i am done with my feelings now

In Dreams (The Raven Cycle amv)

Since The Raven King comes out today, I wanted to post something special before I dive into the end. I’ve been wasting away months of my life drawing all the scenes for this video, and now it’s finally done. I hope you enjoy it!

goldkirk  asked:

Thank you, thank you, thank you, a THOUSAND times thank you for the post-into darkness art you've done. You're wrapping up a hole in my heart and your style is so nice and lovely and they're such good moments you captured just. Thank you a lot. 💛💛💛

into darkness gave many people many feels apparently

(aka thank you)

The Simon story.

Matt asks Louis if he’s ever had an experience with Simon Cowell where he thought, that’s just very Simon-like of you. 

Louis: ‘There is one, that - I don’t think I’ve ever spoken about it before, just thinking if I can… One of the first few shows we did for one direction. I was new to it, straight out of Doncaster obviously, just started drinking - that kind of thing. So I had a drink before one of our first gigs, and obviously I was nervous as well, so I thought - well I’ll just have a couple of beers. I ended up being really, really drunk on this show. This again, one of the first things we did. And I woke up to a text, to find out that I was going to LA the next morning - flown out, I was sat thinking on the plane ‘what is coming next’. And I landed at Simon’s, and he gave me a little dressing down. It was positive, but he gave me a little dressing down. It was positive, but it certainly felt like the scary Simon you see on tv.’

Matt: “He flew you out to Los Angeles so he could give you a ticking off?”

Louis: Yeah, in true Simon style, you know, business class, the four seasons, but that’s his kind of –

Matt: “What a punishment, I wish I got on the wrong side of him more. So it was just a free holiday, which is lovely. And - and did he – I assume he didn’t raise his voice, that he just said – was he like very calm, was he passive aggressive? And kind of like, listen I’m not angry, I’m just disappointed.”

Louis: ‘It was that disappointed vibe yeah, very calm yeah, but yeah’

Matt: “So you were literally in his house for what – like an hour or two and then left?”

Louis: ‘Yeah, well he gave me like the dressing down at first sight, maybe five ten minutes, and then we actually had a proper chat. And honestly, if I hadn’t have had that chat with Simon then, I don’t think we’d be as close as we are now, you know what I mean, I do really feel like he’s got my back, you know, I’ve done quite a lot with him even outside of One Direction. And actually I think it was vital for me as an individual and also our relationship yeah.” 

@ parents of lgbt+ kids

Having homophobic and/or transphobic parents can actually destroy someone on the inside. It is a soul destroying feeling when those closest to you, the people you grew up with or still are growing up with, won’t accept who you are, or even disown you for simply being who you are.

When I came out as a lesbian my mum didn’t even look at me for a month, let alone talk to me. She told me that lesbians disgust her and she didn’t want a gay daughter. My dad kept telling me repeatedly that I was confused, telling me it was a choice and calling me “dyke” in the process. My grandmother told me I was going to hell, I was damaged, unnatural, dirty, sinful, and still calls it an “unsettling phase”.

Every individual experience is different, but because of the clear message I got off my dad when I was 9 years old and he told me “never come home and tell me you’re gay” I buried my sexuality for years, dated boys, kissed boys, would have gone a lot further with them if I had ever been in a position to do so, sometimes even hoped to end up in that position because I was so desperate to be “normal” even though the thought of doing anything with a boy disgusted me, which in turn filled me with even more self hatred, didn’t tell anyone when I was harassed online by a man twice my age when I was only 13 because I thought it was the least I deserved after having such “unnatural” thoughts. I grew to have so much internalised homophobia due to the fear I had of being gay because my dad had said that to me when I was only 9 years of age. I faked crush after crush on boys, staring at their Facebook profiles willing myself to feel something, anything, yet looking at a random girl in the street and feeling a fire burn inside me, yet still not accepting it, burying it and blocking it out.

I blocked it out as best as possible, talking about boys and acting as straight as possible, especially around my friends, until I was almost 16, when I saw a lesbian couple kiss on BBC television on at 8pm programme, and in that moment, I knew that was what I wanted, I knew that I couldn’t spend my life being something I’m just not, pretending every day of my life. I knew in that moment that I was gay, I knew that I wanted a girlfriend, I knew that I wanted a wife, and for the first time the idea of marriage seemed appealing, and I felt at peace and like I truly knew myself.

So a couple of months later, I told my friends, which took more courage than I knew I had. After that went well, I felt confident enough to tell my parents, encouraged by the good experience of coming out to my friends.

I was a mess when I told my mum. Although I felt confident enough to do it, I was still terrified and shaking and it was the most nerve racking moment of my life. I didn’t mean for it to happen how it did, and I could have told her in a better way, but in that moment I felt I had to, it was the right time for me. After I told her, I went to my room where I sent her a text, which I’m not going to quote entirely because it’s too personal, but it explained everything, I told her the journey of discovering my sexuality, I told her I loved her, I explained my fears, my feelings, my experiences, everything. In response I received a text saying: “I can’t pretend I’m happy about this. I’m not at all, but I love you regardless.” Although I had wanted a proper conversation, I accepted that she was shocked and took the text as acceptance of me. However, later that day, I went downstairs and saw her for the first time since I told her. She was crying and wouldn’t look at me. When I went downstairs, she went upstairs. I tried not to be upset, understanding her shock and giving her time. After a week of not spending more than a minute in a room with her, and not having her look at me once, I decided to try again, so I said to her “we need to talk about this” but she walked away from me. I tried texting so she wouldn’t have to directly talk, but she ignored everything I sent her.

Throughout the month, nothing changed, I was constantly ignored by her, and when she told my dad without consulting me, he just told me I was confused, and shouted at me for upsetting everyone, telling me I was messing up my GCSEs because of my confusion and immature phase, when the only thing endangering my grades was their prejudice and discrimination against their own daughter. As the month progressed, with still no change in either of them, I felt more and more worthless, my internalised homophobia reared its head once more, more prominent than ever, and I considered all sorts of things that I don’t even want to go into, I even looked at conversion therapy at one point because I felt like such a failure and a disappointment to my family, and my grandmother was the worst, calling me damaged and an unnatural sinner constantly.

The day my mum spoke to me again I was so shocked I could barely reply. She acted as though the last month hadn’t even happened, and went on like that for a week, blocking out what had happened, never once mentioning it, evidently hoping that it had all gone away or that her ignoring me had made me bury it again so it couldn’t tarnish our family and I could just live an unhappy life. At the end of that week, I mentioned it. I said “it’s not a phase” and she still wouldn’t talk, which is when I started to show my anger. This is when she told me that lesbians disgust her, spewing the typical hate about hell and morality and sin. Not being able to take it anymore, I locked myself in the bathroom, sat in the bathtub and properly cried for the first time in months. All my emotions came flooding out, and I would say that day was the saddest and most hopeless I’d ever felt. I felt utterly rejected, outcast, like I could never belong, like a disappointment, and a failure as a daughter, as a person.

During an argument with my dad, he called me a dyke, declaring I was damaged and that something had obviously gone drastically wrong during my development to “turn me”.

Those few months I felt so sad, lonely, isolated, rejected, hopeless and crushed. The two most important people in my life practically disowned me, and it took all the fight and courage I had to keep going, to keep pushing on, and I’m glad I did, because I love myself and have never been prouder of who I am, and things are better now, not completely, but they’re better, even though I can’t talk openly, even though I still feel insecure, even though I still tense up every time I so much as approach the subject around my parents, things are better.

All this occurred before and during my GCSE exams, when I should have been studying. My results are due at the end of this month, and I’ve accepted that I’m not going to have done very well, and I tell myself that it’s through no fault of my own. Through everything that was happening, I still found time to study. I tried my hardest but when the people closest to you seem to hate you for being you, it’s kind of hard to concentrate and focus on anything other than the constant throbbing ache inside when you know your parents, the people who made you, the people who raised you, the people who always told you they loved you, don’t accept you.

So parents of LGBTQA+ children and teenagers, please please accept your child. If you weren’t prepared for the possibility of your child not being straight and/or cis, then you shouldn’t have had a child. Simple as that. Your child’s sexuality and gender are just as natural as they hair colour and eye colour. Please, please, please love your children, accept them, support them. Everything I went through could have been avoided had my parents done so. And the scary thing is I was lucky. Some people are thrown out, completely disowned, attacked, some people are even killed. I count myself lucky, and that’s sad. It’s sad that I count myself lucky for being unaccepted by my parents, because some people could tell stories that would make you sick about their coming out, that would make your skin crawl, but this is my story, and I’m sharing it in the hope that it will help young LGBTQA+ individuals, but also in the hope that it will help parents. Please love your children. Accept them. Support them. Tell them you love them. Make them feel accepted. Make them feel supported. Because you could lose them. Far too many young people take their own lives because their parents don’t accept them, simply because of who they want to love.

Love is love, and love is the most important thing.

I was so blinded by how in love with you I was that I failed to comprehend how we were a game of cat and mouse; always me chasing you.

You should be pleased to know that I am done now. You can breathe easy again. You can stop and smell the roses without worrying about me always being on your tail.

That’s how it felt a lot of the time, like I was just an inconvenience; a shadow suffocating you with feelings I was never sure you shared.

—  This is me letting you go.
seventeen as sentence starters; part 2
  • Seungcheol: "the rumors are true: i’m soft and i just want to be loved"
  • Jeonghan: "me? a jealous hoe? absolutely"
  • Jisoo: "I used to be a straight A student . Now I'm not even straight."
  • Junhui: "if i’m ever murdered i hope they make the chalk outline of my body hot"
  • Soonyoung: "in alcohol’s defense i’ve done some pretty dumb shit while completely sober too"
  • Wonwoo: "assert your dominance by calling your friends by their student id number"
  • Jihoon: "who needs therapy when you can Realize™ things about yourself alone at 1 am"
  • seokmin: "i wonder what it feels like to know what the fuck is going on"
  • Mingyu: "it’s weird to think that people who are 5 ft are only 5 subways long"
  • Minghao: "am i too judgemental or is everyone annoying: an autobiography by me"
  • Seungkwan: "me? overreacting? shit probably"
  • Hansol: " i would like to publicly announce that i have no idea what i’m doing"
  • Chan: "i’m like a hexagon: all my hecks r gone"
thursday

8:03 (arrive)
8:04 alright already got a solid five minutes in on this day
8:27 wow I already have almost half an hour? nice, that went by really fast
8:51 almost one half of the way to one half of the morning done
9:05 nice okay so ive already got way over an hour now
9:59 the morning is half over and that wasn’t too bad
10:30 I am already 5/8 done with this morning
11:01 okay it is basically lunch time already
11:24 thirty minutes til lunch? no problem
11:44 five minutes til lunch, basically
11:51 I could probably leave now but it would look bad
11:53 time for lunch

1:21 twenty minutes into the afternoon and I barely feel it, this is fine
1:48 wow great one hour down
2:21 time for my fourth bathroom break of the day (I have conditioned myself to have a small bladder just to gradually wear down the day in a plethora of two minute bathroom breaks)
2:50 half of the afternoon done, sweet
3:10 I’m a maniac, look at me go, ¾ of this day is over
3:15 time to stare out the window for two minutes
3:19 okay back to work
3:45 this day is pretty much over
3:47 one hour left
4:12 this is my favorite hour of the day I love this hour
4:16 only thirty minutes left
4:31 I have twenty two minutes left max but I could push it to twenty one
4:44 time to close out of my email
4:46 time for a bathroom break, but this time I’ll take extra long to walk back
4:47 technically isn’t there some state law that requires we get two 15 minute breaks? I never take those. can’t I just leave at 4:30 every day if I don’t take those? how do I find this out
4:51 yeah good enough cya


One Year Later: Moving and Life Issues, and why the game was delayed.

Hey everyone. Today marks the anniversary of moving out on my own to California. And as many of you may notice, I haven’t been all too active since I left, save for the fan game and its trailers. And while the trailer was a big success, something has been haunting me for nearly a year now, and I have to address it if I want to get better and actually update more consistently again.

I had always stated it was just because I was focusing on the game, but its a bit more than that. And, well, I’m in a bad place once again for it. 

Keep reading

Then and Now

hey here’s some @dilfosaur 2demons AU because I love that shit

—–

“Can I ask you kind of a weird favor?”

Hanzo shrugs one shoulder, his gaze kept on the tiny bonfire between himself and McCree. “I suspect that you will ask me regardless of what I say,” he responds. Which is true–something he has learned about McCree in the past six weeks is that McCree is a very forthright person, when the situation allows for it.

McCree does not take offense, though, instead chuckling as he swigs deeply from a steel flask. He offers the flask to Hanzo, and Hanzo takes it gratefully. Alcohol has simply not been the same since his change 10 years ago, but McCree somehow always has a full supply of a whiskey so potent that even demons can enjoy drunkenness. On some nights, that becomes close to a necessity. 

He drinks, and McCree regards him for a moment. Then he asks, “Can you show me what you look like? What you really look like, as a human.”

Keep reading

Bruised Knuckles

This is a lot of smutty smut in honor of @sippingchai‘s birthday! NSFW 18+. Hope you enjoy :-)

           The sheets on his side of the bed were cold, but his scent still lingered, letting me know that he had made it to bed for at least a few hours the night before. I stretched languidly, letting the soft Egyptian cotton stroke my skin, making me shiver. I bit my lip, my nipples pebbling under my top as I pressed my thighs together tightly, trying to relieve the ache that had been plaguing me for three weeks. I’d hoped Shawn would be there when I woke up to quench my insatiable desires, but again I was alone.

           I sighed, lazily getting out of bed and making my way into the bathroom. After putting in my contact lenses and brushing my teeth, I made my way down to the kitchen, craving caffeine. I popped the cup into the Keurig, noticing out of the corner of my eye that the basement door was ajar. Abandoning my mug on the granite countertop, I padded my way down the wooden staircase, hearing the punching bag being hit in the gym. I walked past the home theater and Shawn’s empty studio, standing in the doorway of our gym.

Keep reading

INFJ

SUBMITTED by http://infjingontheroad.tumblr.com

INFJ being: Feeling out of place most of the time. Like, I fit in most situations and everywhere, I am versatile and chameleon-like when need be, but as a result I don’t really fit completely anywhere. I feel the most comfortable when I am in my head. As far as relationships go, I notice that it is incredibly hard to speak to someone on equal grounds, I always need a ‘role of reference’ to know how I should pose myself. I am comfortable as long as I can fit a relationship in a predetermined scheme: mentor-student, mother-son, senior-junior etc. but conversations among equals, like student-student, throw me off.  My introversion has always been very evident: I have always needed my alone time, in which I overindulged because I am weary of the outside world and I do not trust my ability to navigate it.

Over-complicating and over-analyzing things is my second nature and it allows me to draw insightful conclusions and see meaningful paths, but it also makes it incredibly hard to act and be reactive to what is going on around me. There is a profound disconnection between the world outside and the world inside my head. A love-hate relationship exists between them: I crave sensory stimulation and meaningful relationships, but I don’t have the energy, will, or patience to invest in them and I content myself with just musing about it. During conversations, I rarely say a word or express my true feelings, rather I go with whatever everyone seems to agree with because preserving the group’s harmony is more important. When a topic I am passionate about comes up, though, I would gladly keep talking about it for hours and when people jump to the next topic I can feel all of my arguments still pushing to come out. Often, I will refer to a past conversation when speaking because I simply wasn’t done with it, even when most people were.

Ni is described as living in the future, which is definitely true: as I’ve said, I am disconnected from the now and have poor detail-knowledge about my past, but Ni is essentially a controlling function, who looks at the future not just to find meaning in the present but to create a specific course of action. It is goal oriented in everything it does, even though the goal, as well as the single steps, is not always well defined. In everything I do and am, I am a perfectionist, I need to always be in control: I set impossibly high standards for myself that I can never live up to because as soon as I reach my objective, the standards rise up again. Ni focuses on concepts and models and Se is very low in my stack, so it is hard for me to remember all of my accomplishments: when I can’t live up to my expectations, my self-esteem sinks a little more because I can’t recall immediately and factually all those times I succeeded.

Ni-Fe forces me to create an ideal image of myself that I need to project unto others because I want them to accept me and perceive me exactly as I want to be perceived, which makes me really hard to get to know and rarely spontaneous. I can be cold and detached when discussing an issue and close off my Fe long enough to choose a course of action without being hindered by feelings, which is why I often appear cold and harsh. Ti also makes me quirky and cynical: I have a dry sense of humor that people seem to appreciate even though it comes out only with those I am more familiar with. My imagination runs wild 24/7: everything I see or think about immediately triggers a process of consequences and I start tracing steps in the future and imagine its development. It feels so real most of the time that, when I come back to earth, it’s strange to see that none of what I have imagined was actually true.

I am an idealist at heart even though it is extraordinarily hard to express with words what I think or believe in. I strive to make people happy often at my own expenses but rarely realize that I am projecting my own idea of happiness onto them rather than understanding what would truly make them happy. Being a good listener is what I am best at: I am that friend that people come to not much for my counsel but for the empathy and my ability to just sit there and listen, even for hours, just hugging you when needed. Empathy is a big part of my personality: I am an emotional sponge and absorb the feelings of the people around me easily, to the point that I need to make a conscious effort to distinguish them from my own and prevent them from taking hold of me.

As far as Se goes, I enjoy sensory stimulation and rewards: I am an occasional adventurer, given some time to adjust to a new situation I will experiment and enjoy it as much as any Se user, even if for shorter periods of time. Routine bores me and I crave new and meaningful experiences. I practice ballet, I draw, I write, I paint, I am learning the play the piano, I travel, I enjoy watching cartoons and go out for long walks, I sing. Nature is always new and magic and I often find myself gazing out of a window and admiring it with wide eyes. I have camped and spent nights awake to watch the stars or wait for the sun to rise, I crave the excitement of new adventures but I not always have the energy for them: the time must be ‘right’. I do tidy my room, stretch, overeat or fast when I am especially down or need to feel in control again, sometimes I muse about getting drunk and let all of my walls down too, but it rarely happens unless I am truly sleep-deprived.

How others see me: people close to me see me as excessively introverted, cynical, logical, cold, wise, responsible, and occasionally too deep. They believe that I should engage with the world more and that I have a tendency to over-complicate simple things. My being ‘dense’ about the environment and what is happening around me occasionally annoys them. People less close to me see me as sweet and caring, timid, quiet and overly silent, maybe aloof. I have been described as a cinnamon roll but also as cold and insensitive. I believe I come off as an ISXJ to most because I rarely show Ni’s musings and my need to feel in control and calculate possibilities to be sure of their outcome can be perceived just as an attempt not to stray from routine or familiar paths.  

The perception of INFJ: mystical beings, too wise for their years, who know everything about you and everyone else in your life. Occasional manipulators, profound spiritual guides who will cry when they mistakenly kill an ant. Impossible to get to know, would rather spend all their life inside their heads than socializing or being in the real world.

4

black sails rewatch - XXXVII.

It isn’t utility that’s behind his investment in me nor necessity, nor dependency. This much is clear to me now. I have earned his respect. I have earned his trust. I have his true friendship…

Luck of the Cards#1

Keith could have sworn that the universe hated him. Everything he did that week somehow backfired and yeah, it would have been bad if it backfired on him, it would have been worse if it backfired on everyone, but no. It backfired on everyone except him.

It wouldn’t be such a big deal if it were small things, which at first it was. For example, at the beginning of the week he had tripped over his own feet and made Pidge spill a drink as he fell on her. Later that day he accidentally brushed against Shiros galra arm, earning a look of distaste from the man. So yeah, it started as a couple small things. As the week progressed they got worse.

It went from spilling pidges drink to dropping her tablet, making it smash on the ground. It went from brushing against Shiros galra arm to absently making a comment about him getting grey hairs in reference to the white tuft on his head (you’d think that he would be over it quickly but Shiro was still mad about it.), it went from normal, average bickering with Lance to calling him attention-seeking and making him cry. Everything that could go wrong, was going wrong. Keith usually had a good filter, he could usually register what was going to make people mad and act accordingly, but not lately.

And here they were, at the end of the week, his biggest fuck-up yet. He was on his knees, hands cuffed behind his back, most of his team beside him and it was all his fault.

He had led them right into the trap.

He had seen a galra soldier stopping to drink from a river while on patrol, the man had set down his weapons and cupped into the water. Keith rushed in an effort to catch him by surprise but almost instantly he was pushed to the ground and cuffed, his teammates getting the same treatment behind him.

“Way to go mullet.” Lance had hissed through his teeth as one of the soldiers pushed his confinement a little too tightly around his wrist. “And how does the great and mighty kogane suggest we get out of this one?” Keith glared daggers.

“I don’t know, since you’re just the best one here, you figure it out!” Keith gave a sarcastic response. Unfortunately for the red paladin, Galra don’t have a sense for sarcasm and Lance was on his feet in a second, being forced towards the river.

“The best huh?” Growled the armoured man that seemed to be in control. Shiro had been quiet this whole time, examining the situation, trying to figure out what to do.

“Put him down!” Pidge yelled at the leader. “Put him down right now!” At that the leader grabbed tightly around Lances neck, making him choke out a phrase that nobody could understand, but it sounded Spanish. Keith’s eyes widened.

“Please take me instead!” He begged, trying to stand without his hands, only to be pushed back to the ground.

“Why would we trade the best for someone who’s not the best?” The galra soldier had a valid argument, “and judging by your will to sacrifice for him, he’s essential.” Lance shot the soldier a look of pure hatred.

Lance was lifted off the ground slightly, making more choked noises and disgruntled words, his feet kicking as the left the ground. Everybody watched helplessly.

Shiro, the man who usually had a backup plan for his backup plan had nothing. But still, even without a plan, had to do something. “Please!” Hunks voice was begging “please don’t hurt him!”

“Do Humans breathe underwater?” The guard asked, turning to one of his second hands, jokingly looking for an answer, “I guess we’ll find out.”

Keith launched himself towards the man holding Lance, moving too quickly for the soldiers behind him to stop him. He pushed into the mans gut, making him yelp in surprise and stumble backwards, dropping Lance. Keith had been too caught up trying to regain his balance that he hardly noticed the splash from beside him.

The galran had dropped Lance and Lance had fallen in. Lance was a great swimmer, but with no warning to catch his breath and his hands behind his back in a river that was god knows how deep. Even he might not make it out.

There was a collection of cries and yells for Lance from the other Paladins and Keith’s gut dropped. He swallowed a breath of air and swung his hands down behind him, jumping and bringing his knees into his chest. His hands were suddenly in front of him and he ran for his bayard that had been kicked from him, dodging a few attacks from Galran soldiers. He picked it up from a pile of all the Paladins bayards and quickly angled it into his cuffs, activating it and breaking them. There were only a few seconds as he put his bayard into his belt and ran to the river, launching himself in. ‘Of all the things you’ve done this week,’ he thought to himself 'don’t let this add to the list.’ He could see lances flailing legs above the surface a ways down the river and as if fate wanted him to see it, the boys back struck on a rock while his head was still underwater, making his body go limp. Keith could only pray that he had passed out and that it wasn’t something worse. He started swimming with the current, quickly making his way down the river towards his comrade.

Lances head bobbed above the surface and Keith was just close enough to see how pale he looked and how his expression was numb and slacked. The white-water flushed over itself with the current and kept pushing them roughly down the passage. Keith could feel his hip hitting the odd rock but he kept pushing on. He wasn’t the strongest swimmer but right now he needed to be. He gasped in lungfuls of air whenever he had the chance before being pushed under again. He was closed now and could see the drops of water making lances hair stick to his head. The blue paladin rolled in the water, his jet pack and neck being the only visable things above the surface. Keith launched his arm for his friend, missing. “Lance!” He called helplessly, trying again, this time gripping onto the collar of his paladin armour. He saw a rock heading for them and looped his fingers into lances waist-band so he couldn’t easy let go. He struggled to swing his feet in front of him, planting them on the rock and pushing to the shore. His free hand gripped aimlessly at roots that grew out of the banks. His fingers caught one and he shoved himself up, his ribs crashing roughly onto rocks on the bank, he tried to shift himself further onto the shore. “How can someone so small-” he grunted as he hoisted Lance up and pushed him onto the bank “be so god damn heavy!” He pushed Lance up before him, then boosted himself up, collapsing behind the Blue paladin, gasping for air.

In his last efforts he pushed Lance onto his back and tried to shimmy his chest plate off, leaving Lance in just his grey spandex under-armour and his leg protection. Keith moved his hair behind his ear and pressed it to lances chest, searching for a heartbeat that wasn’t there. The red paladin pulled away, his gut twisting with nerves, he raised a hand above his head and balled it into a fist, closing his eyes and swinging it down onto lances chest with as much force as he could muster. Lances body convulsed slightly and Keith went back down to his chest.

Bum-pumb

Bum-pumb

Bum-pumb

'Thank god’ he thought to himself, reaching for lances mouth and letting his hand hover over it to check for breathing. 'Shit’ he tipped lances jaw back slightly, plugging his nose. 'Bonding moment’ was all he could think and he internally slapped himself for it as he leaned in and pressed his mouth to lances, exhaling into the blue Paladins lungs. He pulled away and put one hand over his other, pumping on lances torso. 'Do I even have to do this? Isn’t this to keep his heart going?’ He started panicking 'what if I’m doing this wrong oh my god how many times am I supposed to do this again?’ He could feel himself hyper-ventilating as he leaned in again, plugging lances nose and giving Lance another breath.

Lance lurched and pushed Keith off, turning onto his side and throwing up water. His sides heaving. Keith’s chest was rising and falling in an anxiety filled fluster. He leaned on his knees, wanting to ask if Lance was ok and thanking god that he was moving and breathing.

Lance didn’t drown and Keith had finally done something right that week.

But now they were lost.

And most of team voltron was captured.

…to be continued…

nigenontheintrnet-deactivated20  asked:

Check. Your. Submissions. I've been trying to reach you for a while now because my kitten has had ear infections and they haven't gotten better. I've been trying to reach you because I needed to know whether it was something that could be treated at home or something that is an emergency or not. I've been trying to contact you about him through submissions because I really did not feel safe or comfortable asking out of anon. Well, now I have to.

I’m sorry, but by contacting me anonymously through submissions there was no way to respond to you without posting you submission publicly. I haven’t done that because I am not a vet and do not give that level of medical advice - if you think your pet has a health issue and you don’t know what to do, you need to be consulting a medical professional rather than expecting a blogger without a medical degree who cannot see your pet to provide you a solution.

I am posting this publicly because It seems like an appropriate time to reiterate that when people message me looking for medical advice the only answer I will give is ‘see a vet’. I am happy to discuss potential behavioral aspects after the animal has been cleared by a vet, and will sometimes note pre-vet if a worrying behavior is something not commonly thought to be injurious, but that’s really it. If I publicly posted every submission or ask that looked for information outside my scope just to say ‘I can’t tell you talk to a vet’ this blog would be swamped, as I have close to seven thousand messages in my inbox.

I understand you’re upset I didn’t respond to your specific post, but I’ve made clear over the type of advice I give here, and it is not appropriate to frame me as responsible for your choices about whether to get your pet medical care. Please get your pet the medical attention that it needs.

(And readers, please be considerate in your responses. My feedback is already fairly firm and I don’t support harassment of folk who interact with the blog even if I really don’t like their choices).

magatronix  asked:

Oikawa in 8?

this boy has SUCH A TERRIBLE PERSONALITY and yet

*Plot Twist* Renee is the one interviewing her husband and his boyfriend. :3c

Based off of the “Special Feeling” meme and @theawkwardfangirlwithavengeance‘s funny response to an ask. :p

That special feeling goes straight down Seth’s throat.

How much I love you

You are my sunshine


Sans had always wanted to see the sun.

He’d imagined it since ever he could remember. When he was young, he used to dream about breaking onto the surface on the crack of dawn. He’d see the ball of fire suspended in the sky as it warmed up his cold, cold bones, casting its golden rays down upon his skeletal frame. He’d alway wanted to see the sunlight.

He’d only heard tales about it, and seen little glimpses of the supposed light in books he’d read like a man half starved.

It was always so dark in the Underground. It was dark, and cold, and no one seemed to notice. There was no sun to light up the streets of snowdin, or to create life for the plants that grew there. There was just snow- so, so much snow, snow that soaked his sneakers and kept him buried in his stupid jacket at all hours as the ceilings of the cavern casted a heavy, almost palpable weight upon the flickering lights of the town. It never melted. It never rained. It never did anything. It was just there, cold and glossy as it crunched under his feet.

Years had passed, and Sans’s aspirations began to crumble. What was the point in HOPE, when it meant nothing anyways? He’d hardened into a scowling, hot headed skeleton who couldn’t muster up enough passion in him to care about anything, really, aside from maybe booze and cigars. Trying to be nice- trying to be good- had brought him exactly jack shit, so he’d decided to just ditch the notion altogether.

He didn’t really like the light, anymore.

No, he didn’t like the light. It burned at his sockets and crawled at his bones as he slipped further into the darkness of his room, trying to hide from the creeping rays of the morning as he hid underneath the curtains of darkness of his sarcasm and harsh language.

And over time, he’d forgotten what the light even was.

That is, until he met you.


My only sunshine


You were a problem.

He’d known it from the start, the first time he’d watched you stumble out of the ruins with a tattered sweater and an expression more determined than anything he’d ever seen in his life.

You were light, and he’d been in the dark for so, so long.

Honestly, the light was kind of obnoxious.

Not only did it hurt his eyes, but it illuminated all the things Sans had done such a good job of keeping hidden in the dark. It shoved them back under his nose, filling him with the knowledge of just how filthy and disgusting he was. It hurt. It hurt more than he could say, and the only way to hide the hurt would be to get rid of the light.

He’d contemplated doing it. He’d thought about cutting you off once and for all, but then you’d smile at him, and he’d just-

He couldn’t do it.

He couldn’t imagine not seeing your smile every day. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to live without your presence, soft and warm and so bright against the darkness coiling in his ribs.

He couldn’t help but wonder, however, why the hell your smiles were directed towards him. Someone so good couldn’t possibly love something so disgusting, so filthy, so pathetic as he was, right? It didn’t make sense. He didn’t deserve your smiles. He didn’t deserve your laugh, or your words, or any of you at all.

He hated you, for that.

He hated how you made him feel.

He hated your stupid smile, and how it made his day.

He hated your kindness, and how you always forgave him (even when he didn’t deserve it).

He hated everything about you.

But he hated himself the most.


You keep me happy

When skies are grey


You were light.

You were the light that kept him away from the darkness, and it was ruining you. He was ruining you. He knew it. Every time he yelled at you, every time he called you an idiot, every time he hurt you-

You were getting just a little dimmer.

He really was a sick fuck, wasn’t he?

He was just disgusting. He was everything that was wrong in the world, and he would ruin everything he touched. He felt filthy, and no amount of scrubbing could ever hope to wash away the dirt in his bones. He was drowning in his own head, falling and falling and falling and he was pulling you down with him.

The liquor helped.

It numbed his thoughts and his loathing, making them just as fuzzy as his clouded morals as his problems- his darkness- faded into the haze. They were still there, of course, but they were forgotten in the moment. They were hidden.

So was his self control.

He’d been trying to keep himself in check for months, when it came to you.

You hadn’t made it easy, of course. Not when you smirked at him like that with a stupidly smug grin he was practically dying to run his teeth over. Certainly not when you’d worn those stupid thigh-high socks and that short, short skirt. Not when you flirted with him or laughed at his stupid puns, or when you leaned in just a little too close when you were drunk. Not when you’d fallen asleep in his bed, all sprawled out over his sheets and looking so fucking delicious he could barely stand it.

He wondered if you knew what you were doing to him. Probably not, because if you knew that he’d been trying to keep himself from shoving you up against the wall and fucking you still you couldn’t even function properly-?

Well, you’d be horrified.

Wouldn’t you be?

You should be. You were a human. You were perfect. You were the only thing in the world that mattered, and why the hell would you ever even look at trash like him?

He’d told himself to stay out of your bed. Damn it, he was going to hurt you. He was going to ruin you, and he needed to keep himself away.

For once in your damn life, why can’t you do the right thing?

It wasn’t for lack of effort, he knew that much. He’d tried so very, very hard, and he had never been one to try to anything. He’d try for you, though.

Then he’d gotten drunk, and it had all just-

Well.

It’d all gone to shit, hadn’t it?

He felt ill, afterwards. Not in the moment. No, in the moment he’d felt so right. It was months and months and months of pressure finally being released, and you were just so soft. The world hadn’t felt quite so bleak when he’d been pressed up against you, but then again, you had the skill to make anything seem okay.

And yet, when he was staring at the multitude of bruises and bite marks littering your form next to him in the hazy hours of the morning, he felt nothing but wrongness.

He’d hurt you.

He’d indulged, because he couldn’t even control himself for once in his fucking life you disgusting monster way to fucking go sick abomination look what you’ve done are you fucking proud of yourself are you happy-?

You asked him what was wrong.

He shook his head.

Nothing, he smiled.

At least, that was the plan. Instead he started sobbing.

You held him for a while, after that. You whispered meaningless assurances in his ears. You told him he was not disgusting. You told him you cared about him. You told him he was wonderful, and that you wouldn’t give him up for the world. You held him tighter and tighter, and he felt himself start to crumble.

He didn’t believe you, of course, but it made his heart hurt a little less.


You’ll never know, dear

How much I love you


Sans loves you.

It’s not debatable.

It’s a fact, plain and simple. He loves you, and that’s the end of it.

He wasn’t quite sure when he’d started to love you. It certainly hadn’t been an overnight development, that much was for sure. He hadn’t woken up one day and decided hey, I’d cut off my own arm for you. He hadn’t been struck with the sudden urge to make sure you were okay at all hours of the day in the middle of a drinking competition one night. You hadn’t become the only reason he even got up in the morning at an exact moment. You’d sort of just…

Snuck in.

He supposed that’s how the light usually infiltrated the darkness. It found its way through the cracks and narrow splits of the walls,  slowly brightening the room with infectious sunlight.

But nonetheless.

He loves you.

Of course, he won’t ever admit it to himself. He certainly won’t tell you, either, because he doesn’t know what he’ll do if you say you love him back.

He doesn’t deserve your love. He knows that.  He’s darkness. He’s a mistake. He’s nothing but a fuck up who ruins everything he touches, and you’d be stupid to ever care about something like that.

He doesn’t want you to love him.

Which is probably why it hurts so much when you do.

You’re a liar. You have to be, because you’ve seen him at his worst. You’ve felt his wrath and bore the weight of his darkness, and no one could possibly love that. So you’re lying. He hopes you are, because he doesn’t think he can deal with you loving him.

He doesn’t deserve you. Can’t you see that? Or are you just an idiot?

You’re an idiot, he concludes. A perfect idiot.

I love you, you mumble softly.

He doesn’t say it back.

You’re his sunshine.

You’re the kiss at the end of a long day.

You’re the laughter at a stupid joke at Grillbys.

You’re the warmth of the fire in a snowstorm.

You’re the hug after a drunken breakdown in the bathroom.

You’re the whisper that everything is okay.

You’re the human who forgives him when he doesn’t deserve it.

You’re his.

You’re the one who loves him.

You’re the one he loves.

You’re the one he hurts.

You’re the one he hates.

You’re the one who goes looking for him after he storms off in the middle of the night.

You’re the one who he finds in the car smashed up on the side of the road.

You’re the one bleeding out on the floor.

You are the light.

You are dead.



Sans never liked the dark.



Please don’t take my sunshine away




The angst monster has returned, my friends.

anonymous asked:

Re: Mycroft saying please. When powerful men beg it is hotter than the sun.

There’s a lot of reasons I fell for Mystrade. 

I like how their differences match up as tight as jigsaw pieces. Openhearted bravery, and emotionless logic; a man who clearly once owned a motorbike, and a man who takes time each morning to match his pocket handkerchief to his suit. Mycroft delegates; Greg rolls his sleeves up. 

Mycroft is, in a word, difficult. Greg is easy. 

I like the emotional quality of the things they share - a certain weariness, a touch of impatience, a force of will. 

And I really like that when you put them together, it’s not at all obvious who’s coming out on top.

In every sense of the phrase.

These two are decisive, intelligent, successful men - committed professionals, used to being listened to, used to a certain level of respect.

I fucking love that.

It reminds me of the whole reason I fell so hard for slash fiction. 

A romance between two heroes? Yes please. I don’t want to read about one heroic bell-end and a suitably accommodating love interest, who’s only there to reflect back at him how heroic he is. I want to read about two people, who both deserve my adoration as a reader, and the things that they do together. 

I like reading about characters who have weaknesses and cracks and flaws, but are strong enough to do something about it - and strong enough to look out for someone else on the way.

I love reading stuff where two men manage to fall in love while remaining as the men they were. Slash couples shouldn’t be crammed into some creepy “I’ll be The Man, you be The Woman” parody of that heterosexual fairytale we’re all so forcefully told is the only possible True Love.

It’s not. 

And Mystrade is so awesome for illustrating that. 

Isn’t it fascinating that Established Relationship stories are so easy and plentiful in our pairing? Because we all know it works so well. 

All those “I had a terrible day at the office” stories work because that’s the kind of thing two real, rounded people do in an actual relationship. 

Here’s the thing. 

Mycroft and Greg, as characters, both contain a huge amount of strength and weakness. Mycroft in particular runs the full gamut from “I am the power of the British nation” to “oh shit, I absolutely cannot cope”. 

And yeah… I like it when he begs.

Because that’s the utter joy of most slash pairings. Two decisive, intelligent, successful people who can occupy the entirety of the emotional scale in their own right - from way up on high, “I’ve got this, we’re going to be okay,” all the way down to, “I need you to help me, I am not okay”. They can occupy that scale around each other, transform each other, drag each other up from the dirt - kicking and screaming if necessary. But there’s movement. There’s dynamism.

And that’s really sexy.

And it means more to us as readers. 

That’s all of our lives, right? One day you’re leading the front line attack. The next you’re curled in a ball somewhere. We’ve all done it. And we’ve all known what it feels like when someone reaches down for you and says, “I’m strong today - because yesterday, you dragged me up here. Now you’re down there. So get a hold of my hand.”

I like when powerful men beg because there’s not actually any such thing as a powerful man.

Society has tried convincing us of it for years, and it’s not true. We’re constantly fed these Hollywood blockbusters and TV shows and cultural myths about supposedly Powerful Men who blow up the helicopter, get the girl and save the day.

It’s unrealistic. It’s boring. 

It doesn’t mean anything to us. 

I’d much rather have the story about two blokes who try their hardest, feel like shit sometimes but don’t give in, get hold of each other, and together become more than the sum of their parts.

Who wouldn’t rather have that?

So yes, he’s The British Government - and yes, he can have people dragged off into limousines - and sure, he could probably have the whole world moved an inch to the left if he wanted…

But now and then, he needs somebody to say, “I know you’re not alright. Just show me that you’re weak, and I’ll give you my strength.”

That gives me shivers.

That’s why I like it when Mycroft says ‘please’.