i have no idea what i've been working towards all this time

anonymous asked:

If the art was that good people would see it anyway. Without the artist needing to reblog it 100 times

I see you’re stemming from liv’s @larvesta own answer about this and I’m not gonna lie, I’m really hesitant about saying anything on the matter bc i don’t do this kind of thing but I realise people actually think this way so here’s a proper answer. 

It doesn’t work that way. I should know, I should really know. People here on Tumblr get lucky often and you wouldn’t think that, especially if you don’t create content yourself. Things just don’t become popular all of a sudden, most of the time it needs to get reblogged by the right person and add the balance between having good content yourself as well as an ongoing status as a creator. Not to mention how you go about treating your followers, your personality and how you act here. And you’ll tell me; “But people with good art have so many notes! It must be because they’re good! See, you don’t need to reblog it so many times!”

I hope you know what it feels like to be an artist here because I do. I especially do. I have talked, reblogged, supported, and have met so many, too many artists here, some insanely obscure. Some whose work looks like it took so many hours and has very little over 50 notes; my work included. And I can tell you now that I can personally handpick and tell you that some of the work I’m most proud of and have took many hours on are not over 200 notes. I’m not saying I’m frustrated by that, because some of us are reassured in our skill but let me tell you that every time I think of a fellow artist out there who releases amazing art and earns very little notes who looks at their note count and wonders if they are good enough, my heart breaks. And there’s young artists who are still getting by, who are not as good yet but took the same amount of effort and time, they deserve to be cheered on. 

Because people think artists here are machines, capable of creating content without regards to who actually appreciates it. No one is like that, artists are fragile just like everyone else and people really forget that. They really do. 

People don’t just see the art out of nowhere, do you understand the huge amount in this platform? There’s millions of work everywhere, you need to be supported to be seen, you need to withstand the thousands of others around you and you might have to create something that’s away from the norm to stand out, you might have to take hours of your time. You don’t know unless you really indulge yourself this platform, you don’t know unless you yourself do work for more than four hours, no breaks and absolutely tired, and look at your note count to see a disheartening number. You have no idea, you really don’t.

And don’t guilt them, please. I could reblog my art so many times, but sometimes the thougt of ‘maybe it gets annoying’ always bears in my mind, artists are made to feel like it’s okay that they’re not being appreciated. I’m proud of those who reblog their art because they know they deserve better, and guess what? They do.  

There’s a difference between good content and popular content, popular content aimed towards a specific audience that you know will like and reblog that. Good content is a dangerous hit and miss. I really appreciate people who do art for things that are not popular, because sometimes they really do have to rely solely on their skills. I say it’s a dangerous hit and miss because you know it might not have that specific audience, but you still take the effort and time into it anyway. Imagine that; knowing something is popular but going for the alternative anyway; taking time, taking effort, putting your all into it. That’s absolutely insane, man. Imagine knowing you can put that time and effort into something popular that might attract way more notes, but still doing something else for the sake of that something else. 

Also there’s the matter of timezones, in which there’s a worldly concept that everyone is in different times and not everyone is here at the same time to see the same content. I don’t want to explain this; please at least understand the concept of time. 

Artists reblog their work because they want others to see it, to appreciate it. Because sometimes it’s the only way others can. Reblogging their own work is an artist’s way of supporting themselves and you think I’m going to let you let them think that that’s a bad thing? That they’re not allowed to do that? Go home, buddy. 

I don’t have anything against anyone, I just wrote this realising that people actually think this is actually how it works and even then, I don’t have anything against you, maybe you’re just misinformed, some just don’t know enough about this to really understand. 

So here it is buds: support artists supporting themselves. It’s as simple as that. 

anonymous asked:

So I've been very lazy with my studying toward witch craft and therefore I'm going back to the beginning~ lol. Any advice for a little witch?

Some Advice for Getting Started:

Originally posted by gameboydemakes


*Start with things that interest you!* 

I know i get terribly bored very quickly (gemini curse lmao) so i find that if i dive into stuff i’m interested in learning about, that it will tend to hold my attention longer and help me get back into the swing of things! So in my example one of my first things i researched when i was starting out was about Crystals and their properties/uses in magic! From there i was able to use that as a sort of base jumping off point for my magical practice! And if you find something you were learning about doesn’t seem like it fits you/your style/ your practice then drop it and move on to the next thing! 

*Ask Questions!*

No Questions Are Stupid Questions  No Questions Are Stupid Questions  No Questions Are Stupid Questions!!!! Questions mean you care enough to try and learn more about something! I’m pretty much always here and will try my best to answer as best as i am able And if I can’t i will do my best to help direct you to someone more knowledgeable!


*TAKE YOUR TIME!*

This one is important because most of the time i feel like i see baby/beginner witches try really REALLY hard to “reach the same level” as other witches as quickly as possible when in reality that just hurts THEIR path in the long run. Your path is your own, take it at your own pace. Enjoy the little bumps along the way and find the “Roses of your Path” (the things that make you want to stop and appreciate them: the satisfaction of calling your first Storm, the chill of the night air when you set out your first Full Moon Water, the spark when you find that one crystal.) Enjoy it. Enjoy your path, Enjoy your Craft. 

*Use the Things you Already Own!*

Another thing i see beginners getting hung up on (myself included, i was/am extremely guilty of this lol) is wanting to go out and buy a ton of supplies. try looking around your house for things that can be re purposed. Old Spaghetti Sauce Jars can be cleaned and used as spell jars, deity altars/shrines, or ingredient storage! Take pictures from old magazines and make a collage Altar on paper! Use a composition notebook as your Book Of Shadows! Your old broken glasses case can be used as a case for your portable altar! Dig around and see if there are extra candles you haven’t used in a while! Wash out and save those eggshells from your cooking to use as spell ingredients! It takes some creative thinking but you can reclaim pretty much anything for your craft!

*Look for Bargains!*
For one thing prices can be outrageous for actual craft materials: like Crystals and Gems? Truly truly truly outrageous. So keep your eyes peeled for bargains and deals! Some of the best places to look for things on the cheap would be Dollar Stores, Flea Markets, Thrift Shops, Garage/Estate Sales! Most of the time in those places you can try haggling to get things at a cheaper price (or get more for less.) It really just depends on the place but you can find the most interesting assortments of things! Keep your eyes peeled in your general day to day life as well see if there are sales at your local grocery store for seed packets, seasonal items/holiday items (look for the sales afterwords to really save haha) The internet is a great place to look, i know Ebay has sellers who sell raw crystals/ crystal chunks by the pound. There’s also places to buy spices in bulk too 


*Don’t Compare Your Path to Others!*
Your Path is Your Path, Their Path is Their Path.
Being online and part of the witchy community in tumblr means that there are a lot of ideas being shared from people’s paths and their views on how they think magic should be practiced. What works for them might not work for you and vice versa. Only YOU can decide what is best for you and your path. and on that note:

*Figure Out What YOU Want Out of Your Path!*
When you get some time, sit down and write out all the things you want to get from your path and think critically about how you want magic to work in your daily life. Do you want it to be Super Formal or more casual? perhaps a mix of the two?  Test the waters! Try things once and if you don’t like it then you know and can move on to the things that work better for your lifestyle/craft/path!
Some examples from my list that i can think of right now would be:
-Better knowledge of Crystals/ Crystal remedies and their healing properties
-Daily research -aka tumblr-
-Appreciating Nature more (Whenever i go on walks with my dog i try to pick up some litter if/when i see it)
-Daily Deity appreciation  -aka deity aesthetic reblogs to @theemeraldgod & Pintrest-

Helpful Links for Beginners:
Sww Master List of Tags- Here’s my main hub of things that i tag feel free to look and see if something interests you!
Altars/ Altar set up Advice- My long winded post about what to put on your Altar.
My Beginner Tag// My Beginner 101 Tag- There are two tags because they have similar information, the 101 tag is for more ‘Hey I just started today what do I need to know’


Anyways thanks for sending this in! I’ve been meaning to make one of these for a while and this finally gave me the excuse ^^

-oOo-
StormWaterWitch

the moving goalposts.
  • trans woman: I'm a woman.
  • transmisogynist: No you're not, women dress femininely whereas men aren't pressured to wear makeup or maintain a feminine appearance.
  • trans woman: Well, I dress femininely, and I am pressured to wear makeup and maintain a feminine appearance as my failure to do so is punished with harassment and violence. So, do you consider me a woman now?
  • transmisogynist: No, you're not a woman, women experience misogynistic oppression, like catcalling and gendered wage gap.
  • trans woman: I experience both of those things, people see me as a woman and mistreat me accordingly. So, do you consider me a woman now?
  • transmisogynist: No, you're not a woman, woman is a biological class. You're a biological male.
  • trans woman: I'm on HRT, and my hormone levels are within the average range of cisgender women. I've undergone physical changes due to HRT that have made my physical body more similar to the average cis woman. So, do you consider me a woman now?
  • transmisogynist: No, women have vaginas.
  • trans woman: I've undergone vaginoplasty. I have a functioning vagina, labia majora, labia minora, and clitoris. This is very personal, but, i can, in fact, orgasm. Do you consider me a woman now?
  • transmisogynist: No, women have XX chromosomes. That's the REAL factor that determines our social role.
  • trans woman: So, are you seriously claiming that everyone goes around treating other people based on their chromosomes, a quality that can only be factually known by a medical test?
  • transmisogynist: Yes!
  • trans woman: But I've never gotten chromosomally tested. I don't ACTUALLY know what my chromosomes are. Have you ever gotten chromosomally tested?
  • transmisogynist: No, but–
  • trans woman: Then your argument is completely flawed. You know with certainty that you present as a woman, are seen as a woman, and are mistreated as a woman, but you believe that those things are totally disconnected? That, instead, your chromosomes are what people are really seeing when they look at you? That's completely preposterous.
  • transmisogynist: Well, what I really mean is, your birth assignment is what really counts, because that's when male socialization is initiated, which determines your entire mindset and outlook on the world, as well as how you treat other people.
  • trans woman: It is true that socialization influences how we view the world. But let me ask you a question, you are female-socialized, right?
  • transmisogynist: Damn right.
  • trans woman: And female socialization includes subservience to men, right?
  • transmisogynist: Yes, very much so. My parents were extremely traditionalist and imposed very strict gender roles on me as a child.
  • trans woman: But right now you're not subservient to men at all, right?
  • transmisogynist: Hell no. I'm a radical feminist, I'm a lesbian, I do not share the class interests of men and I work towards women's liberation from men as a class and, ultimately, the end of the restrictive system of gender.
  • trans woman: So, logically, this would be an example of how your gendered socialization DIDN'T control your outcome as a person. Sure, you had to actively resist that socialization, but you've moved past that.
  • transmisogynist: Yes, that's true, but the same can't be said about you, you're clearly male-socialized.
  • trans woman: Hell no. I'm a radical feminist, I'm a lesbian, I do not share the class interests of men and I work towards women's liberation from men as a class and, ultimately, the end of the restrictive system of gender.
  • transmisogynist: No, that's wrong! You can't be a lesbian, you're a male!
  • trans woman: Don't say that to my wife, she's gonna be pretty mad if you tell her she's not really a lesbian. She's been a lesbian for years, I seriously don't see how my gender is any different than the gender of her last girlfriend.
  • transmisogynist: You can't be a feminist, either! You're a male, there's no way you can understand the struggles of being a woman!
  • trans woman: Didn't you post one of my essays on gender on your facebook wall?
  • transmisogynist: Er, well, yes, but, that's before I knew that you were trans! See, this is more of your deceptive duplicitous behavior, concrete proof that you cannot overcome your male socialization or produce ideas that deserve consideration as contributions to feminism.
  • trans woman: But didn't you praise that shitty liberal Male Feminist guy's anti-transgender article?
  • transmisogynist: Yeah, but, at least he isn't calling himself a feminist, just a feminist Ally. So he's being honest and knowing his boundaries while helping feminism.
  • trans woman: And didn't you praise that conservative politician's proposed ban on transgender people being able to use the restroom? Why the hell would you ever side with a conservative? You realize that he's the same guy who has previously worked to defund women's healthcare services and repeal gay marriage? Supporting him in any capacity gives him political capital that he'll be able to leverage for future reactionary policies, because he is literally an anti-feminist politician.
  • transmisogynist: But he's one of the few politicians who's willing to stand up for a ban on transgender people in restrooms.
  • trans woman: Yeah, because he's an out-and-out bigot against LGBT people and women. He's literally creating legal contexts for male violence against transgender women, something that you've PREVIOUSLY stated you're opposed to, but now apparently you're for it.
  • transmisogynist: What male violence? It's just a legal protection for vulnerable women and girls in the sanctified space of the public bathroom.
  • trans woman: The male violence of police officers, prison guards, and prison inmates. That's the male violence that you're totally fine with exposing trans women to. If you really gave a shit about reduction of harm, you would support my right to use whatever PUBLIC RESTROOM I wanted, and support gender-neutral restrooms. After all, butch cis women have been harassed and gender-policed in restrooms in states where that law was in effect, and had security guards called on them. Isn't that a fucking travesty? I support butch women's right to use women's restrooms, and if you support trans bathroom bans, you DON'T. Cis and trans women share certain class interests, and often times if you work against trans women's' class interests, you're ultimately going to harm cis women's class interests as well. We suffer a wage gap too, which is why so many of us are FEMINISTS.

anonymous asked:

Hii, I've never seen this request, but this is an important step in a relationship, can you do a RFA reaction to the first MC's fart ? Thank youu

i love you 



Yoosung:

  • Playing games with Yoosung is always such a fun time, curled up together in his room, wasting away hours and hours with your bbe
  • You feel a fart coming on, and you’re like ya ok chill I can feel this one it’s the quiet type
  • So ever so slowly you unclench your butthole, focusing on the game in front of you
  • Pweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeephbt
  • what was that?
  • oh, just the sound of gas leaving your body
  • you’re pretty sure that your soul just left too
  • You bite your lip and keep playing, wishing Yoosung to not have heard it
  • but you bet he did
  • Yoosung excuses himself from the room, but you can’t make out his expression because it’s too dark
  • Did Yoosung just leave because of me?  Did I gross him out? Is he going to break up with me?
  • You follow him out, searching frantically for him
  • it takes almost ten minutes for you to find Yoosung in the kitchen, having a mental breakdown on the floor
  • ‘Y-Yoosung, ah! I’m so sorry I shouldn’t have I’m sorry!”
  • Yoosung looks back at you, tears streaming down his face, “N-No MC I’m the one who’s sorry - I just,” the takes a deep breath and scrunches his face, “I just…I just never knew farts could be so damn cute?!”
  • o_o


Zen:

  • Zen’s been going on and on about how amazing you are
  • how you’re so lovely
  • so gentle
  • so inhumanely perfect 
  • and you’re 100% done with his bullcrap
  • Zen look at me I am human I sweat and pee and do humanely things
  • one day, you guys are watching a movie, some cliche flick about a man finding a fallen angel or something and them falling in love
  • Zen turns his head to you dramatically, comparing you to the angel, all like “See that’s you, a creature of the sky who came all the way here for me…”’
  • “Creature of the sky” my ass
  • you stare him dead in the eyes and just 
  • let one rip
  • it makes the whole couch vibrate like a magnitude 5.5
  • “Earthquake!” Zen cries, leaping into the air
  • “Zen!” you call out as he runs out of the room, “that was a fart.”
  • “It’s an-!” his head peers out from around the corner. “What?”
  • “I uh, farted.”
  • You can almost see the cogs in Zen’s head turning as he tries to come up with a suitable reaction
  • “…oh?”
  • “Well,” you pout, “You’re always describing me as some sort of inhuman thing…so I thought I should do something human to disprove your idea of me.”
  • Zen adopts his Theatrical Voice and swoons at you
  • “But my princess, even your flatulence is otherworldly! It sounds like the trumpets from heaven, signaling your descent-”
  • “ZEN!”
  • your farts sound like the trumpets of heaven 10/10


Jaehee:

  • After a long day of work, you’re closing up shop, washing counters and turning off lights
  • You hum to yourself, scrubbing away at a coffee stain, Jaehee doing something else in the kitchen
  • You let out a fart, not quite demure but not obnoxiously loud, glad that it doesn’t smell
  • You hear a soft giggle from behind, and you whip around, Jaehee smiling at you from behind the cash register
  • Fuck I thought she was in the kitchen?
  • Jaehee laughs again and says,” MC, please don’t be shy, if anything…it’s rather..endearing? It’s nice to know that your body is working, doing it’s own thing right here, beside me, so please,”  she tilts her head to the side, “never feel the need to restrain yourself around me. 
  • She is the best wifeu supportive to the max and will never judge you for any of you normal bodily functions
  • Jaehee’s always happy that you’re around, that you’re alive, that she can love you just the way you are

Jumin:

  • You’re having a formal dinner with Jumin’s father, and everything is dandy
  • the food is nice, the atmosphere is nice, you know you’re loved by Mr. Han
  • you’re so carried away by the moment that when you feel the urge to fart, you do so, thinking that it’ll be a quiet one
  • Lo and behold, even your neighboring tables heard it
  • Jumin doesn’t even bat an eye, but his father chokes on his food and stares at you, his face momentarily disgusted
  • the CEO-in-line resumes conversation without effort, and Mr. Han happily obliges, but he pointedly ignores you for the rest of the evening
  • You stare at your plate, which you no longer have any appetite for, and sneak a glance towards Jumin
  • His face is mysteriously pink
  • You frown, and turn your attention to the tablecloth instead, absentmindedly dusting crumbs onto the floor
  • The next time you look at Jumin, his complexion is even more flushed
  • he seems almost feverish
  • then, a moment later, his eyes widen ever so slightly, and he excuses himself from the table, pulling you along in his wake
  • luckily, you were dining in the restaurant within the same building as Jumin’s apartment
  • as soon as you return home, he precipitates himself to the nearest washroom, while you, confused and still rather mortified by the earlier occurrence, plop yourself down on the armchair
  • it is only when Jumin emerges a while later, obviously fresh out of the showers, that he tells you his reason for leaving so early
  • also note to self but blushing, abashed Jumin is a sight for sore eyes honestly what a cutie
  • anyways so basically it turns out that was trying to fart for you so that you wouldn’t feel humiliated
  • but he ended up shitting his pants instead


Saeyoung:

  • You’re having one of those days where you feel uncomfortable gassy
  • The air buildup inside your stomach hurts, and the pain shows on your face
  • Seven interprets it as some sort of foul mood, which he thinks he can solve by joking around
  • Therefore, he decides that tickling you is a good idea
  • all those who have ever had the misfortune of feeling gassy will know that this is the opposite of a Good Idea
  • Despite your many protests and struggles to contain both your laughter and your gas
  • They just sorta slip out, one after the other
  • As soon as your abs clench when you giggle, you let out flatulence the likes of which Seven has never heard (or smelled) before
  • Which is saying something because he is one heck of a Farty Boy
  • He pauses mid-action for a fraction of a second, but before you can even begin to feel embarrassed, Saeyoung flashes a wicked grin and dives right back in
  • Within a minute, you’re liberated from the painful bloating of your abdomen, although the room now smells like concentrated fart
  • Seven literally doesn’t give a shit though
  • if you ever feel insecure about yous gas, he’ll make sure to let one out that’s far louder than yours (but he’s more of the silent but deadly type so loud farting is quite the achievement for him)
  • on the occasion that you guys have fart wars, no guests are allowed within twenty meters of the house unless the wish to die from methane poisoning
  • except Vanderwood, who is quite welcomes during these times
  • he nearly passes out the when he visits on the same day that you guys have a flatulence competition
Or Nah (One - Shot)

Or Nah: Reader and Bucky are doing their routine workout before an extremely important mission, which doesn't go as planned when Bucky shows her his own playlist he made.

A/N: I've always wondered what would happen if Sam introduced Bucky to some really dirty songs! I was dying while writing this haha! If you want to hear the song while you read it’s right here! :D I hope you guys like it! ENJOY! - Delilah

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Very dirty song lyrics, pls beware lol. Bucky being a flirty little shit. Slight secondhand embarrassment. 

You let out a small sigh as you placed the weight in your hand down. You had been in the gym for a solid two hours, working out for the mission that was coming up later that week. It was a pretty big one, and you wanted to make sure you were ready for anything and everything. Bucky, who would be your partner for the mission had agreed to join you for the workout, and to your surprise, he even offered to chose the playlist. 

Ever since he and Sam had been hanging out more often, they’ve been able to catch him up on various modern things, mostly music. You knew that Bucky had been spending time listening to the new wave of music on his little ipod you had given him for his birthday, but you had no idea what songs Sam had put on there for him. 

You and he had grown pretty close ever since Bucharest, and dare you admit, you liked him. A bit much for just friends, but you’d never tell him. There were sometimes when you swore he was reciprocating your feelings, but you always brushed it off as simple flirtatious teasing. Steve always said that’s how he used to be back in the day. 

You just figured it was some nineties rap or something, which wasn’t unlikely. 

The last song had ended, leaving the two of you in that awkward five second silence before the next song began. 

Do you like the way I flick my tongue or nah?
You can ride my face until you dripping cum
Can you lick the tip then throat the dick or nah?
Can you let me stretch that pussy out or nah?

Your eyes nearly fell out of your head at how wide you were staring at him. He paid no attention to you, as he was in his own little world. He lowly sung along to the song as he lifted the weights in his hands. The way he spoke the lyrics, you knew damn well that he had heard the song quite a bit. 

You swallowed loudly as you watched Bucky work out. The black tank top he wore clung to his body, which was glistening with a thin layer of sweat. His arms flexed in such a delicious way each time he brought the weight up, almost as if he was showing off everything he had. 

His hair was pulled back in a messy bun, with a few rebellious strands falling in front of his face. Your eyes analyzed the way his jaw clenched each time he flexed, and the way his lips pursed. His brow was furrowed with concentration as he worked out, his eyes staring forward at the grand mirror in front of him as he watched himself. 

And Jesus, that metal arm. It shifted and clicked with each movement, and you honestly found yourself wondering how on earth you could be attracted to a prosthetic limb. Regardless, you’ve wanted it and him. 

After making sure you weren’t drooling over him, you peered back up at his face, expecting him to still be in his own little world. But to your horror, he was staring right at you. His mouth was curved upwards into a little, fascinated smile as he watched you. Regardless, he continued singing along to the song. 

You gonna run it for these hundreds, girl, or nah?
Show me is you really ‘bout your money, girl, or nah?
Don’t play with a boss, girl, take it off
Take it for a real one
You gonna get it all

You watched as he sung to you, his eyes traveling down your body. You blushed even deeper as you took in the raunchy lyrics. You had no idea why Sam would introduce him to this. Steve would probably have several heart attacks at once if he showed up. 

Bucky set down the weights in his hand with a loud clank, pulling you out of your thoughts. He made sure to give you a show as he reached behind himself and slipped the tank top from his body, tossing it to the side. He made his way over to the chin up bar, which was located directly across from you. By now, you were trying to relieve some of the arousal that was pooling between your legs by pressing them together. 

Bucky placed his hands on the bar, and slowly began lifting himself upwards, peering over at you, still singing those damn lyrics. 

Is you really 'bout your money or nah?
Can you really take dick or nah?
Can I bring another bitch or nah?
Is you with this shit or nah?

Your eyes immediately went to his body, watching as every single muscle flexed as he lifted himself up. His gray sweatpants hung low on his waist, giving you a perfect view of the V of his waist. You so desperately wanted to see just a few more inches, but you knew better. He was teasing you, and you were falling right into the trap. 

Not being able to take it anymore, you stood from your seat and began walking towards the bench press. You lie back onto the bench, pressing your hands onto the bar tightly. But before you could even get started, you felt a pair of hands wrap around your legs and pull you away. 

You squeaked, trying to balance yourself. Before you could sit upwards, you were pressed back down by a metal hand. Bucky hovered over you, smirking devilishly as he placed both of his hands on either sides of your head, trapping you underneath him. You felt so small, and couldn't fight the blush that was now spread throughout your chest and face. 

Girl, is you sucking me or fucking me or nah?
Can I bring another bitch? Let’s have a threesome
Keep saying you’s a freak, you gon’ prove it or nah?

“Hey, Buck,” Sam called as he entered the room. His eyes staring down at the ipod in his hands, completely unaware of what was going on in front of him. 

“I think I accidentally took yo- WHOA!

You immediately covered your face with your hands. This was not what you hoped the outcome would be at all! You were hoping for some steamy make out sessions or maybe even Bucky’s head between your legs, but this was absolutely not what you wanted. Sam would never let you guys live this down. 

Bucky cleared his throat awkwardly as he stared at his friend, his eyes flickering between the two of you with a sheepish smile. 

“Man,” He whistled as he listened to the song blaring from the speakers. “I always knew you were a closet freak, Y/N.’” With a cackle, Sam turned on his heel and exited the gym. 

Not before calling over his shoulder that he had a very interesting story for dinner tonight. 


-FIN!

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Always You //  Ashton Irwin

Masterlist

Request here

Requested: Yes

A/N: First, some warnings. 1) This was written in a delirious state at 1:30 am and an annoyed state in the day following 2) I have no idea, what I’ve done. It’s probably shit. I’m so sorry. 3) I think I’ve used “oddly” an “rather” more than I should have 4) I call Luke a bread stick…. Now that, that’s out of the way… Enjoy, I guess? I don’t know if it’s good enough, but I tried my best. I think it’s a little but different from the request, just a teeny bit. My best friend proof read this for me (thanks I would die without you). If there are more typos, then apologies. It’s not my best work. Anyway, have a great day/night! xx




The five of you had arrived at the venue two hours or so prior to the show. You had arrived at the hotel you were staying at a couple of hours ago, giving the boys just enough time to relax before their performance. You were now in the dressing room, playing FIFA.

You were squished in between Luke and Ashton on the couch while Calum and Michael sat at the foot of it. You and Michel were currently engrossed in a very intense match of FIFA. The two of you had your eyes glued to the screen, hands occupied by the controller.

“You’re never going to win Y/N. Just give up and save yourself the humiliation,” Michael taunted, controlling his player expertly.

You scowled at the back of his head, before turning your attention back to the screen, pressing buttons to guide your players. You’d played with the boys before. You weren’t half bad at the game. But you were yet to beat Michael- the dude was like the king of the game.

Both of you were fully devoted to the game, but with the press of buttons and experience from over the years, Michael had scored the winning goal.

“No!” You whined, tossing the controller on the floor as you cuddled into your best friend’s side. “I know you rigged the game.”

Your friends laughed at your antics. You grabbed a handful of pop corn and chucked them at Michael. Luke laughed, wrapping an arm around you. “Aww, don’t be such a sour loser.”

You playfully punched him in the torso before nuzzling closer into him, unaware of your boyfriend frowning on the other side of you.

Now Ashton’s never had a problem with your relationship and physical affection with the other boys. He didn’t mind the affection you showered them with. He didn’t mind the occasional hugs and cuddles you gave the boys when one of them had had a rough day. But recently, your physical interactions with Luke had bugged him more than it should. He felt oddly ignored and insecure during moments like these, when you chose to curl up into Luke rather than him. He shouldn’t feel this jealous, this angry. You were his girlfriend. Not Luke’s. You loved him. Not Luke… Right? You guys were just best friends… Right?

Your giggles at something Luke had said pulled him out of his reverie. Doubts were creeping into Ashton’s head, insecurities bubbling up. He got up, suddenly, causing you all to look up at him. He looked rather grim, the smile on his face a minute ago- not there.

“You alright, Ash?” You questioned, looking up at him.

He nodded distractedly, eyebrows furrowed as he looked around. Grabbing his hoodie, he headed to the door. “I’m going out for some fresh air. I’ll be back in a bit.”

“Want me to come along?” You asked, siting up, peering at his disappearing figure.

“Uh, no. I’ll be alright. Stay with the guys if you want to.”

“Alright,” you answered, shrugging off his changed mood as pre-show nerves.

Half of him wanted to be left alone for a while, but the other half of him wanted you to come along. But as Ashton went out and stood at the door to put on his hoodie, he heard you laugh at a stupid joke Luke had cracked and he was off, biting his lips in sadness and frustration.


Ashton’s short walk had turned into a long one around the venue. He had stopped by to click some pictures with the fans that had found him and had lay in the soft grass for some while before finally deciding to return. He was in a slightly better mood. He was heading to the dressing room to get ready since soundcheck was only in a bit. Calum and Michael passed him as he walked towards the room asking him to “hurry the fuck up” and he sped up.

The door of the room was open a creak, light from the hallway slipping in too. As Ashton reached the room, he stopped when he heard voices. He peeked in through the sliver. He didn’t know what to feel as he saw you and Luke standing very, very close together before you moved away, smiling. With the seeds of doubt already planted in his head, he assumed the worst. Should he feel hurt? Angry? Both? He moved away from the door when tears pooled in his eyes but he wiped them before they could drip down his cheeks.

He slammed the door open, glaring at the two of you before yanking his hoodie off. He walked past the two of you, ignoring your questions as to where he had been. He pulled off his shirt and put on a slightly less warmer tank top.

You stepped closer to him, standing on your tip toes to give him a peck. Though right when your lips were about to touch his, he turned away and your puckered flesh met his cheeks. You frowned, confused. Before you could ask him what was wrong, he turned to Luke and rather hatefully spat out- “We’re getting late.” And then he was gone.

Through out the show Ashton had been very aggressive. He broke his drum once and his drumsticks twice. He also hadn’t conversed with the fans as much as he usually did. Every smile you’d sent his way through the side of the stage where you weren’t visible was returned with a scowl or a glare.

When the show and the meet and greet was over and the guys were heading to freshen up, you tried to block Ashton’s path. “Hey, whats wrong seriously?”

“Move Y/N. I’m really sweaty. I need a shower.” He said, not looking at you.

‘Not until you tell me what’s wrong.” you answered.

“Y/N…” He warned.

“What’s wrong?” You repeated adamantly.

Rather unexpectedly, Ashton burst out. “Y/N, I said move. Stop annoying the crap out of me.”

You stepped back, surprised by his outburst. His yell earned the two of you looks from the crew and the others. Ashton sighed, rubbing his temples with his thumb and forefinger. His voice cracked and came out raspy,”Let me just go, Y/N.”

Hearing the waver in voice, you immediately stepped aside, letting him pass. You looked at him as he weaved his way through the crowd of people backstage, wondering all the while what had gone wrong. What had you done? What had you done that you made him cry?


You guy were sitting in Calum’s room having dinner out of take out boxes when you were back from the venue, the work for the day done. Despite the conversations Luke, Calum and Michael made, an awkward silence hung in the room. Michael kept sneaking glances, eyes flitting between you and Ashton. Finally, curiosity got the better of him and he spoke up. “Alright, what’s wrong?”

Ashton looked up at him from his box.”What?”

“What?” Calum snickered tauntingly. “What as in why aren’t you both all over each other? You’re literally on top of each other after shows. I don’t know how you do it, he’s so fucking sweaty.”

“Well, I assumed she’d rather enjoy some time with other people,” Ashton sneered.

You turned to him, eyebrows drawing into a scowl. “What do you mean I’d en-”

“I’m going to bed,” he cut you off, shutting his box and placing it back on the table, food still unfinished. He got up to leave.

“No, you’re not,” you said. Your eyes followed his moments, as he shuffled around, grabbing his jacket, his phone and his room key. You got up from your seat as well “Ashton, stop being so fucking cryptic. Just spit it out!”

Ignoring you, yet again, he walked out slamming the door at your face. You gritted your teeth, eyes burning as tears filled your eyes this time.

“Uh… Did something happen between you two?” Luke asked.

You turned to him, glaring. “I don’t know, Luke. Does it look like something’s happened?” You hissed, sarcastically.

Luke cowered back, shooting you an apologetic look.

You sighed, muttering a sorry. You began to pace by the door, lips drawn between your teeth and panic flooding through your system.

“Did I do something wrong you guys?” You asked worriedly, running your hands through your. “Did I say something? Why is he so pissed off at me? Is he going to bre-”

“For the love of god, Y/N, can you please breathe for a minute?” Luke said, coming to stand beside you. He put his hands on your shoulders giving you a shake before he continued. “Go talk to him. That’s it.”

“If you haven’t noticed, he’s ignoring me.” You pointed out the obvious. “He won’t listen to me.”

Luke rolled his eyes. “Then force him to talk. Listen, if he doesn’t talk to you we’ll talk to him.”

“Yeah,” Michael piped in. “And if that doesn’t work we’ll take you to a relationship therapist.”

Calum made a face at Michael, before turning to you. “We won’t because it won’t come to it. Just go talk to him. You’ve talked through your problems before.”

“Right. Yes, I can do this.” You repeated, sucking in a breath before letting it out.

Luke gave your shoulders a squeeze as you walked out towards the room you were supposed to share with Ashton. The door of the other room shut behind you.

You were oddly nervous. Sure, you had had your fair shares of arguments with him but he’d never been this mad at you. You’d never made him cry.

You knocked on the door of the room twice, eyes focused on the carpeted hallway. “Ashton? Open up, please.” You said, softly knowing that he was listening.

He didn’t reply. Neither did he come to unlock the door, despite all the moving you could hear him doing inside. “Ash, babe, please.”

Still nothing.

“You know I’m sharing a room with you any way, so you have to let me in anyway.”

You heard the lock turn, and his face popped into view. “Really? Because I thought you’d rather sleep with Luke.”

You frowned. “Why would I want to sleep with Luke?”

“I don’t know. You had no problem kissing him today.”

Your jaw went slack and a look of pure confusion overtook your face. “What the fuck are you on about? When did I kiss Luke?”

He was about to shut the door again, but you put your foot in between, wincing at the pressure. He was shutting you out again, quite literally as well as emotionally. You pushed on the door, slipping in and past him.

“No, we are talking about this.” You said, enunciating each word. You slammed the door behind you, crossing your hands in front of your chest.

“There’s nothing to-”

“Cut the shit Ashton!” You yelled, frustratedly. “You’re literally accusing me of cheating! That too with Luke! Your band mate!”

“Well didn’t you?” He screamed right back. His eyes had turned a shade darker, his jaw was gritted and hands clenched into fists.

“When the hell did you see me kissing him? Because I clearly don’t remember doing so, ever. So if you can jog my memory it would be really helpful.” You spat, moving inside.

Ashton followed you. “I saw you… And him. In the dressing room. You were standing so cl- close to him and you were smiling. And-”

You scoffed. “And you assumed I cheated on you with one of your best friends. That’s what you think of me, Ashton? That’s what you think of your girlfriend?”

“Why wouldn’t I, Y/N?” Ashton whimpered. When you looked up at him his orbs were filled with tears again. He plopped on the bed, dropping his head into his palms. “I mean you’re always so close with him. You’re always with him.”

“Ash-”

“No. Please, let me finish,” he sniffed, wiping the tears that had spilled. “You always choose to be with him. You choose to sit next to him even when I’m there. You choose to cuddle into him, you choose to joke around with him, you choose to make fun of him. Not me. You choose to talk to him when you’re upset. You choose to go have fun with him. Not me. It’s like you- It’s like you choose to love him. And not me. Not me.”

By now Ashton was sobbing, and tears were rolling down your cheeks too.

“But- I don’t blame you. You’ve known him your entire life. He’s talented- plays mean tunes on that guitar. he’s good looking. He’s charming. He’s everything I am not and more. Maybe I’m just not enough to deserve you. Maybe I’m not as good to deserve your love. Maybe I was stupid enough to try in the first place. Maybe I am not good enough.

You shook your head, sitting beside him, the mattress bending under your weight as you sat down. You reached out to grab his hand but he pulled away. So you scooted closer, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders. “No. No. You listen to me, alright? Listen to me carefully, okay?”

You pressed your lips to the side of his forehead, holding his shaking body as close as you could. You moved your face closer to his ear. “I love you. I fucking love you. No, I didn’t kiss Luke. I can’t ever kiss anyone ever, but you. I will only ever want to kiss you. I only want to feel your lips against mine, okay? And I will never in a million years leave you, or stop loving you. And you deserve me. You probably deserve better than me. Not someone who doesn’t give you attention. But I’m sorry. i didn’t mean to make you feel that way. I wouldn’t ever want to hurt you. I will always want to cuddle you, or laugh with you or have the time of my life with you. And I will be selfish, because although you deserve better, I want you all to myself.”

You grabbed his face in your palms, turning it towards you. You looked into his green eyes, red and glazed. “And I love you more than any thing in this whole damn world. I love you because you make feel more wanted than anyone ever has and ever could. I love you because you put the stars in my fucking sky. I love you because you look at me and all I see is love.”

You leaned your forehead against his. “I love you because you listen to me ramble about the most boring things.” You kissed his left cheek. “I love you because you laugh at all my bad jokes.” A peck on his right cheek. “I love you because you let me steal all your shirts and hoodies.” On his nose. “I love you because you let me play your drums and you play them better than anyone ever can. And I love that.” On the corner of his lips. “I love you because you hold me like we’r in our own world, like everything will always be okay.” On the other corner of his lips. “I love you because you’re Ashton Fletcher Irwin and I wouldn’t ever want to love anyone else.”

You pressed your lips against his softly. At first he didn’t move- the two of you felt everything, every crease, every torn skin of your lip brushing against the other’s. And then he turned his body to face you completely, a hand grabbing your waist while the other went into your hair. His eyes were closed, forehead still against yours ass he pushed you into the mattress. “You love me, right? Not Luke?”

“Not Luke, that dude looks like a fucking bread stick.” You smiled, fingers grazing his jaw, up and down. “Only you. Always you.”

Ashton giggled and then asked. “You never kissed him?”

You shook your head as much as you could in his grip. “Never had and never will. No one but you.”

He moved his face, lips brushing lightly against yours. “And you’ll always love me?”

“Always and forever.” You answered.

“You promise?” he asked.

You chuckled. “Yes, you adorable noob. Now shut up and kiss me.”

gabsondraws  asked:

Hi :) I've been following you for like forever. I think your art is amazing and it really gives me lots of inspiration to paint. I always wanted to create my own comic and now finally after years I have some good ideas but tbh I'm a little lost about how should I bring it to another level from just few ideas. Do you have any tips on how to work on your story? And how long it took you from idea to the point you started drawing Carciphona?

Hi! Thank you for writing : D I’m glad you like my art!

Even though I do try to become better, at the end of the day I do everything I do mostly for fun so I don’t have proper knowledge to back it up. Everything I can answer is based on my experience, right or wrong, but I’ll try my best to theorize what I think is the right answer for you.

I started the comic not because I thought I was ready; I just thought it’d be fun to draw the comic and I already had some material (keyword some). In these 12 years of drawing Carciphona, even in the recent years, long after I’ve started the comic, I’ve made some pretty major changes that made the story and plot almost unrecognizable compared to before.

The gist of my advice is just don’t worry about reaching a goal or next level for your story, that’s a really objective way to think about creativity and it usually makes you worry more than be creative.Even if you can’t come up with anything, you needn’t feel lost, just don’t write anything. It’s not always time to write or create. Think over what your world is for now and wait. When you know your story better, you will have more questions that will lead to more ideas for your story, just like how you won’t know you need to learn anatomy until you’ve actually drawn something and then saw the gaping hole in your knowledge about anatomy.

This to me is immersion and I only like writing when I feel immersed in what I am working with. Immersion takes time, so no matter how hard you work, it’s inevitable that you will have to give your story idea months or years to really feel natural for you to work with, and this is probably why you are feeling “lost” now–because you don’t really know your world and character all that well yet to be curious about its unknowns, and you want to move forward but you cannot. It’s likely that instead of patiently waiting for that understanding and then expanding on what you already have, you’d want to make your world more exciting by adding details like more races of people/creatures, more characters, more locations etc. This is a lot easier to do as you can see tons of characters created with little context on a daily basis, but if you force it to become more complex this way just to satisfy your standard, you are most likely going to come up with a story that is unrelatable, irrelevant and not believable (ie. character’s actions feel arbitrary instead of natural, the world consists of races and groups of characters that have no relation with each other or with the world from which they came).

I enjoy the slower method of waiting to feel immersed with my characters and world over time, and then being able to naturally continue the story by asking myself questions with that unconscious understanding of how the world and the characters are like. I think it’s important to think of your story in an inquisitive manner rather than authoritative manner. Rather than tell your world/your characters what they are, ask your characters/your world, why it is the way it is. What is the reason for certain cities to be so much more guarded or prosperous compared to others? what do they have that others don’t? Why do the characters feel so willing to travel instead of staying home? What does that say about the climate of society and civilian life, and maybe the lack of attachment they feel towards home and loved ones? who are these loved ones and what are their lives like, even if they will never appear in the story? Asking questions in this manner makes you explore the background which grounds the world and makes it the way it is–the “why” and “how”–rather than making up random facts and characters just like filler–the “what”. It makes it so that your world and their events, and your characters and their lives, exist within the context of the people and things that surround them, rather than just existing because you willed it. This makes for a solid foundation by giving you lots of gaps of information to fill and be creative about, all with information relevant and reasonable to your world. By working like this, I’ve never hit a wall with my writing in the sense that I am out of things to do with my world; I might have days or months where I cannot solve one puzzle about my story world, but I know it is not a loss of direction as much as simply another aspect of my world that will eventually make sense to me as I understand my story more in time.

good luck!

midnight star (1)

genre: thief!au

star of the show: NCT’s Taeyong

word count: 2,303 words

author’s note: the first part to a “whoever-knows-how-many-parts” series because I’ve had this idea for too long and I love Taeyong.    

other parts: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6)  

Originally posted by itsmyluxion

opening line: “A thief who steals to feed his own competitive ego, Lee Taeyong has never tried to steal something as intangible as a heart before, let alone yours.” 

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Codename "THE BOSS"

The Boss was only ever assigned solo missions. Not because they didn’t play well with others, but because they alone were enough. A one-man army. A violent force of destruction. They did the missions that nobody else could do- that nobody else could stomach. No one was quite sure what had happened to The Boss in life to prepare them so thoroughly at destroying lives, places, things. But they were better at it than anyone, and that’s all the Agency cared about when it came to fighting Legion.

When the time came for the Agency to step out into the sun, and fight the enemies at their door, they dragged The Boss from the shadows too. Meet the other agents, they said, work together to save the world, they said. The Boss never took off their full-face helmet in front of them. Their voice always digitally distorted. And they were only saved for the worst (and the best) battles. So when they were finally called in, air dropped from the sky, right into the heat of gun-fire and explosions, the other agents really couldn’t have expected the tide of the fight to reverse so suddenly. But it did. It always did, when The Boss stepped onto the stage.
They raged like a deadly current, pushing through men and beast and robot with bullets, blades and blunt instruments, leaving a wake of corpses behind them. They were awesome. They were terrifying. They were unstoppable.

Only Gat thought they were beautiful, on top of all of these perfect qualities. Their movements, their strength, their viciousness- it brought up a deep longing from inside of him that he didn’t even know existed. Or maybe he did? Was that the source of the empty space in his life that neither marriage, murder or duty could fill? It was as if their image had been seared into his brain and it wouldn’t let go until death. Either his, or their’s. He flung himself back into the thick of it, ignoring his teammates, fighting not only to win, but to get to them- to meet them in blood and violence, hear their voice, feel the heat of murder off their body. And he got there. Lord knew those who tried to get in his way were fools beyond mention. They had all heard their codename. He felt it in his bones that he was not the only one who stopped and let the name sink in. Something familiat- something like home. That’s why it made all the sense in the world when he called out their name.

“Boss!”

They had whipped around so fast the poor fella’s head in their arms nearly did a 180. Full body tactical armour, fully shaded visor. Completely undescernible spare the agency’s logo emblazoned on their chest piece, Johnny Gat felt that he knew them. Knew, that he should know them. They stared at him as if they did. Stautuesque and deadly quiet, Johnny felt like if he made a move, they would run. He didn’t understand why he felt like that, but he had gotten into the habit of trusting his gut. When The Boss finally moved, Johnny automatically tensed for an attack- but all they did was tilt their head to the sky, hands creaking into fists. And they stared, silently, as if in conversation with the clouds. Johnny felt like he had done the same before. The battle around them raged, but kept a distance, as if their enemies knew this was no normal meeting- to intervene was to invite death. In resignation, a gargly sigh echoed from their helmet, and the attention was back on him.

“Who’re you?” They asked.

Frustration at their unidentifiable voice spurred on his frustration at the question. A voice screamed from inside of him, a stranger all his life- YOU KNOW ME. When he realised he had taken too long to answer, The Boss had taken a half-step towards him, over the body of a Legion goon, their head tilted in what could be concern.

“Johnny. Johnny Gat.” He said hoarsely, his heart taking up too much room in his throat.

They stood for a moment, letting the answer sink in, then nodded sharply, pulling up the Uzis they had in their hands.

“Try to keep up.”

And then they were off, charging into the fray once more and leaving him dumbstruck. But the words branded him. His body was moving before his mind did. Like a gear that had slipped out of place for many years, it had been kicked back into position, ready to go. Whoever this guy was, whatever they may be, Johnny was going to find out- because nothing had ever felt as good as this feeling. The feeling of rightness. The feeling of finding something that he never knew was lost. A sense of destiny calling his name from the other side of the gun.

The Boss felt like they were going to be struck down by a cruel God, and this dream was going to end.


( @celestialgoth you gave me the idea and now I can’t stop thinking of it, tis your fault.)

SPN 12x16 codafic

destiel
1k, PG
Cas still gets cell reception in Heaven because of plot convenience :)


“You should’ve seen her, Cas.” Dean smiled a little. “She was so confident working the case and fighting off creeps. Hell, she beat the odds on that cure.”

That’s our girl, he wanted to say but didn’t, because that would be weird and where did that come from, anyway? Must’ve been something in the hotel mints he ate. Or maybe in the swimming pool water…

“I am grateful to hear she’s fine now. I will admit, when I saw your text earlier, I feared the worst.”

Dean gripped the wheel tighter with the hand not holding his phone, keeping an eye out for Sam. He’d made the call to Cas while Sam was stocking up on supplies before they headed back to the bunker. From his position, he would be able to see Sam approach the parked car. He really didn’t want to deal with Sam’s ribbing about how often Dean was calling Cas lately. It always reminded him of the fact that he very much didn’t want to think about why going more than a few days without talking to Cas made him anxious.

“Sorry man, that was a dick move, making you worry like that.” Dean had regretted that text the moment he’d sent it, but at the time he hadn’t been thinking clearly. His thoughts had been filled with worry for Claire, pain and horror at the thought of losing her, but also a need to contact Cas and let him know.

Cas had a history with her, after all. He felt responsible for her. Dean had felt strongly that he’d deserved to know what was going on with her. But in his hurry to contact Cas he hadn’t considered that even if Cas wanted to rush over to be with Claire, he couldn’t.

Sometimes Dean forgot that Cas couldn’t use his wings anymore.

It was cruel, what he’d done. And Dean felt guilty for it now. So when he saw the missed call from Cas after Sam and him had waved goodbye to Claire, he knew he owed it to Cas to call him and update him on the situation.

“It’s okay, Dean. I understand why you did it and I appreciate that you even thought of me while you must have had other things on your mind.”

Dean hated it - the way Cas so casually downplayed his importance. As if it was a given that Dean wouldn’t think about him at all, as if that was natural and normal. He gritted his teeth, trying to keep his annoyance in check.

“I know how important she is to you, Cas. Even if I hadn’t sent that text then, I would’ve called you immediately after the hunt was over, like I’m doing now. You deserve to know what’s going on with her. Hell, she even said she misses you.”

During their dinner the night before, Claire had not-so-casually asked about Cas. “So, speaking of creeps, where’s everyone’s favourite flasher coat wearing angel?” she’d asked.

“She tried to hide it, of course, but she was disappointed that you weren’t here. She misses you.” She’s not the only one. “Said she wants you to give her a call. Actually her exact words were: ‘tell that loser to call me sometime. He still owes me for, like, four birthdays.’”

Cas chuckled at Dean’s impression of her. Dean was glad to hear the sound.

“I’ll be sure to do that. I do indeed still owe her a few birthday presents. What do you think she would want?”

“Honestly, man, I’m pretty sure she just wants to hang out with you, though she’d rather die than admit it. She’s a teenager, after all.” Dean was probably breaking some kind of ‘cool older brother’ code by saying this, but – as he’d come to realize in the past few days - his feelings towards her were more parental than brotherly, anyway, so he didn’t feel too bad for ratting her out.

“Oh.” Cas was quiet for a few seconds.

“Yeah, and, uh, I wouldn’t mind coming with you. I know I just saw her, but I’d like to hang out with the kid while nobody’s in mortal peril, you know?” Dean had no idea why he was saying this, but it was true. He would like to hang out with Claire and Cas. Maybe they could hit a county fair, somewhere. Do some really cheesy, family things that would embarrass the hell out of Claire. Yeah, that’d be fun.

“I would like that very much, Dean.” The open affection in Cas’s voice made something not unpleasant squeeze in Dean’s gut. “I look forward to it as soon as my current mission is over.”

At the mention of Cas’s mission, all thoughts of cotton candy, shooting galleries and teddy bear prizes were chased from Dean’s mind. He grimaced at the reminder of Lucifer, Kelly, and the Nephilim. Right, this was their life. They never actually got a break.

“I hear you, buddy. Anyway,” he said, seeing Sam walk out of the convenience store, “I gotta go now. Keep me posted, you hear? Even if you don’t make any progress. I don’t like it when you go dark for too long.”

It was an admission he probably shouldn’t be making but if it encouraged Cas to text or call him more frequently, he really didn’t care.

“I will, Dean. Take care of yourself.”

“You too.” He hung up just as Sam opened the car door.

That night, he dreamed of multi-coloured rubber ducks, Ferris wheels, bouncing blonde curls, and smiling blue eyes.

(tag list under the cut)

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moments unforgettable...

Just a little Saturday morning smutlet…happy weekend!


She’s humming to herself as she scrubs at the remnants of cinnamon stuck in the depths of her mug and doesn’t hear him approach from behind, his bare feet making little sound on the hardwood as he cages her in with his arms. He chuckles at her flinch and she flicks the water from her fingers over her shoulder in retaliation.

“Sorry, love, didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Yes you did.”

He doesn’t respond, instead seeking the soft skin behind her ear with his slightly wet nose, his lips pressing a smile along her neck when he feels her responsive shiver.

“I was getting lonely.”

“I’ve only been over here for a few minutes…”

Who is she kidding? The way their lives are, a few minutes might be all they have before someone comes crashing through their door with a problem that just must be solved.

The grumble he mumbles against her skin sounds like an agreement to her unspoken thought.

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hamswritingtho  asked:

When were you going to tell me that you're pregnant? +Feysand I've also been greatly enjoying all the little fics you've been writing :)

Thank you, friend!! This is probably not exactly what you were asking for, but for whatever dumb reason, this popped in my head reading the prompt. Hope you like!

BTW peeps: I’m still doing these, just working through them slowly. Feel free to keep sending them and I’ll try to do them when I can. Link to prompt list is at the end. <3

When Feyre rounds the corner into the produce section of the grocery store, the last thing she expects to see is Cassian shoving a watermelon under her husband’s shirt amid a choir of snickers from the pair of them. Cassian has his phone out and is just about to Snapchat a pic when Feyre clears her throat. The boys freeze, Rhys blushing just a tad.

“When were you going to tell me that you’re pregnant?” Feyre asks Rhys pointedly, stifling a smirk.

“Just getting a feel for things,” Rhys says cooly. “We can never be too prepared.”

“Man, don’t drop it!” Cass barks suddenly, seeing the huge melon begin to slip. Rhys removes it without a problem and replaces it on the shelf.

“You two are going to get us kicked out of here if you keep goofing off. We still have a lot of shopping to do and Nesta’s already bit my head off about the right kind of cheese to go with the appetizers.”

Only Nesta could make cheese and crackers feel unbearably stuffy. And as much as Feyre really does trust Nesta’s expert opinion that brie will be best, she’s not going into this dinner without a hunk of good old fashioned cheddar to see her through.

At the mention of Nesta, Cassian’s eyes spark. How he could have forgotten for even one minute that Nesta was within a five miles radius after she’d let the shopping cart slip against his shins is beyond Feyre. “Don’t worry,” Cass says walking swiftly past Feyre and patting her on the shoulder the way he does when ‘the bro’ is winning, as Azriel likes to call it. “I’ve got this.”

Feyre feels Rhys pull up even with her as she watches her friend strut off to face the horrors waiting for him in Dairy.

“I love Cassian,” Rhys says, and Feyre turns back round to face him, “but I think he has a death wish.”

Feyre tisks and pushes the cart toward the lettuce. “Stop, Nesta isn’t that bad.”

“The fact that you need to specify-”

“Rhys.”

He holds his hands up in surrender and promptly plucks an apple from a nearby stand, juggling it in a way that’s supposed to seem impressive - never mind that it’s only one apple.

Romaine… baby greens… organic… iceberg… Ugh, nobody even likes iceberg. Classic Cesar will do, Feyre decides. Or possibly… The baby greens stare up at her.

She looks back at the watermelon crate Rhys and Cassian had been messing with and feels her stomach tighten. She and Rhys have been together for nearly five years now, if you count the three years they dated before getting hitched. She knows he wouldn’t pressure her. Not ever. But sometimes he makes an offhand comment and she wonders if Rhys might not be considering beyond her present wishes.

Feyre clears her throat. “Rhys?”

“Yes dah-ling,” he says. Neither of them turn around from their respective produce. Feyre’s not sure she could if she tried.

“Did you mean what you said earlier?”

She chances a peek over her shoulder and finds Rhys has swapped his one-apple juggling act for a rather thorough examination of the differences between Fuji and Granny Smith that has his brows knit together. “What’s that?” Rhys asks, and Feyre whips her head back to the salad options.

“About… not being too prepared.”

“Too prepared?”

The misters switch on unexpectedly, dousing the lettuce and Feyre’s outstretched hand with a fine layer of mist that take her by surprise. “Oh!” she yelps and jumps back, some combination of shock and nerves forcing her into motion. Rhys chuckles and slinks over to lean on the cart.

“Don’t worry,” he says with a cheeky grin. “Last I checked, water is actually good for you.”

“Very funny,” Feyre says, the humor not entirely making it past her lips. She feels rather than sees Rhys’s face twitch.

“What’s wrong? If this about Nesta again and whether or not you thinks she’s going to throw a tantrum over your choice of rabbit food, I promise I’ll protect you.”

“Do you want to have a baby?” Feyre blurts out before she can help herself. Her stomach does a back flip just asking the question. They’ve never talked about it before. Not since they were just starting out dating and trying to decide if this was even a good fit. She knows they both want kids. Maybe just a kid. But there’s something terrifying about the idea that Rhys might want one now.

“Feyre,” Rhys says, leaning forward and dropping to a whisper, “you know I enjoy making love to you at all hours of the day, but if you think me shoving a watermelon up my shirt is gonna piss the employees off, I don’t think they’ll appreciate us-”

“I’m serious,” Feyre says, cutting Rhys off. He blinks at her a few times, mouth parted open slightly. But Feyre wants to know. Is determined to know. “Do you want to have a baby?”

Rhys backs up a step. “Do you want to have a baby?”

“I asked you first.” A small flash of intrigue in those deep blue eyes searches her making her feel known and exposed in ways only he’s ever managed.

“Alright,” Rhys says, folding his arms and seeming to sense that she means business. Feyre draws a deep breath waiting. “You know I want to have a kid - eventually. If you’re asking, do I want one right now?” Feyre nods. “No. I don’t think so. I mean, shoot, if it happens, then great. I’ll welcome it with open arms and shove a watermelon up my shirt for nine months so you don’t feel so bad.” Feyre releases a small chuckle at that and Rhys smiles. “Why so curious about kids all of a sudden?”

Feyre rolls her eyes, more at herself than him, and tosses a hand up. “I don’t know. I saw you joking around with Cassian, but then you made that comment and you’ve said stuff in the past, that I just wondered if maybe you were…” She pauses, catches Rhys watching her intently with his brow raised in amusement, and lets out a shaky laugh. “I’m being ridiculous, aren’t I?”

Rhys pulls Feyre into his arms with his own chuckle and it feels like she can finally stop fretting. “No, you’re not. It’s good that we talk about these things. I just don’t understand why you’re so concerned with it? You know we can take our time. And if overgrown melons are all we end up with, we’ll be well fed.”

Feyre snorts. “Now you’re being ridiculous.”

“Yeah, but you can’t deny it’s a good idea.”

“No, I really can’t-”

“Get that out of your nose!”

Both Feyre’s and Rhys’s heads snap to the side where Nesta has found the produce section along with Cassian… who has shoved a small wedge of brie up his nose much to Nesta’s chagrin.

Feyre grimaces. “At least it’s shrink wrapped?” Rhys offers, and then laughs when Feyre smacks her head into his chest with a groan. “Come on,” he says, rubbing up her arms a few times for confidence. “Let’s go sort them out.”

“Go on. I just have to grab some lettuce first.” Rhys nods, heading off.

Feyre looks back down at her options and decides, maybe the baby greens aren’t so bad after all. A nice watermelon salad could be good for spring.

Send me a prompt + otp or brotp and I’ll write a drabble!

happygothe-epic-posts  asked:

May I have mini toddler baby galra keef and the dad's of mamora?? Please???

All your guys prompts are so good. I’m running into the problem that I have too many ideas for them xD So I’m slowly but surely getting through them! Hope you enjoy this :3

Also I went with baby baby Keith, sorry >.<


“What are you doing?” Thace gaped from the doorway. He had never seen his leader like this.

Kolivan’s ear twitched, but otherwise he ignored him. He grabbed a blanket maneuvering it so it wove in and out of the other blankets in the pile, hiding the floor from view. There were several shirts in the pile, as well as pillows. Kolivan tucked them in places, pausing in thought before changing things up.

He finally glanced at Thace, “I’m making a nest.”

“Yes, I can see that, but why.” He stepped into the room, stopping a bit away from the nest. He didn’t want to intrude without permission.

Kolivan snorted, grabbing a shirt and tucking part of it under a pillow. “If you knew, why did you ask?”

Thace frowned. He hated when Kolivan was like this. He had spent too much time with Antok, and it showed. “Just answer my other question.”

Kolivan sat back on his knees, looking at Thace with a small, but knowing frown. “You know very little about raising kits.”

Oh. Thace felt tension invade his body as he turned and looked over at the side of the room. Antok was sitting there, crossed legged, carefully running a clawed hand through the soft, dark locks of the newest addition to the Blade. Said addition chose that moment to yawn loudly, hair, ears, twitching. He looked over, as if he knew that he was being discussed.

Grey eyes looked directly at him, and Thace froze. Kolivan had been right, Thace had never interacted with a kit before. He knew nothing of what they offered, what they could or couldn’t do. He should’ve joined Ulaz in his research, but instead he was here, feeling as if this kit, this child, was peering into his soul.

After a moment small, chubby hands reached out, a mix of noises, chirps and coos, falling from the kit’s lips. Thace heard Kolivan snort again.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Antok said, smirk overtaking his features. “Would you really deny a kit?”

Thace slowly walked over, whole body tense. One wrong move and he might spook the kit. Anxiety bit away at his mind, and his limbs felt heavy. What if he scared him? Even worse, what if he hurt him? Thace had no idea how kits were to be held, what noises were to be made, or how to handle a small cry.

What was he getting himself into?

Before he knew it he was standing before Antok, the kit making increasingly more urgent chirps. He stood there, still as a column. Antok sighed, lifting the kit up, and moving him towards Thace’s chest. His arms came out on instinct, cradling the child when Antok pulled away.

“Keith, right?” Thace asked. Keith chirped again, and Thace didn’t fight the low purr that escaped his throat.

Antok nodded, leaning back as he watched Thace, “It was the name he was given by his sire.”

Thace brought a hand up, supporting Keith’s small body with his arm. He knew that he liked it when people rubbed behind his ears, and he couldn’t help but wonder if the same applied to Keith. He rubbed at the spot, careful to make sure his claws did not scratch. Keith wiggled a moment before letting out a soft purr, eyes falling shut.

“You’re a natural,” Kolivan said from the nest, prompting Thace to turn. “Now, bring him over. He needs to get used to the nest.”

Thace would never say it to Kolivan’s face, but it almost seemed that he was jealous that Thace had all of Keith’s attention.

Cross Posted On AO3

You Forgot Your Change!

A Shitty/Lardo meet-cute for a prompt I saw earlier today: You look like you can barely afford to eat out, and you still gave me the best tip I have ever received from a single person. [Also on AO3]


In theory, taking a job waiting tables at the posh restaurant near the yacht club was genius. Where better to make big tips than a place frequented by people who clearly had too much money?

Turns out, rich people didn’t tip that well. Lardo had no idea why, but it appeared to be the truth. She still needed the job, though, so she stuck with it. Art supplies weren’t cheap, and she had a show coming up.

Not that today is going to be much help for her art supply fund. She maybe shouldn’t have made the mistake of inadvertently insulting hyperrealism earlier, because now Beth Ann, who was hostess this afternoon, was assigning all the stingiest people she could find to Lardo’s section. It wasn’t even like Lardo had said it was bad! She just said it was technically impressive, but often compositionally uninteresting. It wasn’t like she’d memorized the portfolios of all her fellow servers.

Looking at the guy Beth Ann had just seated, she thought maybe she should consider it, just out of self-preservation. Because this guy didn’t look like he fit in with this restaurant’s usual clientele at all. He didn’t fit in with this entire side of town at all. He was wearing an American flag denim vest over a slogan tee, for god’s sake. He looked vaguely like a refugee from the set of Dazed and Confused; he looked like a dine-and-dash waiting to happen.

Still, she was a professional. Sort of. Whatever. She had standards, anyway. So she stepped up to the table in complete customer service mode and asked what she could get him.

“I dunno, man, you think I could start with a little light socialism?”

She blinked at him. She was generally prepared to deal with customers who went off script, but this was pushing it, even for her. “I’ll see what I can do about that. How about a drink while you wait for the revolution?”

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professormeme  asked:

who is penny milliken and why do you hate her? i know all the problems with HER right now, i've just never heard specific people mentioned yet

Hoo boy. Let me begin, and I will try my best to make this as factual as possible, even though I hate her.

Penny Milliken is HER Interactive’s current CEO, as of September 2014. This means that the only full game produced under her “leadership” was Sea of Darkness, which was likely in production before she took over.

Sea of Darkness was, by all accounts, a generally well-liked and well-enjoyed game. Especially favored by many of us here was the small but important inclusion that Dagny is a lesbian and had a wife, whom she separated with. This, of course, has nothing to do with Penny herself, because it was almost certainly not her idea. Katie Chironis, whose brief but impactful tenure as a lead writer for SEA and MID was widely praised by many fans, was likely the person responsible for the move towards inclusivity (correct me if I am wrong, as I have always been under the impression that story piece was Katie’s doing). And this is where our troubles began, because not long after SEA’s release (and the intense hype for MID, which seemed to deliver a dark, edgy, girl-focused story that we had been clamoring for) Katie left HER after only 9 months at the company. At first, we were very concerned that her departure was related specifically to the inclusion of a gay character, but the situation was murky at best. I think she left of her own accord, especially because of the huge amount of layoffs the company was undergoing.

Layoffs which wiped out nearly all of HER’s staff, it should be mentioned. Layoffs that came right on the heels of the successful release of a game. Their Glassdoor reviews (which I don’t have screenshots of, unfortunately; worth noting, too, that the company only has “1-50 employees” which is a pretty broad way of saying ten people work there, lol) cited how the company had shifted after Penny’s supposed ascension to the throne, and how the company was basically a revolving door of employees–benefits and security were very unstable and uncertain, causing a lot of long-time employees to leave (per my understanding). And the biggest blow, the one most baffling and most upsetting, was HER’s decision to fire Lani Minella very shortly after Penny took office. It bears repeating that Lani was firedshe did not leave of her own volition–and this decision was Penny’s (see Reddit thread comments where Lani cites the “HER admin” being behind the move). It became clear that HER was on their way towards a rebrand, but it was unclear exactly what that would be.

That rebrand turned out to be Codes and Clues, an app released to help girls learn how to code with Nancy Drew. Necessary and cool? Sure. But at a time when the company inexplicably delayed Midnight in Salem (see this thread for the timing of C&C) for reasons related to “developer issues”, it became unclear how a company could produce an entire app yet have no idea what was going on with Midnight in Salem. See my post here for why it is a shitty, money-grabbing move that will not make the impact Penny hopes it would (i.e. creating a lasting fanbase that will continue to purchase their products).

The other part of this rebranding was the shift to the Unity platform. I’ve played a couple of Unity platform games, most notably The Wolf Among Us and the Strong Bad games (lol) made through Telltale Games. And I guess I can see why the shift was “necessary” to Penny, as Unity is a commonly used platform, but to me, walk simulator games (similar to Unity platform games) are fun, but they make me super sick unless I can get finely detailed controls over how the camera moves and works. And frankly, I don’t need to be able to look up at the ceiling or turn in a full circle when I’m playing Nancy Drew. That’s not why I play. But in terms of keeping up with the market, the shift sort of makes sense.

But why, then, hand this huge developer-related shift to an outsourced group of developers, rather than the, I don’t know, former in-house developing staff? LJ’s post here sort of addresses this, saying that many aspects of past ND games have been outsourced. But there is a huge, huge difference between “outsourcing” voice acting (which is not the same; recording from different locations than where the developers/producers/etc are located is very common) and handing the literal creation of the game itself to a completely unrelated team. LJ makes reference to HER hiring their own animators and artists after ICE…so then why fire them if that type of in-house work is truly as uncommon as she claims? This thread here has a great discussion of the bizarreness of this move and how it seems uncharacteristically greedy and is a very hypocritical move to make. I want to stress, again, that Penny Milliken has been the person in charge while these sudden and abrupt changes occurred; there is really no other source to pinpoint.

What else has been weird? Well, HER used Katie Chironis’s unedited story pitch for MID (would appreciate if someone had links to Katie’s original tweets about this) as an actual descriptor of the game/way to market the game, rather than, y’know, the actual story that was written, without Katie’s knowledge or consent. Katie is bound by NDA to not say anything about MID, but the game seems to have disappeared into the ether, as far as former and current employees are concerned. 

I don’t have as many sources for this, but LJ has made repeated references to the fact that the team is basically doing nothing right now…..yet claims that they’re working on stuff at the same time. This thread is particularly illuminating.

Additionally, HER makes really shitty marketing decisions on Facebook, such as running sales on games that fans already own. As far as I know, this content isn’t really being promoted to anyone who DOESN’T own the games. It’s silly to run sales on something that people….already own? If Steam ran a sale on Life is Strange, it wouldn’t tell me because I already own the game. Why would I buy it again? it’s a pretty obvious “clear our inventory because we are desperate for money” sale, which is very sad. I could go into a whole diatribe about the horrible marketing itself, but that’s more of a “PR is really bad at their job” thing than a “Penny Milliken is like Satan” thing. That being said, the fact that their marketing is this bad and Penny is fine with it (or is encouraging it) is really embarrassing.

And then we come to the comments on these posts. First of all, HER took down an advert they put up today that SEA was “the best adventure game of 2017.” I feel like I’m living under a (second) fascist regime, because that is such a blatant and deliberate manipulation of facts presented not only as truth, but as a way to “make money” (??? even though who would buy the game in the fanbase that DOESN’T own it). The reviews calling it that don’t exist. No one is saying that it’s a great game of 2017, because it was released two years ago. It’s like the “Bowling Greene Massacre”–a fake event is used to create hype for something supposedly coming in the future (although to very different ends for HI, obviously). Comments on the post calling this out were deleted, and then the post itself was deleted. It just seems absurdly, absurdly stupid to make such obvious and glaring lies the focal point of a marketing scheme to a fanbase devoted to solving mysteries.

Why does this matter, and what does this have to do with Penny? Well, many of us who have been involved with the HER fandom for years can tell you honestly that HER has always come across as a very open and accessible company that produced something near and dear to our childhood. I may never get to meet JK Rowling and thank her for Harry Potter, but up until Penny’s tenure as CEO, HER Interactive was very kind and engaging to fans who loved and supported their games so much. And it is remarkable that this game series has existed for nearly twenty years and still has the exact same people playing it! Emailing HER with questions about unanswered game plots and interviewing staff members (the interview of Kevin Manthei by thegoldengardenia I think, for example) was easy and fun. It was a mutual relationship that all parties benefited from–by having such clear, transparent access to the company that literally produced our childhoods, HER Interactive was able to maintain a steady, devoted fanbase in an otherwise dwindling market.

But now that Penny has taken the reins, all that has changed. Deleting Facebook comments, bizarre marketing moves like the “Odyssey” thing (explained here), and the seemingly intractable gulf that is information about MID (information about which is always contradictory; “we’re still working on it but we have no idea what’s happening on it” basically???) has led to an era of confusion and shunting a loyal fanbase. I would wait for MID for however many years it takes to make it if they had made it transparent and clear why it was the game had to be delayed, like many Kickstarter game startups have done in the past. I would donate money, too, if that was the problem. But by shutting fans out (especially by making an app clearly designed to shut most of the fanbase out through its intended demographic), HER has lost loyal fans, many of whom are my friends who I met through the games–friends I never thought would stop playing. Penny has single-handedly driven loyalty, respect, and trust in the company to the ground. It will be nothing short of a miracle if MID even recoups whatever it cost to make it, considering the only real market for the games (long-time fans, let’s just be real with ourselves here) has already been lost.

Anyway. I hate her, because she ruined something I respected that produced things important to me. She changed it in a way that was clearly not for the better, and she makes decisions that hurt good people–at a larger company this would be expected, but not for this tiny, tiny company. Nancy Drew has been an important part of my life for literally more than half of my life, and to see this company so clearly being run into the ground while fans’ protests are shut down is so painful. It hurts to watch something you love get ruined while you can do nothing about it, really.

So I hope that all was clear and useful! If you want to read more, I suggest this article!

anonymous asked:

Give us all the angst. Wait- no that's too much angst. Put some of that back. Please we're begging you give us some fluff. Please, my queen, have mercy.

Wellllll… I DID just graduate. I guess you can have a little fluff. Just while I’m celebrating ;)


The problem with “I love you”

     There were a lot of things Keith didn’t get about Lance. He didn’t get how one person could have so many words that seemed to bubble out of him constantly, like froth on a beer glass overflowing. He didn’t get how the guy could almost die and ten minutes later be making a joke about mice. He didn’t get why he flirted so easily and openly with people everywhere they went, alien species or no. He really didn’t get why he was so hell bent on insisting he was Keith’s rival. But the thing that drove him insane was how often Lance said “I love you.”

     Keith had a distant memory of his father, tucking him into bed late at night, giving him a kiss on forehead, and murmuring, “I love you, big guy.” There had been no “I love you”s from his foster families throughout the years. There certainly hadn’t been one from the boy with the clumsy hands who’d stuck his fat, wet tongue in Keith’s mouth in an alley behind the school when they were barely thirteen. There had not even been one from Shiro when Keith had hugged him tight before the Kerberos mission, the careful wall he’d built up across the years crumbling in the face of losing his mentor and his brother, the one person he’d learned to trust, for almost twenty months.

     He had gotten exactly three “I love you”s from Lance since Blue had hurled them through a wormhole, and it was driving him up the wall.

    The first one had come when Lance had slipped and fallen while training solo with the gladiator and nearly been sliced in half. He’d been so busy dodging away from the gladiator’s sword that he hadn’t been able to catch his breath enough to shout the command to end the training session. Keith had walked in, saw what was happening, and called out the command for him. Lance collapsed back in relief and a puddle of sweat, and said, “Oh my God, Keith, you are my savior, I love you.”

     It had gone up his spine like a jolt of electricity and left him hanging speechless in the doorway, because just two days ago, Hunk had made the first meal they’d had since coming to space that wasn’t food goo by scrounging Arusian ingredients. Lance had taken one bite, groaned in pleasure, and declared his love for Hunk to the world. So why the hell was he now saying it to Keith? To cover his confusion, he backed out of the room before Lance could sit up, and then turned tail and ran.

     He quickly realized that Lance lavished “I love you”s on anyone and everyone that made him happy. The words held no special weight to him. He never saved them or cherished them, but dropped them freely and enthusiastically – which was, in fairness, how he behaved with everything. Pidge figured out how to hook up that game she and Lance had bought at the space mall so they could play it? “Pidge, you absolute beauty, I love you.” Shiro told them his plan for attacking a Galra ship? “Shiro, you’re my hero and I love you, but we are all going to die.” Hunk fixed that odd, aggravating squeaking in Blue’s back left leg? “Hunk, you genius, you paragon of kindness, I love you.” Keith got Lance away from a weird little alien with too many arms and legs that was so excited to meet an actual Paladin of Voltron that it had literally latched onto his leg and would not let go? “Keith, thank God, I love you.”

     That second time, Keith had just gritted his teeth and hadn’t responded, but as soon as they were back to the Castle he’d made some hurried, garbled excuse and dashed away. It didn’t seem to bother any of the others, and Keith hated how it got to him. It was just that he didn’t know what the hell he was supposed to do when Lance said it. Was he supposed to say it back? Did he just ignore it? Did it mean anything to him at all? Did the way Keith’s heart flapped like a hummingbird inside his chest when he heard Lance say those words matter to him? How was he supposed to know if it did?

     The third time, Keith snapped.

     “Don’t say that!”

      Lance jumped, splashing water everywhere, his head dunking briefly under, and he reemerged gasping and blinking in confusion, snorting out the water that had gone up his nose. Keith, swallowing all semblance of pride and rivalry, had muttered to Lance that they never had gotten their swim in, and he’d asked Allura how to flip the room so it would function like an Earth pool. Lance had been in the elevator in a swimsuit so fast Keith didn’t have any time to prepare or get there before him. The sight of his bare back brought back an uncomfortably visceral memory of its warmth pressed against his own. Keith choked on the regret of every decision he had ever made that had brought him to this point. They’d gotten to the pool in awkward silence, and the cool stillness of the water had drained the tension from the room. Lance had been floating on his back, looking utterly at peace, his eyes fluttering closed, when he had said it, sounding almost half asleep: “Keith, this was the best idea. I love you.”

     Now he was staring at him, dark blue eyes wide and upset, and Keith had to fight the urge to sink below the surface of the water and never come back up again.

     “What did I say?” he asked, sounding small. Shame burned Keith’s lungs like acid, but he couldn’t stand it anymore.

     “‘I love you’! You’re always goddamn saying ‘I love you.’ How the hell can you just— how can you just throw that around like it means nothing at all? What am I supposed to do when you say it?” Lance had dipped down so low in the water that only his nose, his eyes, and his forehead were still visible. “Don’t just say ‘I love you’ and act like nothing’s happened. It might not mean anything to you but it means something to me.” He snapped his mouth shut, feeling the corner of his wall crumbling, and started to scramble for the edge of the pool. Lance shot up out of the water, reached out, and caught his arm.

     “Wait, Keith, wait, please, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it… that it was that important to you.” Keith stood still, the arm Lance was holding arched behind him, water dripping off his bangs and into his eyes. He refused to turn and look at Lance. “My family says it a lot. We say it to each other all the time. It’s not a momentous occasion for us, it’s just a way of reminding each other that we really care about each other a lot. And, I mean, you guys are kind of my family too, so I just thought…” He trailed off. When he spoke again, it was so quiet Keith barely heard him over the water lapping against the sides of the pool. “I can quit saying it to you, if it upsets you.”

     Keith whipped around, sending little waves rippling out toward Lance, and returned Lance’s grip on his forearm so they were both clutching each other. His eyes locked onto Lance’s and he couldn’t disguise the fear in them. “That’s… not exactly what I want,” Keith said. They stared at each other, the little strip of water an ocean between them. “I just never know what you mean when you say it. How do I know if you’re serious?” Lance chewed the inside of his cheek, considering. He guided Keith over to the edge of the pool and pulled them up so they were sitting with their legs dangling in the water.

     “What if I just… tell you?” he asked.

     “That works,” Keith said breathlessly. They were much too close, his right arm brushing Lance’s left, their knees less than a hair’s breadth from touching.

     “When I said ‘I love you’ I meant that you’ve made my day by suggesting this trip to the pool. I meant that you’ve made me so much happier and relaxed than I’ve been in weeks and thank you so much for that. I meant that when you’re not being an ass, I actually really enjoy your company, so I’m really happy you’re here with me.” Was it Keith’s imagination, or was Lance pressing against his arm more strongly than before? “When else did I say it?” he asked.

     “That time with—” Keith cleared his throat “—that time with the gladiator.” Lance looked up, remembering, and then nodded.

     “Right. That time I meant, Keith knows what to do, thank God he’s here, thank God he’s not just going to stand there and laugh at me for getting my ass beat, thank God you really do care about me, somewhere in there.” He gave a self-deprecating smile, and paused. “Is that why you ran out of the training room after that happened?” Their knees were touching. Keith didn’t know whether he or Lance had initiated it but neither of them were moving away, despite Keith’s best instincts.

     “Yeah,” he said. He swallowed. “Sorry about that.” Lance shook his head.

     “I should have asked. Was there another time?”

     “Just one. With that alien in the mall.” Lance laughed, and Keith tried not to notice the way his laugh vibrated through him.

     “That time I meant, I’m not sure I’ve ever been happier to see that stupid mullet. I meant, I thought I was never getting out of there, and I feel like a damsel who’s been rescued by his knight in shining armor.” They were looking at each other now, their faces much too close for comfort. The whites of Lance’s eyes shimmered with the reflected light of the pool. “Can I say it again?”

     “Say…” Keith couldn’t find the breath to finish the sentence, but Lance seemed to take it as confirmation.

     “I love you, and I mean, I care about you and I’m pretty sure at this point that you care about me, and that means the world to me. And I mean, having you on this team has turned out to be incredible and we never could have gotten this far without you. And I mean, I love that stupid mullet and your stupidly beautiful eyes and… and I…” Lance faltered, starting to pull away. “Sorry, that was dumb, I’ve— I’m— Um…” Keith dropped his hand over Lance’s, and with the other, grabbed his cheek, pulled his face back close, and kissed him hard. Drops of water from Lance’s upper lip pressed onto his own skin, sending a delicious shiver down his spine as his eyes drifted closed. Lance freed his captured hand and shoved his fingers through Keith’s mullet, pushing his head down and closer, while his other hand found Keith’s thigh and squeezed. Keith brought his hand up and ran it across the warm, smooth expanse of Lance’s back, pulling his whole body closer until they were pressing into one another over their legs. Lance’s tongue slipped inside Keith’s mouth, running along the inside of his cheek.

     A shudder from the castle broke their embrace by knocking them both off the edge back into the water to rise sputtering and red in the face. Keith sank down so only his eyes were above the water, staring at Lance uncertainly. Lance grinned sheepishly, running a hand through his hair, and Keith felt a smile stretching his cheeks underwater. Lance reached down, grabbed his hands, and pulled him to his feet. He pressed his lips briefly to Keith’s once more. They stood for a moment, waist-deep in water, hands clasped between them, foreheads touching, both their faces hot with embarrassment and pleasure, half laughing at the absurdity of it all.

     “We’ll talk later,” Lance said finally. “Right now they probably need their expert defense drones on the bridge.” Keith gasped out a laugh, trying to think about walking down in front of everyone without saying a word about what had just happened.

     “Is talking the only thing we’ll do later?” he asked. Lance squeezed his hands so tight it was almost painful.

     “Not if it’s up to me,” he promised.

     “Then let’s go,” Keith said. He turned to climb out of the pool, but Lance kept hold of one of his hands, yanking him back. Keith looked at him.

     “Hey Keith, you don’t have to say it back anytime soon, but you should know: I love you. And if you’re still worried about how to react—” Keith didn’t let him finish, but instead kissed him fiercely and briefly. When he pulled back, Lance looked dazed. “…That option is fine by me,” he said. Keith chuckled, and then pulled Lance out.

     “Let’s go carry the team,” he said. Lance grinned at him.

     “You got it.”

freezing-and-crimson  asked:

This is kinda rude and pathetic to ask. But your writing always cheers me up and I've been so deep in depression that it's not even funny. But could you write a small drabble about Kakashi x Orochimaru taking care of and raising Mitsuki and Log??? If you don't want to then that's fine ^^ don't feel like you have to write something.

💕

It’s a little startling, just how often Kakashi sees his father’s smile echoed so clearly in Mitsuki’s cheerful grins.

Seeing it always gives the same reaction; his breath catches in his throat, his eyes widen, his heart stutters. It’s not pain, the way it might have been before Pein’s invasion. It’s not the aching, crushing grief he carried for so many years. This is closer to joy, light and effervescent and full, and Kakashi smiles back, even though Mitsuki is thoroughly occupied with Boruto right now.

“You know, one could say that it’s your smile as well,” Orochimaru say, amused, as he comes to lean against the balcony railing. Kakashi almost wants to accuse him of reading his mind, but—well. He mentioned it once, helpless in the face of that small connection that shouldn’t be, and Orochimaru’s memory is hardly lacking.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he denies, mostly just to be contrary.

Orochimaru’s expression shades towards polite disbelief, but he doesn’t call Kakashi on it. “You have good DNA,” he says instead, gaze flickering back to their son.

Kakashi rolls his eyes, just a little, because coming from the Sannin that’s absolutely a compliment, but it would probably send anyone else screaming for the hills. Sometimes Kakashi wonders why he doesn’t do the same, except for the fact that he’s always been a little light on self-preservation.

Besides, two pieces of his DNA are currently wandering around the Hokage Mansion. Kakashi might not cop to much, but that’s…pretty incredible.

“Rogu?” he asks, because he knows from experience that it’s never a good idea to let his older son stay out of sight too long.

Orochimaru’s amusement says that he sees right through Kakashi’s casual question, and also remembers that time with Gai, the melons, and the exploding tags just as clearly as Kakashi does, if likely for different reasons.

(Kakashi is scarred, all right? There was definite mental trauma happening that day, even if Tsunade laughed him out of her office when he told her that.)

“Occupying himself,” Orochimaru says breezily, as if that’s any sort of comfort at all. He turns precisely, already stepping back towards their bedroom, and adds, “I’m going to R&D if you—”

“I don’t think so.” Maybe Genma is right about mild insanity and suicidal bravery being the prerequisite for becoming a jounin—not that he has any room to talk, the jerk—but Kakashi grabs him around the waist, dodges the knife-hand blow that would have crushed the windpipe of anyone slower, and steers him back towards the freshly-made bed. “You’re not leaving me here alone with four children.”

The amusement on Orochimaru’s face is well-hidden behind a veil of black hair and his half-hearted struggles. “Kakashi, Sarada and Boruto are perfectly polite children—”

“One is Sasuke and Naruto’s child, and the other is Sakura’s,” Kakashi says firmly. “And Mitsuki is terrifying.”

Conspicuously, Orochimaru doesn’t argue this point. “I just made the bed,” he complains instead, and when Kakashi pauses to eye him disbelievingly, there’s a quicksilver flash of a smirk before a foot is sweeping his legs out from under him.

Kakashi is the Hokage and has been a shinobi for over thirty years now; he’s not about to be taken down by a trick like that, so when he falls he grabs Orochimaru and drags him down onto the mattress with him. There’s a brief but fierce struggle to pin each other—Kakashi mostly wins due to extra body mass and feels no shame in admitting it—and when it ends, Orochimaru is watching Kakashi with narrowed eyes and the shadow of a smirk on his lips.

They’re very pretty lips, Kakashi thinks, gaze flickering to them, and can see the exact moment Orochimaru catches it. His eyes darken, features sliding towards smugly amused, and—

Well. Kakashi had never though he’d end up here, that morning when Konoha’s most famous semi-pardoned missing-nin marched into his office with two small children in tow and an aggravated Suigetsu mislabeled my DNA samples so these are yours, Hatake in explanation. Hadn’t even vaguely considered it, but…he’s come to the conclusion that he doesn’t really mind.

Mitsuki’s laugh, loud and bright from outside the window, sounds just like his father’s as well.

Carefully, he tugs his mask off, leaning down to kiss Orochimaru slowly and thoroughly. There’s a satisfied hum as clever fingers curl around the back of his neck, and it’s lazy and languid and full of banked heat.

There’s a sudden groan from the hallway outside their bedroom, followed by an annoyed, “Don’t you know how doors work? I don’t want to see that,” and then hurried steps as Rogu retreats with speed.

Kakashi can’t help but think of that morning, when Sasuke came to drop of Boruto and caught them kissing in the kitchen. Usually Kakashi has to work a lot harder to inflict that level of trauma on his cute former students, so he’s calling this a good day.

Still. Rogu moving with any sort of alacrity outside of an actual fight, even in the face of parental PDA, is usually a bad sign. Kakashi looks down at Orochimaru, who arches a brow right back, and has to sit back with a resigned sigh.

Somewhere in the distance, something explodes. Equal odds as to whether it’s Rogu’s fault or the Terrible Threesome’s.

“I feel like we should ignore that,” Kakashi says lightly.

Orochimaru’s smirk is knowing. “Is the Rokudaime Hokage really afraid of the mischief of children?” he asks, as if that’s a fair question at all.

“My children,” Kakashi reminds him, ducking down for one more quick kiss. “Your children.”

With a hum, Orochimaru concedes the point. “In my defense, I thought I was using the Nidaime’s DNA.”

Like that would have been better. Kakashi lets one raised brow speak for him.

Chuckling, Orochimaru slides out from underneath him, as unexpected but lithe as a snake, and rises to his feet. “I’m required at R&D,” he informs Kakashi, flashing him a sly smile. “Have fun with the children, my dear.”

Kakashi groans and feels entirely justified flopping face-first into the pillows.

Long fingers stroke through his hair, but Orochimaru darts away when Kakashi tries to grab him again. Footsteps—deliberate, Kakashi knows, since the smug bastard can’t be bothered to make noise when walking at any other time—retreat out the door, and Kakashi sighs, smelling smoke.

This is definitely payback for what he inflicted on his father in childhood, he thinks wryly, levering himself up. There’s no doubt at all.

He grabs the spray bottle sitting on the bedside table, straightens his clothes, and heads out to hunt down his children.

You’re my lucky star

Words: 2.5k

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: cancer mentions (not dan or phil)

Summary: Dan sees the same person at the bus stop every day when he gets home from work. One day, he starts to give Dan lucky stars when he’s not feeling great

Read on AO3


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anonymous asked:

Hey lovely I've had an idea bouncing around my noggin lately.. What about an angsty bughead fic where Juggy gets concerned that Betty's going to hurt herself like Polly? I don't know why, maybe she did or something.. Just a thought.. Love your writing! ❤

I’ve gotten a lot of angsty requests lately and I’m actually really enjoying writing them! Thank you so much!
****

He was scared. Jughead jones was actually so terrified, he found it difficult to focus on anything, including his novel.

It wasn’t the “I’m gonna fail my history test” type of scared, it was more “I’m losing the one person in this world who really matters to me.” Type of scared

Betty was falling. No one seemed to notice but him, but what he was seeing was enough to scare even the toughest socially awkward teenager.

Everyday, the bags under her eyes would get darker, her palms were almost always bloody, and he hadn’t seen her laugh in almost a month, and then their was tonight.

The gang had been having a late night study session, when they brought up the upcoming midterm Veronica had jokingly said

“It’s pretty much the end of our lives if we fail the calculus midterm, right bets?”

Betty’s eyes became glossier than normal and she nodded

“Yeah totally, the end of my life.”

Jughead stared at her for a little but Betty didn’t meet his eyes, she kept her face towards the window, staring blankly outside.

While he was walking her home she had turned to him

“Thank you Jughead, you’re my best friend, you’ve been so great through everything, I’m really proud of you, I want you to know that. ”

His heart race sped up.

“Why does it sound like you’re saying goodbye?”

She smiled sadly

“Because I’m going inside.”

“Betty..”

“Bye juggie”

Then the door had slammed, echoing through his ears.

He had gone home and hadn’t done a single thing but think about the beautiful blonde angel.

This wasn’t doing him any good, grabbing his beanie he was out the door, fast as he came in.

Before he knew it, he was standing under Betty’s window. He was not athletic, and he most definitely should have thought this through, considering the only way in, required climbing a tree and sliding through the window.

“Okay jones, you got this.”

After about twelve failed attempts to mount the tree, he finally made it to the top, balancing on the tree and sliding in through the window.

There was betty, laying on her bed, eyes closed with her ear buds in her ears.

Beside her bed was an orange pill bottle and he immediately snatched it from the dresser, effectively grabbing her attention, she jumped up knocking her her earbuds out.

“Jughead?! What are you doing in here? How did you get in here?! Did you climb that tree?!” She said in a panicky ramble, eyes wide.

“I ask the questions here! Why is this pill bottle by your bed, what are you doing with all of these ?”

She looked at him confused

“Jughead, those are my sleeping pills, why do you care about those?”

He shook his head

“ you don’t need to sleep! You need to stay alive! You can’t die Betty, the gang needs you! I need you. I’m sorry I haven’t been there, I didn’t know what to do.. it’s my fault, I’m just so emotionally stunted.” He was rambling and Betty cut him off

“ woah woah woah! Die? Who said anything about dying? I need those pills because I have nightmares. I’m depressed Jughead not suicidal.” She said softly.

“Isn’t depression just a gateway to suicide?” He asked panicky.

She grabbed his hand and sat him down on her bed

“Sometimes that is the case, but I’m getting help. I don’t wanna kill myself, I’m just tired almost all the time, and I find it difficult to focus. I know I haven’t been much fun to hang out with and I’m sorry, but I’m working on getting better. Actually talking to you about all this, makes me feel a little better.” She smiled at him.

Releasing the breath he was holding

“So you don’t plan on leaving the earth anytime soon?”

She laughed

“Nope Jughead, you’re stuck with me for as long as the good lord sees fit.”


Flopping back on her bed he sighed

“Thank god.”

She Layed down beside him

“So you need me huh?”

He closed his eyes

“More than you’ll ever know Betty Cooper”

fantasticalnonsense18  asked:

Lately I've been pondering the development of Beauty and Beast's relationship, chiefly in Villeneuve/Beaumont's and Disney's versions, and of course you're own; each retelling is unique in its own way, and each has different lessons to teach. My question to you is, how has this relationship developed over the centuries (i.e. how we interpret it), and who do you think learns more from the other, or has more character growth, due to this relationship: Beauty or Beast?

Ooh, that’s a GREAT question, and not one I can really give a short or glib answer to…

Most older variants of the story are interested in Beauty getting what she deserves —wealth, station and an appropriate mate. This makes sense, as it’s a story about a woman told by women —first at great length in Villeneuve’s novella, and then in a much shorter bowdlerized form by Beaumont. The primary concern of the story is Beauty being respectfully courted by a remarkable patient and good hearted, but ugly, individual. This is, heartbreakingly, a deeply romantic fantasy when we consider that its authors were women who had been foisted into loveless political marriages with less than kindhearted men — it’s the story of hoping the man with whom you are forced co-habitate will turn out to be a kind prince, in spite of first seeming to be an unknowable monster.

The details of the characters aren’t precise —these are fairy tales after all. The Prince has no name, and neither does the heroine (she is so pretty people call her a beauty — this isn’t actually her name). Villeneuve glories in setting her stage and painting her set details, but never gives us much idea of the characters’ emotional lives. Beaumont trims the fat (and the backstory) but leaves us with even less to build upon. All we really know is the Beauty is kind, optimistic, hard-working and good, and her Beast is patient, self-effacing and perhaps a touch melodramatic.

It’s when we begin moving into cinema and the modern trend towards broader retellings that we start to see some digging into the character’s emotional state;

Cocteau’s film gives us a remarkable sensual Beast, and a stern, restrained Beauty. The story, abstract in places, relying on metaphor and surrealist imagery, can be taken as an emotional one — Beauty’s strange journey towards realizing her own sensual desires, as depicted by a man who seems to be an animal… or is he her brother’s friend? She’s not sure. They run together in her mind. Although Cocteau’s Beast is a powerful image with his smoking claws, his diamond tears, and his stalking bloodied through Beauty’s bedchamber, the emotional journey is not his.

Robin Mckinley gave us our next step in her fully realized novel, Beauty — a straightforward and no- nonsense story told from the heroine’s straightforward and no-nonsense point of view. Here, Beauty’s interior life is on full display. It is most definitely her story, her growth, and her revelations we care about. Her Beast is already more or less a complete person — one who is happy to rediscover his love of horses, yes, but not with any great emotional journey to make. Once more, it is Beauty who must grapple with herself, while the Beast waits patiently for her to come him as the inevitable conclusion.

When Disney arrives (borrowing much of McKinley’s Beauty for their own bookish, horse-loving Belle) they begin an exploration we haven’t seen before —one into the Beast’s interior life. Gone is the gentle patient soul waiting for the girl to open up to him. Here, suddenly is the angry young man raging against circumstances and lashing out at the world. For the first time, we have a Beast who is every bit as beastly as he appears. For the first time, we have a Beauty who is awaiting the maturation her partner, her own journey already complete.

Leading up to this point, we’d seen a number of explorations of the story that allowed the Beast to become a metaphor for Beauty’s awakening sexuality, her exploration of unconscious desire, or her self actualization. We hadn’t seen a Beast who was a person in and of himself since Beaumont trimmed away Villeneuve’s backstory of a boy cursed by a caregiver-turned-predator.

Since then, we’ve seen a number of adaptations concerned with the Beast’s journey back to humanity — Donna Jo Napoli’s “Beast”,  Alex Flinn’s “Beastly” , and Disney’s Broadway adaptation of the animated film among others. Rare is the appearance of the patient and polite monster suitor we originally knew. The Beast has become a masculine metaphor for self-loathing, for fear of one’s desires and impulses, and for the conquering of one’s aggression. His winning of love and subsequent return to shining humanity is a promise that even the most unlovable of us can grow and change and be redeemed. It is an interesting cultural shift, that this once very female-centred story is now often one of masculine growth and change.

So, in trying to sum up, traditionally Beauty and the Beast has been a story about a young woman’s journey to accepting an unconventional male partner. In the twentieth century, it become a popular metaphor for the awakening of female sexuality and power. Now, more and more, we see it as a metaphor for the channeling of negative masculinity into positive masculinity. The story evolves. We pull new meaning from it, stretch it this way and that, examine it in the mirror, and take it apart to see how it ticks. It changes to suit our cultural needs, and it will continue to change.

In my own work, I’m trying to move a step further — to write a story about equals. Two people growing in complimentary ways, rather than one partner awaiting the other. We will always have our separate initiation rites, but for now I’m interested in seeing how a relationship blossoms. A particular quote has stayed with me through the development of the comic adaptation of Beauty and the Beast and it is this:

“A generation ago, great writers and editors like Jane Yolen, Ellen Datlow… reclaimed the traditional heritage: dismissing soft-focus, Disneyfied Snow White and Cinderella, rediscovering grim truths and quick-witted, resourceful heroines. That’s fine, that’s excellent work. But what I’ve wanted to do is to reclaim the relationships. To bring the prince and the princess together, instead of sending them off on segregated initiation trials. To let them meet as human beings, as friends, and fight side by side.”

—Gwyneth Jones”