good times jar

2

tiny children

Count Your Lucky Stars (Alternative Ending 2)

Ok guys, here it is. The last update for CYLS. I decided to go with a happier ending this time because the Space Family deserves to be happy don’t you think? Anyways, thank you for joining me on this journey :D enjoy!!


Everyone was starting to lose hope. There has been no sign of Lance anywhere on their radars for about a month now. Maybe he couldn’t be found because he didn’t want to be, or so they thought until a call from the Arusians came in. Allura was a bit worried, to say the least. The Galra should have no reason to travel back to the planet now that they were gone. She called everyone to the control room, just in case this was just another call to say hi. The Arusians were friendly and often called to ask if their assistance was needed, or simply to see how everyone was. She opened the video feed to see the King with a stern look on his face. The worry only began to rise.

“Alteans and humans, we are your leaders. Take us,” he declared. Um…what?

“No, no, no you’re saying it all wrong. It’s: take us to your leader. The way you say it makes it sound like it’s the start of a very aggressive mating season,” a voice in the background whispered.

“Wait a minute, that choice of words, that voice. Lance buddy is that you. Please tell me that’s you or else I’m going to cry.”

“The one and only Hunkalicious, how’s it going bro,” Lance said as he came into view of the camera. A chorus of excited “Lance” was heard around the room.

“Lance my boy, is everything alright? What are you doing back on Arusia?”

“All of that can be explained later, for now, can you guys just bring me home?”

Home. After how they treated him he still calls this place his home. Lance still wants to see them after everything they’ve said and done. They’re going to prove to him that this place can be, that they can be worthy of that title. So, onward they went with full speed back to Arusia, back where it all began. It seemed fitting in a way, the place where they officially became a team, would be the place they make their family whole again. Everyone was a little concerned about how they’d react in front of Lance with the knowledge they now hold. They all made promises to themselves to start treating Lance more fairly.

It was just always so easy to not take the Blue Paladin seriously when almost everything that comes out of his mouth is a joke or a pick-up line. That, however, can’t be continued to be used as an excuse, especially since most of the time he’s doing it for their sakes. Just something to get them to smile or ease the tension in the room. With Lance and his antics, it was sometimes easy to forget that they were fighting a 10,000-year war.

It took about an hour or two, but they had finally arrived on Arusia where the people and Lance were already waiting for them to land. Pidge surprised everyone as she bolted out of the door and into Lance’s arms the second they touch down. She clung to him like a sloth with tears in her eyes and simply refused to let go. He just lifted her up to be able to move again. Everyone kind of just dog-piled on after that causing Lance to laugh. It was the greatest sound heard in the entire universe, or any alternate universes Slav was convinced existed.

The Arusians insisted that they stay for a party to celebrate their reunion, and who could’ve denied these adorable creatures. Rather than in the castle, this time it was hosted in the village down the hill, bonfire style. Everyone sat as close to Lance as they could to listen to him retell the story of his escape. Keith and Hunk were on either side of him, Pidge sat on his lap with her head on his chest to take comfort in his heartbeat, Coran across from him listening intently to every word, Shiro chose to stand so he could just watch over everyone, and while Allura was next to the Arusian King, she was giving Lance her undivided attention.

It was obvious that Lance was embellishing his story a little, but no one cared about that. They were all just so happy to see that even after a month in the hands of the Galra he was still as animated as ever. It also didn’t change the fact that what he did was amazing, and no short of heroic. Not only had he escaped and slowed down the main Galra fleet by wrecking their engine, but he also managed to free a good bit of prisoners as well. Everyone made sure to tell him he did a great job and that they were proud of him. They already made the mistake of not letting him know these things in the past. The reason it took so long for him to contact them was because of his injuries. One of the captives had taken him to their home planet to heal before he continued his journey. Coran had suggested that he received a check-up in the morning after a good night’s rest.

Pidge had already fallen asleep in his arms, and everyone agreed that it was time to call it a night. The only problem was that no one wanted to part with Lance after finally getting him back. This time it was Keith that shocked everyone by suggesting a slumber party in the common room. (“Awe Mullet, you really do care.” “Shut it, Lance.”) After Lance handed Pidge to Shiro and left them for a much-needed shower, everyone gathered as many pillows and blankets they could to make the ground comfortable. They wouldn’t even attempt the couch, that thing was far too uncomfortable, and you’d wake up with pains in parts of your body you didn’t even know existed.

Once everyone was showered, changed and settled in Lance had begun to sing softly in order to send them to sleep faster. It wasn’t surprising that as soon as he returned he’d start taking care of them. Everyone was forced to take back their earlier statement about his laugh being the most beautiful sound in all realities because his voice took the cake, and ate it too. So, for the first time in what felt like far too long, everyone had a peaceful night. They were even allowed to sleep in the next morning and it was what they all needed.

Three months passed since they got Lance back and they had to send him on a solo mission to retrieve an item needed for the castle’s repair. Only Blue could’ve handled the planet’s icy terrain, and Lance suggested going alone so that he can have some bonding time with his girl. They knew it was wrong, and quite frankly an invasion of privacy, but they wanted to make sure Lance knew they appreciated him. So, when he was gone they went into his room to look at the jars. It appeared that Lance had gotten rid of the old ones and started over. While “the bad jar” still had more stars than they would’ve liked, it was still significantly less than what it was the last time. “The good jar” on the other hand, was overflowing so much that there was a second one to hold the rest.

They knew that it would more than likely be impossible to get “the bad jar” to be completely empty, but at least they were taking a step in the right direction. They were becoming the type of family that Lance deserved. And they would only continue to prove to him that they were worthy of being called such.


Main Story/ Ending 1/ Ending 2

anonymous asked:

hi i just gotta ... jeez... your graphics are absolutely astounding and knock me off my feet. it's impossible to replicate and seeing them on my dash puts me in shock for a couple seconds because theyre so gorgeous. the mixture between realism (paper, 3d) and comic art is the perfect balance and while we're both using photoshop looking at your work feels like i'm riding a tricycle next to a private jet because your talent is insane. yeah i hope this isn't weird i just. love your stuff <3

This is the loveliest, kindest message I’ve received in a while, I feel like I’ve climbed Mt. Everest and tripped over my feet and over the edge! Thank you for taking the time to send this, dear anon, it means a lot, especially since I’ve been trying to do something different with my comic edits (I’ve been leaning towards realism and using textures/techniques I usually do for graphics) and trying to get myself out of a slump of sorts…

playing through the ranked duels as yami bakura after changing all the voice clips to japanese ones is hella jarring after watching the subbed volcanion movie lemme tell you

anonymous asked:

Hey I know this is really random, but how to you store your art stuff? Your pens and paints and all sorts, I'm trying to instill order on all my pens and markers and wondered if you had a "hack" to keeping them in one place! Love love love your art.

Ah yes okay well this is the bit of my desk where I keep things

so not really the pinnacle of organisation, but I mainly use empty pickle/jam jars to store my pens/pencils/brushes because cheap and then I keep my markers in the box they came in. The little shelf thing is so handy I got it from Ikea and it just has brackets you can screw onto a desk. That is a space hack of sorts. I also have drawers and a couple of plastic boxes I keep on the floor for materials I use less often. Best of luck with your ordering!  

3

This pic is inspired by the fic: For all the blood you have shed  by @itsthechangingoftheseasons • Awesome fic, go and read it! (´⌣`ʃƪ)

Read yesterday’s installment, “Christmas Parties,” or  start at the beginning!


“Mm. Here, are these noodles done enough?”

John sticks a slotted spoon with a single farfalle noodle on it between Sherlock and the microscope. Sherlock cocks an eyebrow at him, as if to say, is this really the time? but John just waits patiently and eventually Sherlock picks up the noodle and sticks it in his mouth. Anyway, they both know that Sherlock’s not looking at anything important, just a bit of dirt he’d picked up in Regent’s Park on their walk earlier that afternoon that he thought looked unusually chalky.

“Al dente,” Sherlock says, knowing that John will cook them just a little bit longer. “What are you making?”

“Fettucine alfredo.”

“That’s a farfalle, not a fettucine.”

John waves a hand and goes back to the hob. “Farfalle alfredo, then. My mum used to make it every winter around Christmas. Bowtie pasta, homemade alfredo sauce, sundried tomatoes, spinach. She used to say that it brightened up the winter while still warming up your bones.”

Sherlock leans forward again to look back at his dirt sample, but now John is more interesting than the dirt. Hardly surprising. John being the most interesting thing in the flat is not an unusual happenstance in 221B. 

Sherlock abandons the sample and instead gets off his stool, going to stand behind John and hooking his chin over John’s shoulder, watching the pot of pasta boil on a little longer. On the hob next to it is another pot with a smooth white alfredo sauce warming. It looks thick and creamy and rich, and Sherlock’s mouth waters. “We didn’t have traditions like this growing up,” Sherlock says. “It’s kind of nice.”

John laughs. “I don’t know that I’d call it a tradition, really. It was something she did, but it wasn’t like. I don’t know. Baking Christmas biscuits or hanging up the decorations or going to midnight mass. You didn’t do that sort of thing growing up?”

“Mummy is a particle physicist, of course we didn’t go to midnight mass,” Sherlock snorts. “And if you remember from last year, she’s actually a terrible cook.”

John laughs again and Sherlock slings his arms around his waist, pulling him back into his chest a little so that he can feel that laugh against him. “She’s not that bad,” John says.

“She set the ham on fire, John.”

There it is again, the shake and shudder of John against him as he tries to contain his giggles. “She said it was an experiment too. No question where you got that excuse from.”

Sherlock sniffs in mock indignation, but concedes that the effect is probably lost by him kissing along the back of John’s neck. “I have never set a ham on fire. I learned from my grandmum, and she more than made up for my mother’s failings in the kitchen.”

“Making we should make that our tradition,” John suggests. He stirs the pasta once more time, then begins to move the noodles from the water into the other pot, letting the water drain through the slotted spoon before dumping them into the sauce. “Will you get the spinach and the sundried tomatoes out of the fridge?”

Sherlock draws himself off John, but slowly, so John feels every inch of him separating away as he goes to the fridge. It makes John shiver deliciously. “You want to make setting a ham on fire our holiday tradition? Surely we can think of a better tradition that that. We could have all sorts of fantastic holiday traditions.” He thinks about decorating Mrs Hudson’s flat and kissing John with lips that tasted like icing sugar. He thinks about going to the Nutcracker and envisioning kissing John center-stage–maybe next year he’ll find a way to make the vision a reality.

He thinks about the small secret box hidden in the closet, of promises and reassurances and hopes. Those are the sorts of holiday traditions Sherlock wants to celebrate with John.   

“What, you mean like fucking in front of the fire?” John giggles, and Sherlock blushes and giggles too. Not quite what he had in mind, but it had truly been phenomenal sex. Sherlock deposits the spinach and tomatoes on the worktop and then drapes himself back over John. “Might be hard to carry on with that when we’re ninety and decrepit.”

Oh, oh, oh, oh. Sherlock’s heart stutters in his chest and he pulls away a little so John won’t feel it. Even though they’re talking about creating traditions together, Sherlock is so taken aback at John’s casual tone, when we’re ninety, that his mouth suddenly goes dry and his pulse is like a battering ram, crashing through his veins. John had said it so easily, like it’s a foregone conclusion that someday they’ll be ninety, and they’ll still be together, and Sherlock wants that, he’s desperate for it.

Don’t give away the game now, he tells himself. Don’t react. Definitely don’t overreact. When his voice comes back to him, instead of asking John if he meant it, he says, “You’ll never be decrepit, don’t be ridiculous.”

John stirs the veg into the pasta and turns the heat up a little, warming the whole thing once more before they dish it out to eat. Then he sets his spoon down and turns in Sherlock’s grip, reaching up to kiss him with an exaggerated smacking sound. “I hope I am, someday,” he says lightly. “All old and hunched and wrinkled. I’ll probably be the grouchiest old man in London. I think I’d like that.”

Sherlock hums as John kisses him again, much more seriously this time. John tastes like he’s been sampling the sauce and it’s brilliant, all garlicky parmesan and a tiny hint of nutmeg and the heat of John’s mouth. When John finally releases him, Sherlock says the first thing that comes to mind. “In Sussex.”

“What’s that?”

“You’ll have to be the grouchiest old man in Sussex,” Sherlock clarifies. He can see it in his mind’s eye, John getting grumpy about a garden patch and going on about the mess in the study and tottering around some cosy old place brimming and bursting with the detritus of a life well spent together. “I’d like to leave the city, someday, I think. To retire. I’ll keep bees. You can write dreadful books. We’ll get a dog or something.”

There’s quiet for a moment as John stares up at him. Behind him, the sauce is beginning to bubble, and  Sherlock wonders, stomach sinking, if he’s gone too far. They’re talking about traditions together and John said ninety, but perhaps it was too much to say, too much to dream, too many details and plans and ideas all spilled out at once. He tries to keep his face clear and neutral, but then suddenly John surges in his arms and presses their lips together, once, hard. “I think I’d like that,” John says. “Bees and books in Sussex. All right.”

And John turns back to finish up the pasta, leaving Sherlock blinking behind him, his heart in his throat and his hands trembling around the space where John had just been in the best sort of nervous Sherlock has ever been in his life.


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You know those “Good Times” jars? Where you keep a jar and put in the times when you feel good/happy throughout the year?

This is mine from 2013.

The first note was the blue one in the middle:

Made a 2013 Good Times Jar after feeling super shitty. Things are going to be alright.

Let’s see what 2014 has in store.

Happy New Year.