i am well aware of the irony

Hey, so I lost a few followers recently because of the Reylo Discourse™. And that’s fine, I’m not on Tumblr to win a competition or be besties with everyone.

But. I feel the need to assert something: we are not a monolith guys. Some of us have different ideas and interpretations of SW and Reylo. Some of us will disagree, and that’s ok. If you’re upset simply because another Reylo thinks Kylo and Rey are kinky, and that Reylo over there thinks they’re virgins - like, if that genuinely upsets you, maybe take a break for awhile and get a fresh breath of reality air?

I’m not trying to be bitchy, so stay with me for a sec.

All I’m saying is, like any part of a fandom, we have different ideas. We don’t have to agree on those ideas - especially if they have nothing to do with what’s canon or not. Can we not just have some fun, silly conversations sometimes without it devolving into a pissing contest about what is or isn’t “canon” or problematic or what the fuck ever?

Like, I get it, SW is important to all of us. We wouldn’t be on tumblr if it weren’t. But let’s remember it’s fiction, and it’s a story meant to be enjoyed - don’t take it quite so seriously, at the end of the day.

Reylos get enough shit as it is, and it’s perfectly fine to disagree or even call people out (nicely). But let’s allow each other to just chat and have fun and share each other’s posts without it devolving into another Tumblr Shitshow Discourse Extravaganza. It’s ok to have fun and not be so serious ALL THE TIME.

And this ends my discourse post on why we need less discourse. I am well aware of the irony, yes.

EDIT: And this goes for ANY conversation or opinion, not just the recent one I explicitly talk about here. I’ve had a few encounters recently where just having an opinion - even **explicitly** stating, “this is just my view, no intended shade” - got people upset with/unfollowing me? Like, come on. We don’t have to block each other over a single disagreement. We don’t have to be rude and call names over something as silly as opinions on light sabers, or whatever the fuck.

I do sometimes engage in discourse, but I mostly just wanna have fun. Let’s not make the “having fun” part so hard, right?

Moffat - A Feminist Writer

(Or Why I Find It Hard To Deal With Moffat Hate)

People are usually quick to criticise Moffat for his female characters: Too bossy, too insecure, too weak, too bad-ass, how dare she have a sex drive, etc., etc. And frankly, for a fandom that is so quick to use words like “sexism” and “misogyny”, I find it pretty rich to dissect and criticise every single female character that comes their way. 

In the past I would have brushed this off as a mere difference of opinion. But the more think about it, the more I start to question the motifs of said criticism. Because Moffat is actually doing an incredible job at female representation and he should get all the praise we can give him. 

(In case of broken read-more link, click here)

Keep reading

Baby steps

London is starting to wake up and the sky is just between night and day when John and Sherlock finally, FINALLY return home. It’s a good thing I am no longer able to bite my nails, because they would have been bitten down to the quick by now. The past hours of waiting have been torture, so seeing them both back here in one piece gives me more joy than I can put into words.

They look exhausted and John has got a cut on his forehead, but apart from that they appear to be fine. I hope Sarah is okay, as well. She isn’t with them, not that I can blame her. After facing off against Chinese assassins and being abducted all in one night, I’d want to go home and rest up, too.

The living room is painted in warm colours from the first rays of sunlight, bathing John‘s silhouette in a soft glow as he walks over towards the windows. He is quiet while his eyes trace the yellow symbols on the glass. Sherlock is still lingering in the doorway, watching his every move, as if he was scared John would vanish the second he didn’t have him within his sight.

S: Dead Man.

The soft words cause John to glance over his shoulder at him. Sherlock quickly averts his eyes, pretending he has been staring at the graffiti the entire time.

J: What?

S: That’s what it says. Dead Man.

J: Oh.

John turns around again to inspect the scribbles once more.

J: That’s going to be a pain to get rid off.

He sighs and drags a hand over his face. When his fingers graze the wound on his forehead he flinches back. He lowers his hand and regards the red stains of blood on his fingers in surprise, as if he had forgotten all about it.

Sherlock seems to snap back to the present at that. He focuses on John’s injury with an unreadable expression on his face, lips pressed into a thin line.

S: It can wait.

In three long strides he is across the room and crowding in next to him to take a closer look at the cut. John startles a little when careful fingers push back a few wisps of his hair that have gotten caught in the slowly drying blood, but holds still nonetheless.

S: First we need to get this cleaned. Where is your medical kit?

J: Upstairs, on the chair by the door. But you don’t have to…

His voice trails off, because his flatmate is already halfway up the stairs. With a shake of his head he shrugs out of his jacket and takes a seat on one of the kitchen chairs. He has barely had time to make space on the table when Sherlock returns with the bag.

It’s a strange mirror of the last instance they had to use the medical kit, except this time their places are reversed, with John sitting here quietly, watching Sherlock spread out the medical supplies to see to his wound.

J: You know what you are doing?

It’s said in a teasing tone, causing Sherlock’s lips to twitch at the corners, aware of the irony of the situation.

S: I might not be a doctor, John, but I am well-versed in first aid. So yes. I know what I am doing.

A small chuckle escapes from John, who holds up his hands in a placating manner before they lapse back into silence. Sherlock doesn’t have to search long to find the package of disinfectant wipes. After cleaning his hands with them, he pulls out a fresh one and steps in front of John. Then he hesitates.

S: Could you…

He twirls one finger in a circle, indicating for him to turn around in his seat, so he doesn’t have to lean over him to be able to reach the wound.

J: Oh, yes, sorry.

Comes the mumbled reply, quickly followed by another self-deprecating chuckle.

J: I’m not used to being on this side of things.

Sherlock leans in closer to get a better look. Wordlessly, he reaches out with one hand and delicately starts to dab away the crusted blood, while he uses his other hand to keep John’s hair from falling back down over the cut. As soon as he notices the discomfort on John’s scrunched up face, his previously sure fingers falter.

S: Sorry.

J: It’s okay. Can’t be helped.

With one hand still holding up John’s hair, Sherlock discards the now dirty wipe and pulls out a fresh one. He is about to resume his task, when John’s phone beeps.

Careful not to move his head, John fishes it out of his pocket and holds it up to read the new text message. He sighs and types out a quick reply. Sherlock remains quiet during this short exchange, fingers playing with the piece of cotton in his hand, while he waits patiently until John puts the device away.

S: Sarah?

J: Yeah. I told her to text me when she got home. She just got in. Said she is going to stay at a friend’s place for the day to rest up.

Sherlock nods and finishes cleaning the cut, but his posture has tensed up. Since he can’t afford to let go of John’s strands of hair without risking having to start all over again, he is left with only one hand to open the box of butterfly plasters. He is on his third try when John takes pity on him and snatches it out of his fingers. Swiftly, he pulls open the lid and waves one of the bandage strips in Sherlock’s direction.

J: You don’t care for her all that much, do you?

S: Who, Sarah? Whatever gave you that impression?

His voice is nonchalant as he secures the first plaster over the damaged skin and takes the second one John is already holding out for him.

J: Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the way you’ve been either ignoring or needling her all evening long?

S: I did nothing of the sort.

Sherlock grumbles as he slides the bandage into place. He waggles his fingers at John for one more strip, but refuses to meet his miffed expression. John huffs out an exasperated breath and shoves the plaster into Sherlock’s hand.

J: Please. With all your pestering, you had her thinking you were jealous.

John’s words were infused with good-natured bafflement, but Sherlock freezes nonetheless. His grip goes slack and the bandage slips from his fingers. It is saved from falling to the ground by John’s quick reflexes, who is visibly surprised by the sudden fumble. Before he has time to speak up, though, Sherlock has already snatched it up again and is securing it over the last exposed bit of the cut.

John is blinking up at him, brow furrowed in question as he waits for an explanation. He is all patched up now, so Sherlock should step back out of his personal space and let go of his forehead, but his hands and legs seem to be refusing to cooperate. Instead, he lingers a beat longer, fingers gliding one more time over the edges of the bandages, as if to make sure they will hold in place. A regretful frown ghosts over his face.

S: I like her just fine. She can hold her own and she is very…perceptive.

The last word is no louder than the drop of a pin and probably wasn’t even meant to be said out loud, but with Sherlock standing so close, John hears it anyway. Then the deeper meaning of the unexpected compliment begins to sink in. His eyes grow wide, mouth falling open with no sound coming out.

Too late, Sherlock realises his mistake and startles back. John’s hair slips from his fingers and he is about to draw away, but John is quicker and grabs his wrist before he has time to retreat more than a step.

J: What?

He sounds breathless and a little surprised by his own actions. Over the past weeks he has been so careful not to initiate any contact between them, apart from a friendly pat on the back every once in a while.

One word. One tiny word was all it took to shatter his resolve. His eyes are roaming over Sherlock’s now closed off face, trying to pierce through his mask.

Sherlock is refusing to meet his searching gaze. The muscles in his arm have tensed up, yet he doesn’t put up any real resistance against John’s grip, just stands there, stuck.

J: What did you just say?

Sherlock’s throat seems to be clenching up in trepidation, because his voice is gravely and clipped when he answers.

S: Let go of me.

J: No.

S: I said let go of me.

J: And I said no. Not, unless you answer my question.

In one last display of defiance, Sherlock gives a half-hearted tug and John, true to his word, doesn’t let go, just softens his hold. He has gotten up from his chair by now, standing there with nowhere to go like a man at the end of his rope.

J: Sherlock… Please.

At the whispered words, Sherlock’s shoulders slump in defeat. Slowly, he turns, finally daring to look up and meet John’s pleading gaze.

S: It’s not that I don’t like her. I just…

He closes his eyes and licks his lips, struggling to put his thoughts into words. The fingers holding him in place loosen even further and slide down his arm to grasp his hand. His throat bobs while he hesitates, then he unclenches his fist and allows their fingers to intertwine.

S: I don’t like seeing her with you.

John huffs out a staggered breath, face open with hopefulness and fearful disbelieve. He mirrors Sherlock’s earlier gesture by softly tugging on his hand, only this time it’s not to create distance between them, but to pull him closer.

Sherlock is caught off guard and stumbles forward, hand landing on John’s shoulder to keep his balance. He pulls it back, as if burned, apology ready on his lips.

J: Hey, it’s fine. It’s all fine, okay?

There is a new warmth and fondness in John’s voice, which I’ve never heard him use before. Sherlock blinks at him in surprise, nods and can’t seem to look away.

They stare at each other, neither of them sure how to proceed. Unexpectedly, Sherlock is the first one to move. He inches closer, emboldened by the reassurance, and lets go of John’s hand to raise his arms towards him. John is holding his breath, body motionless, while two hands curl around his shoulders as Sherlock envelopes him in a tentative embrace.

After a few seconds John dares to reciprocate. Making sure to telegraph his every move, he wraps his arms around Sherlock’s waist. He is met with no resistance, so he gradually brings them closer together, until there is no space left between them. Sherlock tenses up slightly, but when John’s warmth begins to seep into him, he lets out a long breath and settles further into the hug. 

S: I don’t know how to do this. I want to, but it’s just so…

He breaks off with an annoyed grunt. John huffs out a laugh and presses a tiny peck to his shoulder.

J: Don’t worry about it. We’ll figure it out.

After that, no words are spoken. Their calm breaths and the muffled noises of London’s waking up streets are the only sounds in the room as they relax into each other.

Baby steps.

anonymous asked:

nurseydex for "You look really tired” dex works in between practices and fits in studying in between that and sleeping doesn't really fit into the equation especially with exams coming up and nursey is like watching him slowly declining until he says sleep with me it helps my anxiety bc even chill nursey gets serious exam anxiety and that's the only way this self sacrificing motherfucker would actually lay down and take care of himself is if he thought he was taking care of someone else

The problem with being moved into the attic together is that now Nursey has a front row seat to the sinking ship that is William Poindexter during exam season.

It’s bad enough that Dex stresses the shit out of himself over his grades. Nursey gets the importance of these exams, especially considering Dex has a GPA to maintain in order to keep his scholarship. But add on top of that the fact that they’re in the middle of the hockey season, they’re waking up at 5 every morning for pre-class practices, Dex is working a few hours every day at the campus bookstore after his classes are over, then they have another practice before coming back to the Haus, and he spends another couple hours a day studying.

On average, Nursey would guess that Dex has only averaged about three or four hours of sleep a night the past two weeks.

Dex has permanent dark circles under his eyes. He’s constantly getting lost in the Haus and in Faber despite them being two of the places Dex knows the most. His clothes are constantly disheveled. He’s been struggling to keep up in practices. He’s completely anti-social with the team. The amount of stress he’s under is unhealthy, and quite honestly starting to worry Nursey quite a bit.

Nursey got so concerned that he looked up “long term health risks of sleep deprivation” and…it’s scary. Really scary.

Nursey knows he has to do something.

But going right at Dex to try to solve the problem could end up being a disaster. (Who is Nursey kidding? It would be a disaster.) So instead, he has to think of a way to skirt around the issue while still fixing the problem.

Ironically, he ends up spending the entire night staring at the ceiling wondering how to get Dex to relax enough to get a good night’s sleep. He knows he looks like shit the next morning at practice, but he also knows he looks nothing like Dex does.

Fortunately, Coach agrees with his plan easily (mostly because it’s so obvious that Dex is struggling) and Nursey is able to put it into action as soon as possible.

The first thing Nursey does is skip his afternoon nap. It’s a struggle, but he needs to be able to pull this plan off. The next thing he does after their evening practice is sneak Dex’s phone away while he’s in the shower and turn off his alarm for morning skate.

He lets Dex do his normal thing until it’s just about bed time and then taps into his exhaustion and slips onto Dex’s lap at his desk.

“You look really tired,” Dex says. Nursey has to hold back a snort at the irony.

“I am. I’ve, uh—been having a hard time lately,” Nursey responds. “Exams, and everything. Ya know?”

He knows Dex gets what he’s saying because Dex’s full attention immediately shifts from his textbook to Nursey. The two of them don’t really talk about Nursey’s anxiety too much, but they have before and Dex is well aware of how severe it can get.

Implying that he’s struggling with his anxiety right now isn’t a total lie, but he’s definitely stretching the truth a bit. It would be worth it, though, if he’s able to pull this plan off.

“Is there anything I can do?” Dex asks.

He’s nibbling at Nursey’s bait.

“I don’t wanna bother you, babe,” Nursey says, trying to seem as self-deprecating as possible.

“Hey, no,” Dex says, threading a hand through Nursey’s hair. “What can I do?”

He’s on Nursey’s hook.

“Well, actually…” Nursey bites at his lip. “It might really help if I have someone holding me while I sleep.”

Dex considers the textbook still open on his desk, and Nursey knows he has to reel him in just a little bit more.

“It just helps to have someone there, you know? To know someone is supporting me no matter what. It’ll help me maybe relax enough to sleep.”

Dex reaches over and shuts the textbook. Bingo.

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s go to bed.”

Nursey has to hide his triumphant smile as they strip down to their boxers and climb into his bed. He tucks his head into Dex’s shoulder and lets Dex run his hand though his hair. It’s soothing, and Nursey finds himself pressing kisses to Dex’s skin.

“I can feel your stress radiating off of you,” Nursey admits.

“Don’t worry about it,” Dex says.

“I can’t relax if you’re stressed out. It’s making me freak out,” he says bluntly.

He feels Dex tense under him and worries that maybe he pushed a bit too far. But then Dex’s whole body relaxes and Dex lets out a huge sigh.

“I’m sorry,” Dex says. “I’ll try to relax.”

Nursey nods and lets his thumb rub circles into Dex’s hip soothingly. He can practically feel the stress bleeding out of Dex’s body under his touch, and soon they’re both falling asleep.

The next thing Nursey knows, Dex is jumping out of bed with a shout. The morning sun is peaking in through the window and Nursey is feeling more well-rested than he has in a long time.

“Nursey, babe. Wake up! We overslept. It’s almost seven! We’re missing practice. Shit shit shit, we’re gonna be in so much trouble,” Dex is saying.

Nursey reaches out and grabs Dex’s wrist, stilling him.

“It’s okay,” he says. “Get back in bed.”

“What? No—” Dex protests.

“William!” Nursey cuts him off. He sighs and sits up before looking Dex in the eye. “I talked to Coach yesterday. We’re both over-tired, stretching ourselves too thin and stressed out about exams. He gave us the morning practice off today without hesitation. So get your ass back in bed and snuggle with me. We have three more hours until we have to get up for classes.”

Dex’s knees give out and he drops onto the bed. He lets Nursey rearrange him so they’re curled up together again, under the covers. Neither of them say anything until Nursey feels Dex hiccup.

“Babe?” he asks. “You okay?”

“I feel guilty but I’m so relieved right now,” Dex says. “I’m—I’m so tired, Nursey.”

“I know, Dexey,” Nursey coos. “I know.”

Dex sniffles and Nursey wraps his arms around him, tugging him into his chest.

“Relax, baby,” Nursey says, rubbing his back. “I’ve got you.”

Neither of them fall back to sleep for the three hours. Nursey drifts, but he’s too concerned with holding Dex and cuddling to actually sleep. He doesn’t mind, though.

By the time Nursey’s alarm goes off to get them up for classes, there’s a visible difference in Dex’s demeanor. The bags under his eyes are drastically better, and he’s got a small smile that Nursey thinks he hasn’t seen in quite a long time. He doesn’t look completely healthy again, but he looks much better, and that’s a good start.

“Hey, Nursey?” he says as they’re pulling on their jackets by the front door. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Nursey answers, leaning over to peck Dex’s lips. “Same time tonight?”

“Yeah,” Dex says with a laugh. “Same time tonight.”


AN: Yay, I am absolutely pumped about this series! Andddddd, it’s my first time really writing Loki (for more than a few lines), so I hope I do it right! And don’t you worry– I’m still writing requests, it’s just sometimes I need to write things that I make up on my own, you know? *I do not own the gifs, found on google. Please ignore any spelling errors! Xoxoxoxoxoxo :3

Part One ( XXX )

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of death and violence, hitting/punching.

((This is where you begin to see the makings of the “Civil War” that the title implies, so things will begin to come together. If you wish to see more of this series or have any  predictions/ comments, PLEASE send them my way! I would love to hear them!))

Warning: Swearing, violence, some death threats.


“Civil War of the Gods” (Part Two / ???)

“Tony, don’t shoot!”

Keep reading

Close As Strangers Part 1

Rating: Heartbreak Girl (sad) 



My heart dropped into my shoes as I took a deep breath. 

The pregnancy test shook in my trembling hand. 

I used the other to grip the edge of the bathroom counter to help keep me on my feet. 

I stared at the little positive sign, hoping for the vertical bar to disappear

This can’t be happening. 

Was the only line being repeated in my head. 

I’m on the pill, been on it for a year already, and all of a sudden this? 


This has to be a mistake, I can’t be pregnant.

I needed a professional test, and fast.

I called my ob gyn and scheduled and appointment for the next day. 

I put the phone down and sat on the toilet, holding the little wand and staring at the small screen once more. 

My head shot up and a waive of anxiety swept over my body when I heard the front door open. 

Should I tell him ? 

No, absolutely not. 

Not until I’m 100% sure about this.

No need to stress both of us out, 

I sighed and collected myself before throwing the test away and heading out to face him. 

He called out my name as he made his way to the living room. 

“Right here” I forced a smile as I walked down the stairs. 

“There you are” he smiled as he kissed my cheek. 

“Everything alright babe?” he asked with a concerned look as he wrapped his arm around my waist. 

 It’s just that I may or may not be pregnant. Surprise! 

“Yeah, yeah. Just a little headache” I lied while smiling and kissing his cheek for reassurance. 

“How was your day?” I asked, changing the subject. 

“Oh great! The guys and I finished another song for the album and we-" 

"Are you sure you’re alright?” he shook my arm and taking me out of my thoughts. 

“Huh?” I asked sinking back into the conversation. 

“Maybe you should take some medicine and get some rest?” he suggested while coming over to me.

“Yeah that sounds good” I said looking at the clock that read 8:52 p.m.

“I’ll be up in awhile” he smiled and awaited a kiss. 

“Okay” I murmured before kissing him softly. 

I made it to the bedroom and  looked for the Tylenol bottle.

You’re pregnant, you shouldn’t be taking medicine. 

I sighed and headed for the bed, hoping to knock out and wake up from this bad dream. 

“Anything planned for the day?” Ash asked putting his dishes in the sink after breakfast. 

“Just a doctors appointment” I said getting up 

“Doctor appointment? Why? Something wrong?” He asked with an uneasy tone.

“Just a checkup” I lied with a smile, “Now get to the studio before those boys hurt you” I teased. 

He laughed and headed towards the door, I followed to lock it on his way out. 

“Oh and ask about that headache” he suggested as he opened the door. 

“Will do” I smiled before kissing him goodbye. 

“Love you” he said before kissing my forehead. 

Not for long.

“I love you too” I said before shutting the door and pressing my back to it. 

My stomach growled in hunger.

If there’s anything in there you should feed it. 

I ate something quickly before heading to my appointment. 

“Congratulations! You’re definitely pregnant” she spoke in a chipper tone. 

“What?” I asked in disbelief. 

“Yes, about 2 months. Did you have any missed periods?” she asked

“Well yes but I used to miss them a lot due to stress. I just thought it was that mixed with the pills” I explained. 

“Birth control ? We don’t have any contraceptives prescribed to you?" 

"I went to Planned Parenthood” I said thinking about the irony, “I’ve been taking them everyday-" 

‘They’re highly effective but not always 100%. There’s always the possibility” 

"You’re aware of the other options right?" 


"Well if you weren’t planning on this and don’t want the baby, there are-”

“Don’t you dare say I don’t want this baby. Maybe I wasn’t planning on this happening right now, but don’t try to talk me out of this." 

"I’m sorry I just thought since you were on the pill that you weren’t thinking about keeping it" 

"Of course I am" 

"Have you told the father yet?” she asked. 


“No. I haven’t" 

"I think that’d be your next step before anything else” she suggested. 

“You’re right. Uhm thank you” I said getting up and walking towards the door. 

“I want to see you in 2 weeks!”  She called as I walked out. 

I practically ran out to my car and settled in the drivers seat. 

I let my head fall to rest on the steering wheel and let out a deep sigh. 

My phone startled me when it started to ring, 

Ashton’s name flashed across the screen, 

Hi baby, I just got out of the doctor and guess what I’m pregnant! 

I turned off my phone and threw it in the passenger seat. 

I just needed to think about everything before  I went to him. 

But I couldn’t go home because he’d be there, 

so I drove. 

I drove for hours, stopping to get gas twice. 

Until finally I drove home. 

The dashboard said 9 p.m. as I climbed out and headed towards the door. 

I walked inside and saw Ashton sitting on the couch with his head in his hands.

His head snapped as soon as I closed the door. 

“You don’t know how to answer your phone or what?” he snapped getting out of his seat. 

“Uhh sorry it was off” I replied. 

“I’ve been calling and texting you for hours" 

"Why? What’s wrong?” I asked suddenly getting worried. 

“What’s wrong? What’s wrong? What’s this?” He asked holding up the pregnancy stick.

“Why do you have that?” I asked. 

“I don’t know maybe I called my girlfriend to ask how her appointment went. And when you didn’t answer the first 3 calls I came home and found this! Why wouldn’t you tell me?!” He yelled, anger apparent in his voice. 

“I went to the doctor to confirm it Ashton!” I said. 

“And?” he questioned

“And it’s true. I am”, I gulped,

“I am pregnant” I said for the first time aloud. 

He sucked in a breath and let out a sigh. 

“Say something please” I said shakily after moments of silence. 

“Say someth- What do you want me to say?” He asked finally speaking. 

“Well what you’re thinking would be nice" 

"I don’t know what to think" 

"Well maybe about what we’re gonna do-" 

"What we’re gonna do? We’re not doing anything" 


"We’re not having a child! I’m not ready, you’re not ready! I just turned 20! You’re 19! We aren’t ready" 

"We have 7 months to get ready Ashton" 

"No we don’t because we’re not  having it.” He said walking away. 

“And who are you to decide that?!” I yelled getting angry. 

“That is half of me in there! I have some say in the decision" 

"Well I’m keeping it” I said sternly. 

“No you’re no-”

“Ashton I’m keeping our child” I spoke again. 

“Well then you’re doing it without me because I don’t want a kid right now" 

"Oh so it’s the baby or you? Is that it?” i said as my voice began to shake again. 

“So it’s ‘half of you’ but you don’t want anything to do with it?” I asked. 

“No. I don’t” he answered straight forward. 

My heart shattered and it took everything in me to do what I had to. 

I grabbed my purse and walked away. 

But before I was out of sight I turned around. 

“I knew you’d be scared but not like this." 

"You said you never wanted to be like your father. But look where we are”

were my last words before I walked away from him. 


Hey so part 1 SUCKED! I’m so sorry ! 

But part 2 is SOOO much better, i promise ! 

so if you’d like a part 2 please reblog and like.

And leave feedback in the inbox? 

even if it’s just asking for part 2 lol ! 

thanks guys ! love you all! 

- Sierra x 


I think these are the only pictures that exist of my Greg Universe cosplay, but here they are!

This costume was was a huge step for me, simple as it may seem. I’m not usually comfortable showing off my arms (or having photos taken of of me in general, it’s something I’ve been struggling with a lot in the past few years as many of you know) but cosplaying as Greg, a character that I relate to in so many ways, helped me push aside those fears and learn to be comfortable in front of a camera as well as with my own body image.

It’s not a perfect cosplay by any means, and I do want to work on it more in the future, but honestly I couldn’t be happier with myself. I have a long way to go in accepting my body and being comfortable with seeing myself through someone else’s eyes, but this is one helluva start.

Many thanks to @yorkinabox for the pictures!