i have my fingers cold

How to Draw Tundras 101

Step 1:
Draw a Lion

Step 2:
Draw a better Lion

Step 3:
Realize for some reason you need to make this Lion a Giant Lizard instead
(embiggen him)

Step 4:
Lighten, because no way in hell do you want to redraw that from scratch

Step 5:
?????? Tundra on top???

Step 6:
BAM

Now go forth, and draw needlessly large and floofy Paw-Hand Lizards

who else feels like if GLaDOS was in a relationship she’d be a hopeless romantic. i feel like she’d adore all the cliches like getting flowers and chocolates and going on dinner dates and writing love songs. she’d put up a front and act like she doesn’t like it or that she’s unaffected by it but in reality she loves all that cheesy romantic stuff

Starco Week #2 -Last Goodbyes- ✩ Inktober Day #4
A piece I did at school. Honestly, their pose looks weird. Marco’s trying to avoid star because he’s trying not to show his feelings. He’s trying to be strong but it just makes him seem cold. And star tries to prevent him from leaving. I almost cried while making this.

We all know this is the inevitable…
Taming The Brat Pt.8

And in the spirit of posting tradition I am once again posting yet another chapter I’m not 100% sure on… Okay, fine, I kinda like the smut in this one… A lot-ish.
Anyway, sorry it’s taken a little while, I’ve rewritten this so many times and I don’t think I can make it any better.
Also, I’m sorry if there’s any grammatical/spelling errors, I write on my phone and I’m terrible at spotting them when I’m editing. I hope it isn’t too distracting if there are any and I’ll edit through again a little later to make sure. Anyway, sorry for rambling, and I hope y'all enjoy ^^

Lil Disclaimer
Genre: Angst/Smut/Nora’s AU
Requested: Sort of
Warnings: NSFW, 18+ Content, long af as always, crude af, swearing, pretty big time skip, roughish sex, BDSM themes, D/s relationship setup, Daddy kink


Pt.1 | Pt.2 | Pt.3 | Pt.4 | Pt.5 | Pt.5.5 | Pt.6 | Pt.7 | Pt.8 | Pt.9.1 | Pt.9.2 | Pt.10

Originally posted by bangedhim

Originally posted by spooky7


At many points during pregnancy and throughout the stages of raising an infant, there will come many periods during a parents journey when numerous self appointed experts will come out of the woodworks to offer them copious amounts of varied and vast advice they’ll soon realise they never actually asked for, nor do they want. Luckily enough, along the way it gets relatively simple to sift out the worthwhile advice from the busy body, and one of the few people I now willingly accept advice from is my own mother. Though I’ll admit, I haven’t blindly followed along with everything she’s suggested, but I’m of the opinion that what she doesn’t know I’m not doing won’t hurt her.
One of her many recommendations I am glad I agreed to take up though, happens to be yoga and meditation.
Okay, technically my mom recommended Pilates, but all that extra apparatus didn’t exactly speak to me on a lazy ass soul level, so I opted for the version where all I need is my living room floor and a yoga mat. It’s great exercise, for both the body and the mind. I too, would recommend it to anyone. The thing I love about it though, aside from the whole healthy benefits malarkey, is how much it relaxes me. Almost always to the point where I end up falling asleep on the floor. According to my mom, this isn’t exactly the objective, but it’s been working great for me so I see no reason to fix my technique. Besides, it’s not like I fall asleep every time. Some days I force myself to stay awake and actually go through some of the steps. The only catch is that when I’m forcing myself to remain upright, I cant switch off my brain, and I often find it wandering. Today, my little family, asleep on the couch to the side of me, is what has my full focus.

Keep reading

your strong and stubborn heart

Some Varric/Cassandra for you, because this ship has ensnared my soul. Part 1/? [Read on AO3]

She is being wooed.

It’s not conventional – sweet Andraste it’s everything but, and she is justly mortified. He doesn’t read her poetry or sing her songs of old ardour because that’s not his way. Instead he writes her stories – short excerpts of longer tales, but they’re nothing like his novels, oh no. These are different. Intimate. For her eyes alone.  

At first she can’t even read them, too horrified to even consider their existence (one slid under her door one evening, another below her pillow, one tucked between the pages of her favourite chapter of Swords & Shields because of course he’d know, of course he would). The entire affair is ludicrous and humiliating and – and utterly wonderful because isn’t this what she wants more than anything?

She doesn’t look at him – can’t look at him because he’ll know, oh he’ll know the minute he sees her and she can’t risk it being just a jest. Part of her (the part who’s seen how far he’ll go to protect those he cares for – the Champion, the Inquisitor, the woman he’s named his crossbow after) doesn’t believe him capable of such cruelty, but another part – the one borne of an intimate knowledge of dishonesty and love’s own folly – can’t be fully convinced. It’s self-preservation, and she can’t – won’t – risk her heart for a few pretty words on vellum.

And so she doesn’t reciprocate – doesn’t give him so much as an inkling that she knows of the letters, but that doesn’t stop them from coming. Small notes appear among her paperwork (and Maker’s mercy but she nearly lost her composure when one fell out on her desk during a meeting!), and a longer rolled-up parchment tied to the handle of her sword and – she’s not even going to wonder how it got there without her noticing. 

She’s had a glass of wine for courage when she finally relents, and unrolls the most recent letter, her candle burning low in the quiet dark of her private rooms. It’s the story of a princess masquerading as a dragonhunter and she wants to wrangle his neck, but – it’s thrilling and utterly compelling and she reads the whole thing in one sitting until her eyes are straining in the dim candlelight. The princess is aided by a rogue dwarf who commissions her for a rare dragon’s tooth, and in return he’ll whisk her away from courtly life, her duties and her gilded cage, take her far away and –

and that’s it. There’s no more, and she wants to tear out her hair because she knows what this is, she’s not blind to what he’s put before her, finally, after all the notes and the knowing glances. And she’s so embarrassed by her own, ridiculous heart that she mutilates the courtyard practice dummies in her outrage. Bull makes a passing comment of praise, but she can’t see straight, and stalks back to her rooms in a fury that lasts her most of the day. And it takes her one long and sleepless night of tossing and turning – of restlessly prowling the corridors of Skyhold until her anger glows like embers and not a roaring fire – to finally make up her mind. 

He’s writing when she arrives the following morning, and she knows he’s noticed her coming long before she’s standing before his desk. But he doesn’t look up until she is, and he takes his time in putting his pen down.

“Seeker,” he greets smoothly, and her heart – her cursed heart – jumps. “Anything I can do for you?”

Oh she wants to strangle him, but – that’s not what she’s here for, not this time. Perhaps next time if things don’t go well, but now…now she does not offer her clenched fists, but her fingers slack with trust, and her palms clammy with something she cannot name (fear, perhaps – no, most likely. Definitely.)

Cassandra breathes and – Maker why are her hands shaking, around the handle of her sword they never tremble but now she has to tuck them into her elbows under the pretence of crossing her arms. And she feels young and foolish and out of her depth, and there’s no experience to draw from, no well of strength to aid her in this battle.

“How does it end?” she asks then.

Varric smiles, and she wants to duck her head but she won’t – she’s a grown woman and she will stare down any man or dwarf, intimate prose be damned! “You really want to know?”

She wants to snap that of course she does, why does he think she is there? But then she recognizes the question for what it is – a way out. An escape, if she so desires it, even now when she’s put herself at his mercy so.

And it’s what gives her the courage to say, “Yes. But,” she adds, sharply. “If I at any point wish to…stop reading…if I want to–” Maker what she wouldn’t give for his eloquence. She can’t butt her head against this obstacle, and her sword is no use, even to protect her own heart. 

He only holds out his hands, and – there’s no trace of humour in his smile now, but a sincerity she’s not witnessed often. “Then you’re free to do so, of course. Granted, you won’t know how it ends, but I know not all stories go the way we want them to. And if you find you want to pick up another book…”

“No,” she says quickly, swallows. “No, I – I’d like this one. If–” She can’t say it. Not yet.

But he doesn’t make her. Instead he only grins. “Then that’s all I need to know. No use writing if you don’t have an audience.”

She breathes through her nose. There’s a question on her tongue, but the words feel thick and awkward in her mouth. “And am I your…only audience?” It’s been on her mind since she’d found that first note – the image of the pretty dwarf who’d shown up and left with his heart, again. She’s not one for sharing, and in matters of the heart even less. She won’t be second in line.

There are words behind his eyes – things for another time, another conversation when things are not so new, and Cassandra does not pry.

“Yes,” he says then, and there’s no hesitation, no waver in his voice as he speaks the word – this single word that carries with it so much more than a simple admission. It’s a promise, and Maker take her traitorous heart for leaping. 

Cassandra nods, once. “Good.” She clears her throat. “I must go. We’ll…speak of this later.” Stiffly, she turns on her heel, and is almost at the door when his voice stops her,

“You know, if you want I could use your insight on some…potential plot holes.”

She lingers in the doorway. “Yes?”

He smiles, and she wonders how many he’s charmed with that gesture alone, nevermind his writing. “I’ve got some time tonight, if you’re free. It’s good to get these things sorted before I start writing, you know – to avoid disappointed readers.”

She swallows, and there’s heat creeping up the back of her neck. “I’d…like that,” she says at length.

He doesn’t say anything more on that, but his smile speaks volumes. “Then I’ll see you later, Seeker.”

She doesn’t trust her voice now – doesn’t trust her heart, or her common sense, Andraste have mercy – and with a brusque nod she turns to make her escape before he has a chance to see the blush in her cheeks. The first chapter weighs heavy in her pocket, with his words or the implications of which she doesn’t know, but she takes a detour to get back to her rooms–

just in case anyone should notice the smile she cannot quite contain. 

Neighbors (6/?)

Summary: Kat is an Avenger and an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., and when S.H.I.E.L.D. finds the Winter Soldier in a domesticated life she is sent in to watch over him undercover as his new neighbor.

A/N: Part six of Neighbors. I hope you guy like it. Second A/N at the end because *spoilers*. Also all my TV shows are in hiatus and I don’t know what to to with my life.  

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

As I walked back to the apartment I couldn’t stop thinking about what Nat had told me. I was being irresponsible and reckless by letting my feelings get in the way of my job.

There was a good chance that Fury had plans for James that he wasn’t telling me about, and there was no way of knowing if I would like what he planned to do.

I took the stairs up to the apartment. I still needed more time to think before I met with James. I needed more time to understand what I was feeling, what I wanted, and what I should do.

I stood outside his door with the beer in one hand and the other was raised ready to knock. I had to decided right here how I was going to continue this mission. Was I going to risk everything I believed in and worked toward for a man I still knew very little about, or was I going to this the right way, the professional way, and get the job done.

I was an Avenger, an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. and nothing was going to get in my way of doing what I was sent to do, not even my own feelings.

I let out a deep breath before knocking on the door-marked 5C.

“Just in time,” James said opening the door with a smile. “I just ordered the pizza.”

“Great,” I said handing him the beer. “I’m starving.”

I had thought the mission was hard at first, when I couldn’t get anything out of him, but it was harder now.

He seamed more comfortable with me and I hated that I was lying. Despite convincing myself that I could have no feelings for him, I couldn’t stop wanting to change who I was.

The other problem was that I didn’t know how this mission was going to end. Fury never told me what his plans for James was, and with the past that followed the Winter Soldier Fury could do anything. There were more bad scenarios running through my head for what could happen than good ones.

I knew Fury wouldn’t do anything too rash. Steve wouldn’t let him. From the way Steve talked about his friend and everything he was doing to get him back, I knew that Steve would go to war if needed to keep his friend safe.

“What’s wrong,” James asked sitting next to me on the sofa in his apartment living room once we had already eaten.

“Nothing,” I said. “Why would you think something is wrong?”

“You haven’t said much all night and usually you’re the one who starts the conversations,” he tells me.

“It’s nothing,” I tell him. “It’s almost the end of the summer and I have to go back to work soon,” I lie.

“I guess that means I won’t be seeing you as often,” he says frowning placing his gloved hand on my knee.

I was surprised he was so comfortable and willing to touch me, to be the one to initiate the contact.

Before he removes his hand I take it in mine and hold it. “Why do you wear a glove on only one hand,” I ask.

“I was in an accident,” he says looking at our hands. “It’s something I don’t want to remember, so I hide it.”

“That’s the problem with scars,” I say looking up at him. “They are almost never something you want to remember.”

“It’s more than just a scar that I was left with,” he said looking up.

“Can I see,” I ask not looking away from him as our eyes lock.

He doesn’t say anything, but when I begin to remove his glove he doesn’t pull away either.

The velcro being pulled apart echoes in the quiet apartment. Only when the glove is completely off do I look away from him and down at his now gloveless metal hand.

I had read the reports, seen the grainy pictures, and had been told of it from Steve and Fury, but seeing it in person was different than I would have expected.

My finger traced the patters across the cold metal palm before moving to slide the sleeve of his shirt up his forearm.

I was so entranced with the details of the arm that I was caught off guard when he grabbed my wrist and held it in his cold hand.

Alarmed I looked up at him fearing I had over stepped my boundaries, but he wasn’t mad. There was no trace of anger on his features, just confusion and curiosity and something else that sent chills down my spine.

“What are you doing to me,” he whispered leaning closer to me.

“I could ask the same thing,” I say breathlessly at our proximity.

His warm breath fanned my face the closer he got. My eyes dropped to his lips as our foreheads pressed together.

Any decision I had previously made to finish the mission without letting my feelings getting in the way had left my mind. There was only one think I cared about, and he was sitting right in front of me.

His metal hand released its grip on my wrist and moved to my hip bringing me closer to him to where I am practically sitting on him.

With my hand now free I press it to his muscular chest. Closing my eyes I try to find reason to stop what is about to happen, but I couldn’t.

I press my lips to his at the same time he leans to do the same. The hand I had pressed to his chest moves behind his neck, and the other tangles itself in his long hair.

His hand on my hip pulls me to him again and I am now straddling him as he leans back on the couch.

His warm flesh hand reaches up to cup my cheek.

We pull away and I look down at him breathlessly. His lips find my neck and I grip onto the back of the couch as a soft moan escapes my lips.

“How attached are you to this shirt,” I ask breathlessly gripping the neck of his henley with both hands.

“Why,” he asks as his lips travel up my neck.

“Because,” I mutter before using all of my strength to rip it open. The buttons went flying in the air as the sound of fabric ripping mixed with our heavy pants. “It’s in my way,” I said before his lips found mine again.

This time the kiss was slower, tender, filled with passion; everything that made me scared of what I was feeling. It was what made me think he could feel the same way about me as I did of him.

My hands moved to his shoulders and pushed the ripped fabric down his arms before I pulled away from the kiss that left my head spinning.

I now saw the entirety of the metal arm. Where the metal met flesh and scared all the way around.

He watched me looking at the arm, waiting for me to say something, to run away scared, but I didn’t. I lifted my hand and ran my fingers over the scared flesh before leaning down and placing a kiss where my fingers had touched. My lips make their way to his neck before hovering over his swollen lips.  

“Are you sure you want this,” he asked.

If only he knew the double meaning to his question. I close my eyes thinking about all the consequences that could result if I didn’t stop what was about to happen. How many rules I was about to break.  

“Yes,” I said before kissing him again.

A/N 2: I just wanted to say that I don’t write smut. I don’t now if I ever will write smut so I am sorry if you were expecting it. I like to think as my writing as PG-13 int the aspect that you get everything leading up to sex, but you don’t get the sex. Like in movies or TV shows.

Part 7

Oops

So I saw this comic

And with dear beedomi s permission I wrote a me a fic about it.

Carmilla x Laura 

“Mom, please don’t be mad, it followed us home.” Camron all but yelled bursting through the back door and tossing his backpack on the kitchen table.

“That’s not where your backpack goes.” I told him not looking up from my work, or lack there of.

“MOMMY WE HAVE A KITTEN NOW!” My little girl screamed shoving a nasty smelling cat under my nose.

“What the…” I leaned back to see what exactly was in my hands.

It was a black cat.

Of course it’s a black cat, it would be too much to ask for Carmen to shove a little orange kitten under my nose.

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"Spirits"

I have submitted to this blog before actually, about my sister being psychic, in a submission called “You Can Go Now, Daddy.” I’m convinced more and more as we get older that it’s real. 

Anyway, the summer before the two of us left for college we needed to move houses because our old landlord had sold ours. We moved into a new house only around a half a mile away, and this is one of the homes built close to a hundred years ago that has been added onto multiple times. Also, before renting the house the owner, an elderly woman, needed a personal interview with my mom to make sure she liked her and our family. Weird, right? Well, some people are picky, I suppose. 

One summer night I wake up randomly because I am absolutely freezing. I share a room with my sister and there is no real reason why this room should be this cold in the middle of the summer. In my half-asleep state, I huddled down in my bed and contemplate getting up out of the little warmth I have to try and hunt down another blanket. I must have been bracing myself for a few minutes before I finally climbed out of bed. I was too tired to shuffle around and find my glasses, either. The doorway is only around four steps away, and after two I heard my sister whisper from her corner of the room, “spirits.”

 Now, I try to be brave in situations like this. I know that everything will be fine, and I just need to calm down. She sleeptalks somethings. No big deal. I go to the cupboards just outside my room, and blind as a bat without my glasses, I’m forced to drag my hands along every neatly folded white towel/possible blanket. I’m halfway down when-

“Spirits.”

Again. Twice. I’ve never known sleeptalkers to mumble the same random word twice

I don’t want to think about what made the room so cold, what I might have brushed my fingers up against while I was blindly feeling for some kind of blanket, why the linen closet with an attic gives me the serious creeps. When I told my sister what had happened in the middle of the night, she found it odd how cold it had been too. She shrugged. “I must have been warning you." 

I heard it was a Selfie Day, so I’m using that as an excuse to post some more pics of when @fullofsoulandsunshine sent me my flower crown and I proceeded to pose my way along the river behind my apartment. 

Sam’s just like, “It’s called sublimation,” and all I can think about is Sam actually getting therapy and talking to someone or maybe just spending time online, something anonymous, or maybe on forums because he recognizes that he’s hurting himself and wants something better for himself and Dean. And now I have feelings. You’ll pry that headcanon from my cold, dead fingers.

Holiday

Author: @appleblossomgirl0305 

Rated M, for a bit of language, but mostly for anticipated future occurrences.

A/N: Wow, this seriously got away from me! Apparently, Everlark on a tropical holiday was a happy place for my brain to stall out in for a while. If there is interest, I’ll post the next chapter.


It had been a crazy long day and I was basically dead on my feet as I slumped onto barstool to get tipped out. I sighed as I watched her dark braid disappear beneath the counter as she put away the last of the cleaning supplies. As usual, Gale was hovering over her, gesturing angrily (or was it passionately?), about something; probably something extremely important and seductive.

I had to stop doing this to myself. I had to be up in like three hours to start my shift at the bakery. I justified keeping this Friday night shift at Abernathy’s Pub because the tips were so good. On a good night, I could make half a week’s bakery salary in one shift of waiting tables. (On a bad night, I could surreptitiously stare at Katniss all night.) But now that I was 26 and transitioning into managing the bakery as my father took a step back, it was getting harder to explain even to myself.

The real reason, of course, was the raven-haired woman slipping lithely around the corner of the bar. I had been in love with Katniss Everdeen for basically my entire life. She was the secret motivation for pretty much everything I’ve done from captaining the wrestling team in high school to majoring in business administration in college to coming back home to work at my family’s bakery. And keeping this god-forsaken Friday night shift. I really needed to either confess my undying love to her or quit this damned job before it actually killed me.

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My Love - a Pietro Maximoff x Reader Story

A/N: Yeahhh, I know. It’s Pietro x Reader, just like everything else. But get used to it, my darlings (used jokingly, of course. I love you), because that’s pretty much what I do.  Also, I used Romanian as the Sokovian language is currently unknown, even though in the story it’s described as Sokovian. Heh. Sorry.


(Y/N)’s POV

    I awoke to a hand running through my hair, and warm arms wrapped around me. My face was buried in someone’s chest. I was warm, and covered in quite possibly the softest sheets I had ever witnessed. They were light blue, and decorated with silver scripty patterns. That reminded me of Pietro. Mmm…

    Then I remembered everything that had brought me here. I remembered everything that had happened at the dinner party, and I remembered the way Pietro had looked at me, and I remembered the way his hand hadn’t left my shoulder. I remembered how bright a blue his eyes had been, in contrast to the dark shade of his jacket. Wanda, of course, had looked fantastic too, but I hadn’t really been paying attention. I had been more focused on the way that Pietro’s hair had fallen against his eyes, veiling the blue in a shelter of wavy blonde tangles.

    More than anything, though, I remembered the softly spoken Sokovian compliments murmured in my ear all through dinner, the gentle brushing of stray locks away from my face, and the way our eyes met in the moonlight, green against black. I understood the modern phrase ‘eye contact,’ now, because it truly was a clashing of wild colours and feelings, meeting in the air above the champagne, and the food, and the talking. It had brought feelings to my mind that were impossible to find words to describe, though Pietro had seemed to find the the perfect ones in Sokovian, and delivered them in such a way that I would never repeat, for they formed perfectly on his tongue, and his alone.

    Yet I still haven’t explained why I was sleeping in his bed.

    Nothing had happened, other than what had happened before: kissing, running fingers through hair, trailing hands against backs, and talking quietly. The only thing different was that I had stayed overnight, and shared a bed with him. And I was in an oversized shirt of his. And his legs were tangled with mine. And he was simply wearing boxers and a t shirt. And, well…okay. It sounded quite a bit worse than it was.

    “Buna dimineata, iubirea.” His voice was deep, raspy, and heavily accented. Is this what he always sounded like in the morning? I wanted to hear this far more often. Though I didn’t understand the words, the meaning was clear. Good Morning.

    “Good morning to you, too,” I replied, running my hand through my blue-black hair. “What time is it?” I asked, turning over to try and find a clock. He glanced behind him at his nightstand, reading it off.

    “10:23 A.M.” He said matter-of-factly. I groaned. He tilted my head up and gave me a questioning look. “Why? What time do you want it to be, dragul meu?”

    “Not this early, that’s for sure.” I replied, sighing. “Wait, what did you call me?” His face turned slightly red.

     "N-nothing.“ He said quickly. I knew little to no Sokovian, and he was trying to teach me, though I’m pretty sure that probably wasn’t the first thing he wanted me to learn.

    "You can tell me, Pietro. I won’t make fun of you.” I replied, brushing a wave of blonde curls away from his face. But alas, a smile was already curling my mouth. He flushed further, glancing out at the door.

    “’Dragul meu’ means…” He started, before smiling nervously and looking down again.

    “Yes?” I led him onward.

    “It means 'my love.’ I’m sorry, it just sort of…slipped out, I guess.” He apologized awkwardly, shifting his eyes away from mine as my mouth opened slightly. Had he really just called me his love?

    “I get it if it’s weird. I’m sorry if it’s too early, or something. I didn’t really mean to, it just was, you know, how I felt. I can understand if you don’t–” he stammered, before I cut him off by pulling him down towards me and kissing him. He made a somewhat surprised noise in the back of his throat, before leaning into me, sliding one hand down to my waist.

    “I love it, Pietro. It isn’t weird. I love it.” I replied, tracing his jaw with my pale fingers. They must have been cold, too, because he shivered and pulled me closer.

           "Și eu te iubesc, draga mea.“ He replied, kissing my head.

    "What did you just say?” I asked.

    “Nothing!” He stammered, all too quickly.

A/N #2: Written to Christina Perri’s A Thousand Years, and I think reading it to that might make it cuter.

Oh, and:

Buna dimineata, iubirea.- Good morning, love.

dragul meu - my love

Și eu te iubesc, draga mea - And I love you, sweetheart.