopes of burning the shape of her lips and the curve of her face into your memory, but you know the minute that you look away, she will become a blurred outline of the girl you remembered. It’s like you spent so much time painting this perfect picture of her, and the moment you step away, you plunge the canvas underwater, and the paint rises, and it falls apart. She’s no longer perfect, and who are you kidding? You never were an artist, but like I said, it starts like this: She’s sitting across from you, and you’re sitting across from her, and you can’t help thinking that she could be the next goddamn Picasso, but she would never pick up a brush or even attempt to mold clay into the shape of your jaw or the slope of your nose. You both know that memories fade and the paint will peel, but she’ll forever be a mess of reds and yellows smeared across a blank wall in your mind, and you’ll make her a glorified fucking masterpiece while you’re still an empty sheet of paper with no potential and no desire to be filled.
So take a deep breath because it ends like this: You’ll look down at your hands, and they’ll be covered with the colors that she was, and she’ll stand up, and she will walk away from you, and her hands will be clean. And it’s not her fault that she never wanted to paint, and it’s not your fault that you don’t have a damned clue how to hold a brush. Some things just are, and with her, you are not.
—  H.L. // excerpt from a book I’ll never write #39 // the eye of the beholder
Conor Maynard Imagine - Perfect strangers.

You often wondered how the world of fame really worked. You woke up, went to work, then to a few parties, a premiere every now and then, and back home again. For you, being an actress in London had been quite easy since you started two years ago.

You thought you understood how the business worked. You guessed that getting the lead role for England’s most viewed TV show was important enough for your career to take off. But apparently, it wasn’t.

“His manager called me yesterday, said it would be benefitial for both of your careers” your manager told you. When you walked into the office at 9am on a Friday, the last thing you expected was for your him to having set you up for a blind date.

“Wait, wait” you took off your sunglasses and put them on the table. Your coffee soon followed. You sat down, your eyes wide open in surprise “I don’t even know this guy, and I am supposed to act as if I were his girlfriend?” You asked, emphasizing the word girlfriend.

“Look, Y/N, I know it sounds crazy, but they have a point” he said, leaning over his desk “It’ll give your show a lot of promo, and at the same time it’ll give publicity to his latest single”

“Oh, so he’s a singer?” you asked, getting slightly interested in the offer. You quickly brushed it off. You were not going to sell yourself like that “What’s his name?”

“Conor Maynard” your manager said. You shook your head, implying that you had never heard of him before “It doesn’t matter, I’ve heard he’s nice and all. I don’t think you should have any problems with him”

You sighed, passing a hand through your already messy hair “It’s not about the guy” you explained “It’s just that I don’t want to lie to the public like that”

“I know, Y/N, and you’re very caring for that” your manager said, nervously clicking a pen with his thumb “But it’s just for a night, you’ve been on dates before, right? Well, this is exactly the same”

You raised an eyebrow “The same?”

“Well, I don’t know what you do in your normal dates” he said, standing up. He stood besides the big glass window behind his desk. He always did that when he was nervous “If you agree, we’ll call the paparazzi and they’ll take a few shots of you, then you can go back home”

You didn’t want to do it, but at the same time, the same manager that was begging for you to go on that date was the reason your name was respected in the TV industry. How could you say no? “He agreed to do this?” you asked him “Conor, I mean”

“Yeah” he said, turning his head to look at you, hoping you would say yes as well “He recognised you even”

You would be lying if you said you weren’t impressed. And flustered. He couldn’t be that much of a dickhead if he was a famous singer, could he? You sighed and put your hands up in front of you, surrending “Fine, whatever, I’ll do it”

Your manager clapped his hands together and went over to you to rub your shoulders like a proud dad would have done. You suddently felt a little less bad, seeing him so happy “Great, Y/N, that’s fantastic” he said excitedly “I’ll call Conor’s manager right now and we’ll sort everything out for tonight”

“Tonight?!” you turned around abruptly, as he was already almost out of the door “But…that’s in such a short notice” The fact that it was a fake date didn’t mean you wouldn’t need at least three hours to get ready, and you already had a busy evening.

But your manager was long gone. You sighed as you took off your phone. If you were going out with that Conor - Maynard was it? - you sure were doing a lot of investigating beforehand.

________________________________________________

Turns out Conor wasn’t as bad as you had expected him to be. You blasted a few of his songs while you got ready, and you hated to admit they were the catchiests ones you had heard in a long while. However, his undeniable talent and cuteness didn’t change the fact that going to that fake date was the last thing you wanted to do on a Friday night. 

Your manager had called a car to pick you up and drive you to the restaurant. The date was held in a cute, cosy place in central London you had been in a few times before. On your way to the restaurant, you quickly scrolled through his Instagram account again. 

‘Shit, Y/N, stop being a 9-year-old’ you told yourself ‘It’s just a date, two hours tops. You can fucking do this without being all dramatic on the inside’

As you were trying to convince yourself, the car stopped and you noticed you were indeed in front of the restaurant. You noticed that all the tables in front of the big glass windows were taken, so where were you supposed to be sitting for the paparazzis to see you? You didn’t have time to think as your door opened.

You thanked the driver and adjusted your top and hair before walking in. You weren’t wearing anything too extravagant, mainly because you didn’t want Conor to get the wrong idea. 

The metre then walked you over a small table strategically placed near the window, but not completely exposed. You thought the location was perfect for them to take pictures of you without making it too obvious that you wanted to be seen. How did managers think of every bloody detail?

Soon you spotted Conor waiting for you at your table. He was wearing a black leather jacket and a white shirt, and you blushed when you noticed you were matching. When he saw you, he got up on his feet and gave you a hug “Hey, Y/N, right?” he asked you. You noticed the nice smell of his cologne “I’m Conor”

“Nice to finally meet you” you smiled politely as you sat down in front of him. You had to admit the boy had given you a good first impression “How are you doing?”

“Good, yeah, I’m alright” he said as you opened the menus “Thanks” you both said to the waiter. He then looked at you, only to lean over the table “Look, I know this is weird, I mean, if you think about it it’s kind of crazy that we have to do this for publicity”

He laughed, and you found yourself smiling in response “It is, indeed” you agreed.

“The thing is, we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do just for show” he said “I mean, we can hold hands and stuff, but it’s okay if you’re uncomfortable, I won’t do anything weird” 

“Thanks” you smiled. He was sweeter than you had expected “It’s really nice of you. We’ll see how it goes, yeah?”

He nodded “Yeah, sure”

Once the waiter took your orders, you started chatting about everything and anything. You noticed Conor was extremely rambly, and it was kind of cute when he noticed and stopped to say that he was rambling too much. He was also the funny type, something you would have never guessed from all the investigating you did. He always looked so serious in photos. He laughed at his own comments and talked too fast, which resulted in such a mess that made you laugh even more.

You were finishing your meal when, suddenly, your phone rang “Sorry, I need to take this” you told him as you saw your manager’s name on the screen. He nodded and you left for the bathroom.

“Is there anything wrong?” you asked abruptly. Why would he interrumpt your fake date if everything went as planned?

“Not exactly, but there’s been a tiny problem” he said from the other line.

You gulped “How tiny?”

“Well, turns out Harry Styles decided to have a date with a stranger at the same time as you guys” he sighed “The paparazzi got distracted, but don’t worry, we have a back up plan”

You sighed “I’m listening”

“You and Conor go to 1 Oak, which is ten minutes away on foot. They take pictures of you walking to the club, then entering it. You don’t have to stay there for a long time, since they’ll just leave afterwards” he informed you. 

You nodded, as if he could see you “Alright, thanks”

“How’s the date going, by the way?” you could basically hear his smile.

You rolled your eyes playfully “He’s not that bad” you told him “You thank God our zodiac signs are compatible, or else this would have gone way worse” you joked, making him laugh.

“Yeah, I totally chose him and not any other random singer because your signs are compatible” he said. You chuckled “Right, see you later. And have fun”

“See you” you hung up, sighing for the tenth time that night. 

When you told Conor about the change of plans, he seemed okay with it. He insisted on paying the bill, although you had told him it wasn’t necessary. You hated when boys paid just because you were a girl. But he ended up doing it anyway.

“Crap, now I owe you an ice-cream or something” you joked as the waiter took the bill away. 

He laughed “Sounds fair enough”

Once you got out of the restaurant, you caught glimpse of a camera flash by the corner of your eye. Almost involuntaringly, you grabbed Conor’s hand, catching him by surprise “Damn, you’re fast at this game” he commented, looking down at your hands. He intertwined your fingers together, sending a heat wave through your chest. 

“Used to it” you responded, trying not to think of how good his hand felt on yours.

You made your way to the club quickly as you told Conor about that one time you ate sheep poo when you were one, thinking it was chocolate. He couldn’t stop laughing “Is it weird that I did exactly the same?” he said, putting a hand on your stomach to stop you from crossing a red light that had just changed.

“Are you serious right now?” you laughed. 

“Actually, no” he laughed again “I’m not that stupid” he joked, pushing you with his shoulder. You gave him a fake angry look only to make him laugh again. You smiled. Shit, that laugh was addicting.

Once you got to the club, you saw another paparazzi “Quick, Conor, kiss me or something” you said suddenly, not really thinking your words through.

He stared at you blankly “W-What do you mean?” he asked, confused “Is there a pap out there or something?”

“Essentially, yeah” you said.

As another bright light flashed, you felt Conor’s hand on your exposed back, his other hand travelling to your neck. He leaned in slowly, brushing his nose against yours delicately “I can stop right here if you want me to” he whispered, but you weren’t listening.

Was he that hot at the restaurant? You shook your head slightly and closed the gap between you, feeling his smooth lips against yours. A few seconds later, he pulled away, and your lips felt cold again “Shall we go in for a bit, then?” he asked you casually, as if he hadn’t just given you the sexiest peck of your life.

You nodded and walked in ahead of him, his hand still resting on your back. As you paid for your drinks - it wasn’t as good as ice-cream, but he didn’t object - you noticed you couldn’t even look at him in the eye. It wasn’t rejection. You were confused. 

You didn’t want to go on that date in the first place. It was all a montage, all fake. So why were you feeling so weird inside? You had kissed other actors on camera many times, Conor wasn’t any different. Or was he? As he took your hand and dragged you to the dancefloor, you weren’t so sure anymore. 

“You alright there?” he asked sweetly, tapping your head with his finger.

You smiled “Yeah, why?”

“You just seemed a bit off” he said. A tall man behind you with too many drinks on his hand - and on his body - pushed you aside abruptly as he made his way to a crowded table. Conor put his arms around you and pulled you closer to his chest in response.

“You okay?” he asked, giving that guy a dirty look. When he looked down at you, you moved your eyes away from his. What the hell was wrong with you?

You hid your face on his chest, unable to do or say anything. You knew you had screwed up “Y/N” you heard him say, his voice sounding concerned. He put a hand on your chin and lifted up your head so you were finally looking at him in the eye “It was the kiss, wasn’t it?” he asked, a tone of regret on his voice.

“It’s not the kiss, Conor” you assured him “It’s me, I’m an idiot” you released yourself from his embrace, feeling cold again “I’m sorry, I better head home. Thanks for tonight” 

But he grabbed your arm, pushing you back to him “Don’t leave like that” he said, and you could tell by his eyes that he truly felt sorry.

You gave him a small smile “It’s okay, really” you said before trying to walk away again, but failing. Not because of Conor’s grip on your arm, but because you didn’t want to leave. You couldn’t find the strengh to move away from him, when all you wanted to do was to try those lips again “I’m an idiot” you said before walking over to him and hugging him again.

“Hey” he whispered “We are all idiots here”

You looked up at him again, not removing your eyes from his this time. All your life you had been scared of feelings, of emotions. You never let yourself be free, you never listened to your heart. But now you decided it was about time you bloody did as it told you.

You put your arms around Conor’s neck, his wrapped around your exposed waist. He leaned in, slower this time, and gave you a butterfly kiss. You laughed before he finally pressed your lips together again. But this time, it was for real.

“Way to turn a fake date into a real one” you joked once you pulled away for air, your noses still touching.

He let out a small laugh “I’d love to go on another fake date with you, miss” you smiled as he pressed your lips together again, hungrily this time. Suddenly, you didn’t care anymore about the paparazzi, or the fame, or anything outside that club. The only thing that mattered was that you had found someone special, someone who you knew would treat you like a queen. Because if he had been the sweetest while you were strangers, you couldn’t imagine how great he’d be when you become perfect strangers. 

Okay I’m gonna express an opinion over here. I see that everyone on the phan tag is freaking out over some evidence that there may be a phan wedding coming in May. This is just a small example of what I want to discuss.

Phan. I personally love the idea of those two together. They’re perfect for each other. BUT I don’t force it on anyone. I see so many phans picking apart every little detail, every video, every tweet, every picture, to “prove” phan is real. I’m here to ask, for the sake of Dan and Phil, please stop!! There is a reason, if they are together romantically, they have not shared that with us. Leave them alone! I get cute phan art; I get awesome and sometimes weird phanfiction. It’s the people that pull apart their whole lives just to prove something that may not even be a thing. All I’m asking is please, let their personal lives be their personal lives. They don’t have to share everything with us rather trying to expose it with all our might, let’s respect Dan and Phil’s personal lives and not force an idea of a romantic relationship down their throats!

Hate on me all you want, I can take it. It just gets irritating seeing every little thing about Dan and Phil to be tainted by “phan proof”. Let it be, guys!

anonymous asked:

what are some slow songs that remind you of harry?

Ooh. A lot of them, and mostly the old but gold ones. I’ll list them for you.

Etta James - Sunday Kind Of Love
Billie Holiday - I’ll Be Seeing you
Patsy Cline - She’s Got You
Patti Page - I Wanna Be Around
Paul Simon - Something So Right
Gilbert O'Sullivan - Alone Again (Naturally)
Etta James - Don’t Go To Strangers
Robert Wyatt - At Last I Am Free
The Doors - Blue Sunday
The Cure - Pictures Of You
Otis Redding - Cigarettes and Coffee
Jimi Hendrix - Wind Cries Mary
The Doors - Love Street
Bob Dylan - One Too Many Mornings
Cigarettes after sex - Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You Baby
Ray LaMontagne - Hold You In My Arms
James Taylor - You’ve Got A Friend
Jefferson Airplane - Today
Rolling Stones - Play With Fire
Pink Floyd - Breathe (In The Air)

Okay, there are a lot more, but I’d be here all night. Any song that do well on a turntable is key, and I immediately picture Harry listening to it while chilling in his bed or sofa with one arm tucked under his head and the album cover resting on his belly. Maybe he takes in every sound of a song, the little details that makes it perfect. Maybe he smiles softly to himself while his feet gently tap the rhythm like his fingers do across the cover.

One thing I can’t help but picture though, is listening to these great songs with him at night. We discuss the music, what it makes us feel and how we connect to it. Then we chat about other stuff while the music rolls in the background. For some reason he’s only wearing his black jeans when I imagine this, but we’re both warm and content, falling in and out of conversations, stretched out on the floor, one staring at the ceiling while the other has their eyes closed. Just enjoying the music together. It’s all I’d want to do with him.

Experiences With the Sun Signs as a Virgo sun, Pisces moon, Sag rising (Mars + Venus in Cancer)

AIRES: loud, passionate, attention seeking. most aires women I know either want to be famous singers, famous models, or famous musicians. most aires men I know want to be famous artists, famous musicians, or famous athletes. hard working to achieve their goals, aires are by far the most passionate of the signs. flighty partners, typically will be in and out of multiple relationships, losing interest quickly in one and gaining interest in someone else no matter how strong a connection is.

TAURUS: put together in a “you’ll never know my whole life” kind of way, making it hard to tell how put together they really are. always busy. always. always have plans with someone at that time, or need to be doing work on this thing at that time. will most likely show up to a first date with a time sensitive 20-question buzzer, they will need to know if you meet most of their entry level standards to move onto the next round. lovely sexual partners, taurus men are the most passionate lovers and typically enjoy to be on bottom in a seated, Indian-style position. the women are complete subs in the bedroom seeing as how they are absolute control freaks at all other times. great friends to have, be careful not to read too much into them as you might find they are chameleons and inhabit most of the other signs personality traits to confuse you.

GEMINI: as my least favorite sign, I have to say they are complex individuals. typically have something to say about every popular topic at hand, appearing to be knowledgeable, but it is superficial. there is not much regard for other people in their bubbly personality making them seem open hearted and fun. typically a night out with a gemini is a recipe for disaster, you will likely end up lost, climbing over a fence that says “NO trespassing” toward an abandoned lot that seems to be lived in by drug addicts. but that would be an ideal date for a gemini seeing as most of them are insane, addicts (typically cocaine, or heroine).. also, not sure if it’s just my experience, but all of the gemini men i’ve met in my life are closeted homosexuals, would make sense considering there are really two people in there. I dunno, stay away from these wackos, they are seemingly a good time, but will end up destroying your life.

CANCER: cancers are beautiful people, extremely thoughtful (amazing gift givers) and selfless in life and love. they make great parents, being able to predict the families needs and step up to the plate in a timely manner (having a dinner prepared that everyone likes as soon as everyone is hungry). cancers are romantic people, they enjoy the thought of receiving flowers without asking, or buying your favorite obscure record for you as a “Happy Wednesday” gift. my only real downside experience with cancers will have to be that stereotypical “they’re too emotional,” blah blah blah.. yes, they can be emotional and cry you into a depressive state with them, but it’s only because their huge hearts were momentarily stricken by hopelessness. Cancer’s always bounce back, they find happiness in the smallest things.

LEO: some of the most interesting people. they apprehend glory out of thin fucking air, I swear it. I’ve got a Leo buddy that calls himself “TumbleWeed” on the playa (at burning man) because he would literally stumble into people’s camps high as fuck, sit right down and join a conversation that he had no previous involvement in, pick up on exactly what they were speaking of and say something so absolutely enlightened and prophetic and then just leave the camp and move on. they are true public speakers, and have a way with communicating exactly their thoughts and opinions on life in a non threatening or violent way. I feel that this sense of belonging is why they come off arrogant and egotistical, they believe themselves to be kings (literal kings of the jungle, Lions, duh), and so they treat themselves as such. they make a gnarly pan of scrambled eggs, and are fun in the bedroom, making things playful and enticing.

VIRGO: ah, that’s me. virgo’s have this general assumption to them that everything must be perfect. it isn’t that, it’s the fact that we have an ideal picture of our lives, and that our lives are seeming to never live up to that standard and so to curb that frustration, we attain perfection in all of the controllable aspects of it. the way our clothes are folded, the way the dishwasher is loaded, the way we assemble our keys in our hand making sure that we have the right one before getting to the door.. there is so much attention to detail in our lives that it seems like obsession with perfection, when it is more so an attempt to obtain solace by control. deemed as “The Virgin” virgos are one of the dirtiest signs in and out of the bedroom. sexting, yes please.. dirty pictures, yes.. lick my asshole? please do..

LIBRA: ah, my sweet libras. so naive and imaginative of the realm that is love. libras have a true and distinctive duality in their life (stereotypical to the scales), where in love they want someone to LOVE EVERY SINGLE PART OF THEM AND ACCEPT THEM FOR EXACTLY WHO THEY ARE.. and also, are REPULSED by the thought that someone else would actually find them lovable. it causes a lot of grief in a Libra’s love life, constantly searching for that person that will give them just the right amount of CONSTANT attention, without making them feel necessarily desired as a romantic interest.. most times, I find that Scorpio’s are an amazing match for these little angels.
also, total givers during sex. never need you ask for oral, it’ll be pants off - tongue to your genitalia - with a libra.

SCORPIO: …okay…
MEN: short attention span, musicians at heart, dead inside, vaguely remember your face after having met three + times? probably DON’T want to fuck you despite common assumption, have no regard for authority, will roast your ass in the calmest most unexpected manner ever, cool social exterior, furious interior
WOMEN: backstabbing toward other women, really enjoy sex - like a lot - with other people’s partners, have complete resting bitch face, will literally eat your soul out of its soul chakra, high achieving business women, make a mean cocktail
both Scorpio men AND women make amazing managers in any occupation because of their stubborn authority and forceful manipulation tactics.
*not that freaky in bed, very emotionally attached to their genitals, will fall in love after 3+ times sexing*

SAGITTARIUS: oh lord, I love Sag’s. truly all they want is to have a good time. the most open people I have ever met, open to taking drugs at any time of day, open to new sexual ideas (including anal for the men), open to new foods and places and ideas and and and. they are true philosophers and have a boundless nature towards life. this also makes them EXTREMELY hard to pin down romantically, if you want a sag in your bed forever, never stop enthusing them.. you must always have something for them to do, keep them occupied with promise of excitement, and always look your best on an outing with them because they always will and always will expect you too, as well.
AMAZING IN BED, BEST SEX EVER SAG MAN

CAPRICORN: if the zodiac were a winnie the pooh episode, capricorns would be eeyore. they are naturally down and hard on themselves. most suffer from depression, anxiety, suicidal thoughts.. never publicly ridicule a capricorn, they will not be able to wrap their head around why you would say something so hurtful in public and will likely leave a social situation to avoid slitting their wrists in front of others. beautiful, kind, souls, they seem cold and detached romantically, but this is just from a deep sense of hopelessness that no one will ever love them truly and they will be alone forever. if you catch a capricorn, keep them and cherish them always. takes them a while to open up sexually, don’t force it. total home bodies, let them have their multiple nights in and you will be rewarded when you come home from your night out.

AQUARIUS: aquarians are known as the gods of the zodiac for one reason, they are master manipulators. they seem to know everything about everything and exploit their knowledge in tricky ways to prove their superiority in academic and social situations. it goes beyond speaking an answer aloud when the teacher asked for a raise of hands, it’s more so like besting a friend in a trivia game when you are on the same team, and they had hit the buzzer first, just to prove you’re smarter and know more. they also are completely content with doing NOTHING for many hours per day. both the men and women are vain and enjoy how they look to a strange degree at which it may seem they will devour themselves after a shower.
typically involved in off-beat hobbies such as “thursday night bike group” or “barre class” typically will entice sexual partners with their seemingly cute wit, but be warned there is deadly intelligence lurking beneath. profoundly cold and distant, are non-empathetic and are truly aliens to the human race.

PISCES: my favorite sign of them all, pisces are the true humanitarians of the zodiac. empaths through and through, they emanate and exude peace, making them amazing deliberators, mediators, and diplomats. able to evaluate all sides of a situation, pisceans are the ones that help you settle feuds among your friend group and may give you advice on how to deal with your significant other.
amazingly talented, they are typically always humming, drawing, writing, playing guitar or purely daydreaming because the world they live in is so much more ideal than the one happening around them. they manifest their own reality.
I’ve built them up too much - here’s a downfall - they can flip on a mother fucking dime if they feel you are beginning to betray them in any way. they will cut you out of their lives 100% to avoid loss of their perfect dream image of you..
beautiful lovers, so gentle, lots of eye contact..

well that’s all folks!
oh, and here’s my most favorite to least list:

PISCES

SAGITTARIUS

CAPRICORN

SCORPIO

VIRGO

CANCER

TAURUS

LEO

AQUARIUS

LIBRA

AIRES

GEMINI

anonymous asked:

Do you have any advice for condensing unwieldy sentences, without interrupting the flow?

For those unfamiliar with the concept of Narrative Flow, here’s a definition from Shifti.

In a basic sense, Narrative Flow is building your suspension of disbelief. It’s readability, crafting tension, and built through language choice and sentence structure. Ultimately, Narrative Flow is a tricky beast to talk about because there isn’t any right way to craft it in a story. Every author and every story are different.

Narrative Flow is what I’ll call “Big Picture”, it’s created by many pieces and techniques working within the writing itself. An alternate example is that it’s a lot like looking at a perfect roundhouse kick and just seeing the kick rather than the chamber, extension, rotation, turnover, posture, and recoil.

All the pieces which go into the kick and all that have to be done well in order to create a great one.

If you get too caught up looking at the Big Picture, you miss the detail work that makes it function.

This is why, for the most part, it’s best not to get too attached to any part of a piece until you have the whole concept of what your story is going to be. If you’ve gotten too attached to language flow for a page with sentences that don’t make sense, then you’ve got a nice flow is ultimately senseless. However, the senseless, unworkable sentences are part of what’s creating the flow you like.

By changing one, you change the other.

But if the sentences aren’t working, that means the story is also not working, and the flow (while nice) isn’t really working.

So, it’s time to kill your darlings.

First: Save all your drafts in separate files.

I don’t care if it’s your 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 24th, or 150th. Save those drafts. We often have hits of inspiration and turns of phrase that we never get back again.

So, save your drafts.

Once you’ve saved your previous draft, you will no longer have any reason to fear experimenting. You always have the old one to go back to if what you changed doesn’t work.

See? Easy peasy.

You’ve got your first creation safely stashed away. So, if you muck it all up, you can save yourself and all those hours won’t be wasted.

If you just breathed a solid sigh of relief at the concept, don’t worry. It happens to everyone. It’s so very freeing, really. Creating new save files shoves all those fears like “what if I mess up” down the garbage disposal and into the trash compactor, then flips the switch to On.

You’re now free to rip up the concrete foundations and start over.

And you will, because a first draft is only the first step on the long journey toward a completed piece. You’re gonna have to change some of those sentences that make the bigger picture sound good but simply don’t work. They don’t make sense. They have to go.

You know that changing on the small scale affects the big picture, even just a word here exchanged with one over there can change the shape and sound and flow of a piece.

When “horrified” becomes “terrified”, or “screamed” changes to “shrieked”, or “heard” becomes “listened”.

Flow is created by the order of words, the sound of the words, the words themselves, and the punctuation. You will inevitably change the flow of the sentences by changing the sentences.

That’s how it works.

However, a new flow is not a bad flow. New flow can lead to better flow.

After all, once you have your concept down, once you know what your story is about in the big view then you can build the necessary nuts and bolts in at the bottom to make it sing.

Think of your first draft as you telling yourself your story, you’re getting all your concepts out onto the page. You’ll get a different flow here because you’re still trying to figure out what exactly it is you’re doing. It may be a nice flow and it may feel like it works, but the best language and narrative flows are created when every single goddamn word on the page is working as hard as it can to make it so.

It’s easier to lose this with fiction writing because there are so many words that it can be difficult to feel their importance versus flash fiction or poetry. Reading and writing poetry is one of those important skill sets because they teach the importance of word choice, imagery, and flow; plus the visual impact of format, presentation, and white space.

When you’re reformatting your sentences, cutting them down, changing the words around, the flow will end up janky.

When you’ve got the feel or sense for what you want the scene to be about/where you want it to go, then start from the top. This can be a single page, a whole chapter, half a book, or even a whole book, and go through the whole thing again.

It’s a lot easier to figure out your flow when you have the complete image.

So, complete your image, get your big picture view, get out your pen, and mark down every sentence that isn’t working.

Then (BEFORE YOU TOUCH ANYTHING) save your draft.

Open up a new file.

Go to town.

-Michi

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On seeing the 100% perfect girl one beautiful April morning

by Haruki Murakami

One beautiful April morning, on a narrow side street in Tokyo’s fashionable Harujuku neighborhood, I walked past the 100% perfect girl.

Tell you the truth, she’s not that good-looking. She doesn’t stand out in any way. Her clothes are nothing special. The back of her hair is still bent out of shape from sleep. She isn’t young, either - must be near thirty, not even close to a “girl,” properly speaking. But still, I know from fifty yards away: She’s the 100% perfect girl for me. The moment I see her, there’s a rumbling in my chest, and my mouth is as dry as a desert.

Maybe you have your own particular favorite type of girl - one with slim ankles, say, or big eyes, or graceful fingers, or you’re drawn for no good reason to girls who take their time with every meal. I have my own preferences, of course. Sometimes in a restaurant I’ll catch myself staring at the girl at the next table to mine because I like the shape of her nose.

But no one can insist that his 100% perfect girl correspond to some preconceived type. Much as I like noses, I can’t recall the shape of hers - or even if she had one. All I can remember for sure is that she was no great beauty. It’s weird.

“Yesterday on the street I passed the 100% girl,” I tell someone.

“Yeah?” he says. “Good-looking?”

“Not really.”

“Your favorite type, then?”

“I don’t know. I can’t seem to remember anything about her - the shape of her eyes or the size of her breasts.”

“Strange.”

“Yeah. Strange.”

“So anyhow,” he says, already bored, “what did you do? Talk to her? Follow her?”

“Nah. Just passed her on the street.”

She’s walking east to west, and I west to east. It’s a really nice April morning.

Wish I could talk to her. Half an hour would be plenty: just ask her about herself, tell her about myself, and - what I’d really like to do - explain to her the complexities of fate that have led to our passing each other on a side street in Harajuku on a beautiful April morning in 1981. This was something sure to be crammed full of warm secrets, like an antique clock build when peace filled the world.

After talking, we’d have lunch somewhere, maybe see a Woody Allen movie, stop by a hotel bar for cocktails. With any kind of luck, we might end up in bed.

Potentiality knocks on the door of my heart.

Now the distance between us has narrowed to fifteen yards.

How can I approach her? What should I say?

“Good morning, miss. Do you think you could spare half an hour for a little conversation?”

Ridiculous. I’d sound like an insurance salesman.

“Pardon me, but would you happen to know if there is an all-night cleaners in the neighborhood?”

No, this is just as ridiculous. I’m not carrying any laundry, for one thing. Who’s going to buy a line like that?

Maybe the simple truth would do. “Good morning. You are the 100% perfect girl for me.”

No, she wouldn’t believe it. Or even if she did, she might not want to talk to me. Sorry, she could say, I might be the 100% perfect girl for you, but you’re not the 100% boy for me. It could happen. And if I found myself in that situation, I’d probably go to pieces. I’d never recover from the shock. I’m thirty-two, and that’s what growing older is all about.

We pass in front of a flower shop. A small, warm air mass touches my skin. The asphalt is damp, and I catch the scent of roses. I can’t bring myself to speak to her. She wears a white sweater, and in her right hand she holds a crisp white envelope lacking only a stamp. So: She’s written somebody a letter, maybe spent the whole night writing, to judge from the sleepy look in her eyes. The envelope could contain every secret she’s ever had.

I take a few more strides and turn: She’s lost in the crowd.

Now, of course, I know exactly what I should have said to her. It would have been a long speech, though, far too long for me to have delivered it properly. The ideas I come up with are never very practical.

Oh, well. It would have started “Once upon a time” and ended “A sad story, don’t you think?”

Once upon a time, there lived a boy and a girl. The boy was eighteen and the girl sixteen. He was not unusually handsome, and she was not especially beautiful. They were just an ordinary lonely boy and an ordinary lonely girl, like all the others. But they believed with their whole hearts that somewhere in the world there lived the 100% perfect boy and the 100% perfect girl for them. Yes, they believed in a miracle. And that miracle actually happened.

One day the two came upon each other on the corner of a street.

“This is amazing,” he said. “I’ve been looking for you all my life. You may not believe this, but you’re the 100% perfect girl for me.”

“And you,” she said to him, “are the 100% perfect boy for me, exactly as I’d pictured you in every detail. It’s like a dream.”

They sat on a park bench, held hands, and told each other their stories hour after hour. They were not lonely anymore. They had found and been found by their 100% perfect other. What a wonderful thing it is to find and be found by your 100% perfect other. It’s a miracle, a cosmic miracle.

As they sat and talked, however, a tiny, tiny sliver of doubt took root in their hearts: Was it really all right for one’s dreams to come true so easily?

And so, when there came a momentary lull in their conversation, the boy said to the girl, “Let’s test ourselves - just once. If we really are each other’s 100% perfect lovers, then sometime, somewhere, we will meet again without fail. And when that happens, and we know that we are the 100% perfect ones, we’ll marry then and there. What do you think?”

“Yes,” she said, “that is exactly what we should do.”

And so they parted, she to the east, and he to the west.

The test they had agreed upon, however, was utterly unnecessary. They should never have undertaken it, because they really and truly were each other’s 100% perfect lovers, and it was a miracle that they had ever met. But it was impossible for them to know this, young as they were. The cold, indifferent waves of fate proceeded to toss them unmercifully.

One winter, both the boy and the girl came down with the season’s terrible inluenza, and after drifting for weeks between life and death they lost all memory of their earlier years. When they awoke, their heads were as empty as the young D. H. Lawrence’s piggy bank.

They were two bright, determined young people, however, and through their unremitting efforts they were able to acquire once again the knowledge and feeling that qualified them to return as full-fledged members of society. Heaven be praised, they became truly upstanding citizens who knew how to transfer from one subway line to another, who were fully capable of sending a special-delivery letter at the post office. Indeed, they even experienced love again, sometimes as much as 75% or even 85% love.

Time passed with shocking swiftness, and soon the boy was thirty-two, the girl thirty.

One beautiful April morning, in search of a cup of coffee to start the day, the boy was walking from west to east, while the girl, intending to send a special-delivery letter, was walking from east to west, but along the same narrow street in the Harajuku neighborhood of Tokyo. They passed each other in the very center of the street. The faintest gleam of their lost memories glimmered for the briefest moment in their hearts. Each felt a rumbling in their chest. And they knew:

She is the 100% perfect girl for me.

He is the 100% perfect boy for me.

But the glow of their memories was far too weak, and their thoughts no longer had the clarity of fouteen years earlier. Without a word, they passed each other, disappearing into the crowd. Forever.

A sad story, don’t you think?

Yes, that’s it, that is what I should have said to her.

anonymous asked:

Your insta edits are so perfect?? Even down to the tiniest details like their followers/following count omg and the vibes are so on point and its makes me so happy just looking at them ahhhh thanks for blessing us with the edits!!! <3

Thank you so much my dear, I do put a lot of thought in every single picture, the captions and the post/follower/following ratio indeed! It’s no nice that you noticed <3 

Cute Artist // Dean Winchester

Warnings: none

Words: 576

Tags: @thegreatficmaster @supernatural-squadd

A/N: neutral/teen!reader;


His smile didn’t vanish once, his head thrown back and his eyes squeezed shut. He looked beautiful like that, not knowing that somebody was watching him, just enjoying the moment. His younger brother was watching him with adoration in his eyes.

Wanting to catch this perfect moment, you let you pencil glide over the paper faster. Trying to not miss any detail. Needing to capture the happy mood in the picture.

The blonde Winchester didn’t have a clue that you were drawing him, catching every small fracture of his handsome face.

The perfect moment of silence was broken by the sound of the bell. Signing you packed away your drawing equipment. Looking at your picture one last time before putting it away.

When you looked up again, both boys were already gone. So you too, stood up and went back inside.

Sadly you didn’t see the freckled god the rest of the day. The final bell rang already, and you were on your way out of school. Holding your sketchbook in hand, you were looking at your newest drawing of the blond beauty.

Something just didn’t seem right. Maybe it was his smile? Or the way the light fell into his face? You couldn’t figure it out. And just as you wanted to pack your book away, your small frame collided with another body.

The force of the collision let you stumble back, nearly falling on your butt, if the other student didn’t hold you upright.

Finally looking at the stranger you saw your crush standing in front of you. His fanfiction green eyes holding concern in them. Just as he asked you if you were alright, you suddenly found your hands to be empty. Your sketchbook had fallen out of your hands, while colliding with Dean.

Hectic you let your eyes search the floor. You found it behind Dean on the floor, where his brother was about to pick it up. Unfortunately it opened on the page of your most recent painting. You could see Sam’s face putting on a frown, as he started to recognize the guy of the drawing.

He was about to say something, when you snatched the book out of his hand and vanished out of the front doors. Unknowingly to you, a loose page of the book fell out. It was one of your older sketches, on it you could see Dean leaning against his fathers car, waiting for his brother to join them. Back then you took a picture of the scene, so you could capture it in your beloved sketch book.

The older brother picked the page up and observed it with a smile on his face, before he folded it up and packed it into his back pocket. And even though you didn’t know it, Dean noticed you watching him a long time ago. He always knew, then you were sitting in some corner, looking at him and bringing the scene before you onto paper, thanks to his hunter senses.


When you opened the door to your locker the next morning, a small piece of paper fell out. Confused you picked it up from the floor and read the message on it. With the heat rising on your cheeks, you put the paper into your sketchbook.

Hey, thanks for drawing me. Your skills really amaze me. Maybe you can show me some more of your incredible stuff, while we grab a coffee or something?

- Dean Winchester


Masterlist

3

Bucky licked his lips hungrily as he glanced up and down your body, taking in every detail.  That royal blue dress hugged your body so perfectly, that Bucky couldn’t stop staring at you from across the room.


You looked simply gorgeous, with your hair and outfit perfected.  Bucky was always a ladies-man. Back in the 1940s, Bucky could have any woman he desired within minutes of sweet-talking her. 


But not you.  You always would reply with snide comments and quirky comebacks that always seemed to make Bucky laugh.  He tried to convince himself that you were just like any other girl… but you just weren’t.


“Take a picture. It’ll last longer,” Natasha commented from the bar.
Bucky momentarily turned his attention to Natasha as she spoke once again.  "Go talk to her.“ 


He nodded and inhaled deeply before standing up and brushing off his tuxedo. Man, Bucky hated wearing fancy clothes, especially when the room was way too hot.  


But, he wanted to look nice.  So maybe, just maybe he might have a shot at dating you.


"Go get'em, tiger.” Natasha cheered before pushing Bucky’s back gently in an encouraging manner.


Here goes nothing, he thought

Mac On Nash: “The Midwife”

hamartiamacguffin reblogged your post and added: “The Midwife [Part One]”

You know those super-avid hobbyists who create huge tabletop landscapes, where every single element of an entire town is meticulously recreated as a picture-perfect miniature replica of the real thing? And the completed model is usually so expansive that it takes up their whole garage (or basement, or attic) because they’ve managed to include every imaginable characteristic (right down to the tiny USPS stickers on the miniature blue mailbox in front of the tiny pharmacy that actually has real glass windows)?

This fic reminds me of that. The’re just so much amazingly intricate detail…

More of @hamartiamacguffin ‘s thoughts on part one of “The Midwife” [as well as my response to an interesting point she brought up] after the jump, but for now, may I say this feedback got me all…

…minus the morgue, of course. 

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Latte art

Modern!AU, Jehan x Montparnasse, 715 words

Written for the most amazing @benihime-aratame as usual !


Since Musichetta had hired him, five months ago, Jehan had become well-known among the regulars of the Musain as a true coffee artist. He never was one to prepare the drinks in a mechanical way, instead putting great care in the entire process to get their complicated coffees absolutly perfect. People who came here for the drinks and the calm atmosphere were often tired, stressed or busy, and Jehan was dead set on adding a dash of love and gentleness in every cup he gave away.

This morning was pretty slow, customers-wise, and Jehan was deeply engrossed in the third Inkheart book, idly playing with a lock of hair while his eyes danced from line to line, when the doorbell chimed, catching his attention. And his breath in his throat. This man… really wasn’t one of their regulars. Or even a typical customer. While the Musain wasn’t considered like a trending place, it attracted quite a crowd of students, workers, and a bunch of hipsters gloating over their complicated orders that they could find the most “authentic” places.

But that one… Jehan knew that stereotyping wasn’t nice, but that one didn’t look like a hipster at all. He didn’t look like a student or a worker either. He seemed like he stepped out of a high-end fashion magazine. A fashion magazine probably called “Beautiful Bad Boys Illustrated” or something like that. Everything about him screamed that he was dangerous, edgy… or tried to be. From the pointy, shiny boots, to the black, slicked-back hair, to the long, leather coat, every detail was painting the perfect picture of the prowling alley cat, the man who didn’t need anyone but himself, who didn’t care about anything anyone could think.

The man in leather walked to the counter (he was even more beautiful up close) and rattled off a long order, casting a boring look all around him. Jehan smiled, his most luminous smile, and asked for his name to write on the cup. The man raised a perfect eyebrow and asked :

- Do you really need it ? You aren’t really swarmed with customers right now.

- I do, Jehan answered in his sweetest voice. It’s… a personal tradition ?

The man looked annoyed, but finally growled :

- Montparnasse.

Jehan immediatly set to work, applying himself to the task at hand. Not that he wanted to impress that handsome brooding stranger, of course, but because that’s what he always did. Luckily, the order was a speciality of his. He still concentrated on each and every gesture, making sure that everything was absolutly perfect. The man’s green eyes were set on him, he knew it, and it made him feel… watched. Not like a clerck being watched by a customer to be sure he wasn’t messing the order, but like… a prey to a predator. And he wasn’t sure that he really liked the shiver up his back it provoked.

Fortunately, the drink turned out absolutly perfect. As for every latte, Jehan added his little touch, a drawing in the foam, and made a point to call the name of the stranger, letting it rolling off his tongue and savoring each sound. The man glanced at him again, a bit bewildered. Jehan stopped himself from fussing with his hair or arranging his shirts under those burning eyes, and handed him the drink with a smile.

Montparnasse looked at the latte and the delicate flower drawn in the foam, then at Jehan. There was a tense, uncomfortable silence, that he finally broke :

- What is your name ?

- I’m Jean Prouvaire. Everybody calls me Jehan, because, well… I like it better, he ended lamely.

- Jehan Prouvaire…

The way the man pronounced his name made Jehan shiver again, in a pleasant way this time. Montparnasse took a sip of his latte, and judging by his expression, found it to his liking. He nodded, and said :

- Pleased to meet you, Jehan Prouvaire.

And with that, he strolled out, cup in hand, leaving behind him a very bewildered Jehan. Said Jehan leaned on the counter, chin in hands. He wasn’t really sure what to think of that meeting, but one thing was certain : he now had a new source of inspiration to write about.

My Muse (Steve X Reader)

Title: My Muse

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 1,422

Warnings: Sparring, Kissing?? Lots of fluff

Prompt: Steve and the Reader are very close and he draws her in secret until one day she finds out.

Originally posted by eme-themeatball

Sweat dripped down your face and back as you sidestepped a punch and kneed your sparring partner in the gut.  Your partner retaliated by letting out a quiet groan and kicking towards your legs.  You jumped over the kick and blocked the next punch aimed towards your ribs.  You quickly reached for your partner’s arm and swiftly flipped them over, letting you easily pin them beneath you. 

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Love How You Hate Me - Sam x Reader

A/N: Part Fifteen! This part is about twice as long as usual to get all of it in. So, bonus for you guys! Super short summary? Reader drops her barriers a bit more, mostly to help Sam out. Hope you all enjoy! :)

Previous: One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | TwelveThirteen | Fourteen 

Warnings: Possible childhood abuse triggers, Smut , Bit of fluff

@captain-rose-princess @faegal04 @supernatural508 @1967-wayward @kelincihutan @rocker-chic17 @i-just-wanna-live-gc @impossible-box @jared-padaloveme @ifckinglovespn @22justanotherfangirl @nerdwholikesword @fandommaniacx @supernaturallymarvellous @16wiishes @magie16 @moose-the-boy-king-winchester @crawegirl @supermonkeypizza

Word Count: Roughly 4,300

“Sam?” Your eyes opened as you looked up to the man who was sitting beside you, talking to Cas. As he looked at you, you launched yourself into his arms. Clinging to his broad frame. His strong arms held you to him, and his face buried into your neck. When you finally pulled back, he did the same- though unwillingly. As you looked at Cas, you realized how much saving your ass had cost him. “I told you not to make him help me, you ass!” Your fist slugged into Sam’s arm, making him cry out at the attack. “Why didn’t you dorks take me to a hospital?”

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