here's a thing oop

Here to shake things up

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Queer Eye for the “Straight” Guy

FINALLY, six months after I was commissioned, this thing is done.

I’m truly sorry to my donation winner, Cindy. Lord knows you never asked to put up with my procrastinating ass.

But I’m truly happy with how this turned out! And I hope you, Cindy, and the rest of y'all are too! This work is a part of the Fandom Trumps Hate auction. Check out some other cool works and support these charities this movement helps!

(Read on AO3)

Never had Castiel been checked out with such scrutiny.

The man walked around him, eyes slowly dragging over his body, just on this side of appreciative. They were green and critical under contemplative eyebrows, pushed together to form a crease in the middle that Castiel kind of wanted to poke. The man’s arms were crossed over his chest, his thumb playing with his lower lip as he circled.

Castiel just stood, arms loose at his sides, posture normal which was to say terrible. He watched the man watching him.

“Well,” the man said, facing Castiel but also kind of facing the large camera he’d brought with him. “The suit is awful but we can work with it. Are you sure I can’t talk you out of the trench coat?”

Castiel shook his head, his mouth grim.

The man sighed. “Well, I’ll figure something out.”

He then explained to Castiel some of what he was going to be doing. Usually the exposition would take place among the five men who hosted, but Castiel understood this was a special case. The usual five men to do the job was now one.

“Hi, and welcome to Queer Eye for the Straight Guy : celebrity edition. Where instead of the Fab Five, who are all experts in their fields, you have me, Dean Winchester, a bisexual hockey player who is slightly above average at these things.”

Castiel was, in this scenario, ‘the straight guy.’ He supposed that description fit simply by process of elimination. He knew he wasn’t gay because he did not wish to have sex with men. He didn’t particularly want to have sex with women but he liked them well enough: enjoyed the softness of their lips when they’d kissed him and liked their smell and general company.

So yes, Castiel could be the straight guy.

Although Dean Winchester’s shoulders looked very nice…

“Today’s victim is Castiel Novak: world renowned entymologist specializing in honey bees. His latest research publication is receiving all kinds of awards so he’s going to have a little celebration tonight. That’s where I’m here to help.”

“Okay, Cas, it may only be me, but I’ve still got some hired guns to help me move shit – er – junk around your apartment.” Dean turned to a woman wearing headphones. “Do I have to say that again?”

She smiled and rolled her eyes. “If you would, please.”

Dean sighed and repeated himself, this time leaving out the swear word.

This was all far too much production for Castiel. He preferred quiet libraries or the gentle hum of apiaries to the clapboards and shouted instructions of a television set.

“A necessary evil “his agent had called it. “ How do you expect to get more funding, Castiel, if no one cares about your research?”

Castiel had thought this quite unfair and demonstratively untrue. Plenty of people cared about his research! Students and… kindergarten teachers…

Castiel supposed those groups didn’t pay very much. He may have seen Meg’s point.

He didn’t know why that meant he had to be involved with a reality show, though. He glowered at the camera.

Dean smiled at him, unaffected. “I have given the crew my instructions so now I can whisk you away for a fun makeover montage.”

Castiel turned his glower on Dean.

He winked. “Yes, you’re very scary. Let’s go.”

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10

You go by Patrick Spring now but your real name is Zachariah Webb, and you made a terrible mistake.

Zachariah Webb/Edgar Spring/Patrick Spring through the decades as requested by @quingigillion

anonymous asked:

viraha - want or the realization of love through separation

Come On Baby, Light My Fire:

Part 1: Grapholagnia

Part 2: Neighbors/We meet again

Part 3: Callipygian

Part 4: Apodyopis

Part 5: Gymnophoria

Part 6: Mamihlapinatapei

Part 7: Basorexia

Part 8: Coitus

Part 9: Hypersexuality

Part 10: Malapert

Part 11: Quidnunc

Part 12: Hiraeth

And now for part 13…

Viraha - want or the realization of love arising from separation


Tired and weary down to my soul, I return to the city and to work early the next morning. Part of me wishes that I could call in sick. Forget about facing all people and wallow in my sorrow for a few days. I’d hardly call myself recharged as I drag myself through a shower and prepare to face the day. At least it’s only a half day with students, the last half dedicated to another form of torture – Parent Teacher Conferences.

Somehow, I survive it and trudge home, dreaming of stew and crusty bread on order from Sae’s and a hot bath. I drop my bag on my kitchen table and pull out my phone. The number is programmed and I have the menu memorized by now. Once my food is on its way, I set the phone down, thinking I’ll grab a quick bath to warm up before the food arrives in thirty minutes, but something small and shiny on the table catches my attention.

A key.

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anonymous asked:

How does one paint water reflections that good?

AHAH THEY’RE NOT EVEN THAT GOOD BUT THANK YOU ;w;

At first I thought i’d just leave the answer at this but heck it, here’s practically my process (it’s not really a tutorial because I’m bad at explaining ahah)

Instead of drawing a shadow, you just pick the colors of the water and paint over the surface softly.

J ust pick a (much) lighter shade and move around the color wheel a little

And then you do that thing and yOU’RE DONE

Explaining stuff has never been my specialty so I hope the pictures are helpful pff

“Mornin’, sunshine.  Want some coffee?”  Dean nuzzles into Cas’s hair and breathes him in, tightening his grip on the angel’s waist, pulling him back against his chest  “I can drag my ass outta bed for a few minutes to go put some on.”

“No.  Thank you,” Cas grumbles, shifting to snuggle back against Dean.  His voice is sleep-rough and low, and Dean can’t get enough of it.  He tugs Dean’s arms tighter around him.  “We don’t have anywhere to go or anything to do today.  I’d like to stay here a while.”

Pressing kisses to Cas’s neck, nibbling his way around to his jaw, Dean finds himself grinning as he murmurs against Cas’s warm skin.  He’s perfectly content to stay here for as long as Cas’ll have him.  “Awesome.”

  • Me: *thinks about Pearl, Yellow Pearl and Blue Pearl being old friends on homeworld*
  • Me: *thinks about Yellow having a strong crush on Blue and Pearl rolling her eyes when she says she doesn't*
  • Me: *thinks about Yellow and Blue being shocked when Pearl decides to rebel*
  • Me: *thinks about Pearl asking Yellow and Blue to join the rebellion and them saying no*
  • Me: *thinks about Blue continuosly making holograms of the Renegade when she and Yellow are alone and questioning if they should have gone with her*
  • Me: *thinks about how they miss each other*
  • Me: *thinks about Pearl saying to Steven that she doesn't know Yellow, because it's been so much and she doesn't him to know what she left behind*
  • Me: *clutches chest* why do I love to suffer

anonymous asked:

i love the way u write jocasta nu she's like jedi professor mcgonagall. i can totally see her saying "have a biscuit, anakin."

Anakin knew better than to cry. It didn’t ever help. It just made his eyes sting, and if the Masters saw him they would be angry. Masters didn’t like to see you cry. It was probably bad for business.

Or…bad for meditation, anyway. Bad for communing with the Force, maybe. Anakin wasn’t really sure. He never seemed to know the right words to say here.

So it was better not to let the issue come up.

Anyway, Master Obi-Wan was busy right now. Maybe he would be angry later, after Master Tiin told him what Anakin had done, but that was later. So Anakin would have some time to prepare himself, to come up with the best possible apology. Masters liked apologies, as long as you got them exactly right. And Master Obi-Wan was much easier to apologize to than Master Tiin. Usually, he just told Anakin to meditate. That wasn’t so bad. He could think about whatever he wanted, and no one would ever know the difference.

So he would apologize to Master Obi-Wan later. If he said just the right thing, maybe Master Obi-Wan would even smooth things over with Master Tiin. He had last week.

The massive entry of the Temple Archives loomed suddenly before him, and Anakin almost forgot about apologies. He stopped and stared up at the towering door. He couldn’t help it. It was huge and ancient and inside there was more knowledge than he’d ever imagined could be in one place. And Master Obi-Wan had said he could go there whenever he had free time. He didn’t even have to ask.

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“you have to do this important thing ASAP”

oh no… looks like i’m… falling asleep… how inconvenient… oops… here i go, sleeping… i guess that thing has to wait… until i wake up… in three years… that’s just how long my sleeps last sorry…

For Kaity.

Originally posted by becausepine

For @kaitymccoy123, after a rough day. I love you to bits, dear, and I think they lost out, not you. I hope this is decent (banged it out on lunch break, posting quickly. Probably riddled with errors). Also, it’s incredibly difficult to find a good AOS Scotty gif.


“I didn’t get it.”

“Ya what?” Monty’s nose crinkles in a way that you would normally find adorable. As it is, the entire world seems dampened by the bitter disappointment that snakes through your chest, and your answering smile is hollow.

“The job. I didn’t get it.” Despite your best efforts, you feel your voice hitch a little on the words. 

“The rat bastards,” he spits, dropping his spanner and pulling you into his arms, heedless of the fact that you’re in the E deck corridor for all to see. You smush your nose into the mesh fabric of his red shirt and let him hold you tight. 

“Shh, shh, shh, shh,” he murmurs, more an instinctive litany of comfort than actual shushing. He rocks you gently back and forth, threading agile fingers through your dark hair. His skin smells of bay rum aftershave and something vaguely singed, and it crosses your mind to ask him, later, how the refit is coming. He presses his lips to your temple and sighs heavily through his nose. “The silly sods don’t know a good thing when they’ve got it.”

His words send hot tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. Silly as it is, to cry feels a little like defeat, like one last punch in the gut. You pull back, biting at your lip and swiping your face in frustration. 

Monty catches your hands in his. “My heart,” he says softly, reaching to thumb away the tear-tracks that stain your cheeks. “I know what I’ve got right here.” His eyes are dark as he stares at you for a long moment, as if memorizing your features. You can see, suddenly, that he shares your heartbreak. He clasps his fingers around the nape of your neck, planting a gentle kiss on your forehead and fluttering his eyes closed. “I have the very best thing, Kaity. I have you.”


Bonus, because I just can’t resist.

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