i think they work out just a little

luneaurose  asked:

HOW BOUT THAT EPISODE 10?!

I AM WRECKED. 

I mean, it’s just a well-constructed hour of television that is almost self-contained. Other than the ELEVATOR SCENE which I will obviously get to in a second, there were just so many fantastic little Kastle scenes which also obviously TORE MY HEART IN HALF. 

Like, can we just talk about Brett asking her “Why was he even here?” and that watery look on Karen’s face when she says “I think he was looking out for me.” And the fact that she has to work so hard to Keep It Together because it’s that but it’s more than that, too. It’s the knowing that he’s always looking out for her, the surety in that one fact about him. But it’s also knowing that now she doesn’t know where he’s at and when they’ll see each other again. 

And also Frank running in from god knows where, could’ve been the moon for all we know, leaping over furniture and jumping IN FRONT OF KAREN TO SAVE HER FROM BEING SHOT MULTIPLE TIMES. WHAT. W H A T. 

And let’s not even get started on Frank Castle staring down a man that’s strapped with a bomb and looking directly at Karen and promising “I will come for you.” The single-minded determination, the devotion, the way his voice shakes a little bit with worry and angry and a mess of emotions he probably doesn’t even want to look at or think about too closely. 

And then…that elevator scene. That pure moment of cinematic perfection. I can’t BELIEVE we live in a world where that scene exists. Two people who need each other and believe in one another but can’t quite yet be there for each other in that way, because what they want and what they need and who they are and who they want to be are not quite yet aligned. But God, they just want to sit there and pretend for a moment that they could be. 

But then the moment ends. 

When Karen pushes him back she is like the definition of someone steeling themselves…and then not being able to any more. When she watches him leave, you can literally see her heart breaking. AND I COULD FEEL MY OWN HEART BREAKING. 

Anyway, I love these two and this season gave me way more than I ever thought I’d get and I am so thankful and also heartbroken and also I may need to write fic. 

azulity  asked:

Please share how you draw curly hair! I feel like when I draw it it doesn't translate the volume/movement that I want it to and that my strands/chunks of hair all go in the same direction, and that if I try to move them around it looks out of place :((((( I love your artwork keep up the amazing work!!!

What a coincidence I was thinking it would be fun to do a little tutorial on how to draw curly hair.  It’s something I struggled with for a very long time for the reasons you’ve just outlined above!  But since I have so many curly-haired OCs I kept at it, and maybe I’ve got some tips that might help.  Would anyone else be interested in something like this?

Thanks for the suggestion <3

2K Q&A 🌟

Hey guys! 

So I recently just passed 2K Followers and I thought I would do something fun and put together a little Q&A for my followers! I’m thinking this will be a cool way to get to know each other. 

There are a list of questions below, so if you’re bored and want to choose to answer feel free to do so! Questions are after the keep reading bar: They are both personal and fandom related (JDM / TWD / NEGAN)  *

RULES: * must be following to participate:

1) Copy the 30 questions in your text box and fill them out.  2) TAG ME!  3) Hashtag: jeffreydeanneganstrash OR 2KQANDA. 

You’re love and support mean more than you know. Stay beautiful lovelies  💖 💖 💖

Keep reading

COTTON CANDY: I hope you enjoyed our dinner out, Marzi. I admit, with work I didn’t realize how long it’s been since we took time for just the two of us. 

MARZIPAN: It’s OK Cotton, I know you’re working hard to take care of all of us. Sometimes I guess I just get a little stir-crazy.

COTTON CANDY: Well, it got me thinking about how every minute we spend together is precious… You mean the world to me, Marzipan Sugarplum.

Five Minutes

Rules are: write a title, set a timer for five minutes, and write like mad! Post whatever you come up with, whether it’s turned into a story or not. Feel free to join! (And to tweak a few sentences once the timer runs out. No judgement! It’s just for fun.) (I changed this to five minutes to allow a little more time to explore the ideas. Let me know what you think!)


Snakes

They pay us before we catch the first snake. Our reputation has spread for this kind of work, and now the villages we approach trust us enough to pay us before our work is done, however much we look like gypsies. I think they would rather not see us after the job is done anyway. They call me a witch, my husband a conjuror. They let us into the village to deal with their ‘problem’, but they wouldn’t be so quick to let us stay the night. Or help us if we were in trouble.
I know this only too well from long experience.
The snakes, they tell us, infest the canyon just short of the river. There are so many of them they come up through the tall grass three or four times a day. A few children have died already, and more than a few of their livestock. Snakes, especially poisonous ones, are a danger to nearly every community.
My husband and I make our living off of making them disappear, although I’ve never yet had to kill one. We’re charmers, not butchers.
We go down to the canyons, and I light a fire, scattering the herbs in the ashes. The aromatic smoke drifts through the trees, smelling of woodbine and yellow windflower. The smell doesn’t do much more than convince the villagers we’re working. They like to think our trade is all witchcraft and conjuring. It isn’t, but we get paid more for their superstition, so we never try to explain.
My husband sits down on a rock at the edge of our camp, pulls his flute out, and begins to play. His melodies echo through the canyons, among the rocks, cool and sweet and soothing to the soul.
A dry rustling flits through the tall grass, and the snakes begin to gather.

anonymous asked:

Hi! *w* Reacting to so moaning their name while asleep For Muu Ren and Yuu please *-* i love your work *3*

Thank you!


Muu

> Muu would wake up, thinking something is wrong, causing his s/o to call out to him in the middle of the night, cautiously looking around and his s/o over. When he realizes they were just sleep talking, he’ll give them a little smile before lying down again, only then getting a bit flustered when he hears them moan his name once more and realizing what must be going on


Hakuren

> Sleepily he’ll ask what’s wrong, weakly shaking on his s/o’s shoulder. Hakuren will need a bit longer before he’s up to look if everything is alright, tiredly waiting for their response. When he only gets his name from their lips again, the prince will flop into his pillow again, pulling his s/o closer to him, giving them a quick kiss on the forehead before falling asleep with a smile


Hakuyuu

> Since Hakuyuu has a tendency to stay up later than his s/o, he might pick up their voice while being mind-deep into a scroll. No matter that, he’ll know instantly what’s going on, taking a second to think about if he should engage into their dream or just leave them. Either way he’s sure to remind them the next day, grinning happily while finishing his reading

I started working on a dress series a little while ago where I explored different fashion concepts for different races (plus it helps me branch out into full bodies, heh). This one’s different than the others because I did it in flats (again), but it’s what I imagine to be simple Lordaeron garb.

Feel free to use the dress (or the character) if you want! It’s just practice for me and I don’t think I’m ever going to use it, so if you can put it to use that’s more than I’d ever do. 

anonymous asked:

so you think harry is a bad royal for sticking up for the women he loves? just like william did with Kate? Like Harry has done some great work with HIV and the Invictus games, his royal work should matter and not anything else.

“so you think harry is a bad royal for sticking up for the women he loves?” Ummm no? Never said or implied that was why I didn’t like him, nor have I said he’s a bad Royal. You seem like a very angry little person and it is clearly having an impact on your ability to read basic English sentences so I’ll spell it out as simply as I can. I do hope you have the ability to read it: I don’t like Harry as a royal anymore because of his insensitive, dangerous, egotistical, out of touch comments. You seem to be taking this incredibly personally and I would recommend unclenching and finding a hobby which doesn’t make you so rude :)

i’ve been really productive the past few months, which is actually quite rare for me bc i’m a slave to procrastination i get burnt out v easily. this time was a little different, i managed to keep my productivity levels really high for a whole 2 months all the way until exams ended, studying every single day without fail, around 10 hours a day, when i used to only do an average of 3 or 4. so here’s what worked for me and what didn’t!

what works: schedule your day

what happens when ur a virgo studyblr? u plan. i would write out everything i needed to accomplish for the day, the night before, and be really specific about it. i would then plug in the timings, this works for me, but u can choose to put the time in first and plan what u want to do around the time. 

a structured time plan pressures me and i end up getting everything done, especially when i set an alarm on my phone for all the timings!

what does not: cramming a lot of hours into a day

12+ hour work days are ideal, especially when u watch all the ‘study with me: 14 hour work day!’ youtube videos, but they are just tedious and unreasonable. 

let’s face it, even if u do complete one or two long study days, ur just gonna get bored and tired and have no mood to continuing this for a week or more. slow and steady wins the race!

what works: tweaking the pomodoro technique

i hate the pomodoro method. at the 25 minute mark, i’m normally on a roll and super focused on the task; and the 5 minute breaks were too short for me to actually take a break. 

that’s why i tweaked it to 45-minute study sessions with 10-minute breaks, and after 3 study sessions, a 30-minute break. longer study sessions meant i get a break when i really start to get restless, and longer breaks gave me more time to recharge. i suggest tweaking this to match what works for you.

what does not work; doing too many / too little subjects a day

1. u don’t want to cram all the same topics and subjects into one day. ultimately, it’s a choice of spending 8 hours solely on a subject / topic and not touching it for the next few days / weeks, OR doing just 2 or 3 hours of one subject / topic each day over a few days / week

2. just thinking about doing only one subject for a whole day already tires me out. i have tried it, but normally i get so sick and tired of it that after a few hours, i can’t bring myself to focus on it any longer. on the contrary, if i keep switching between subjects, i get super confused because i have to remember too much of very different info. 

what works: leaving the last portion of your day ambiguous 

i like to start and end my days early. but in the process, i found a benefit of ending them early: i end up w a chunk of time at the end where there are two scenarios:

  1. i’m super motivated and want to continue studying
  2. i’m rly tired and cannot bring myself to continue bc i need a break !1!!

surprisingly, option 1 does happen a lot. and i think this is a rly good work-life balance. u don’t get burnt out easily, but from time to time, u get a bonus extra few hours of work done! 

what does not work: forgoing sleep

sleep is so important omg. 3 hours of studying while sleepy = 1 hour of studying when ur refreshed and ur brain’s working. a tired mind is a slow mind, and an awake mind is a fast mind!

do not worry about that rly hard chapter that u must understand and complete! ur mind continue to works even when ur sleeping, i assume bc it’s rewiring and sorting through new information. after waking up, i find myself being able to better remember and understand information that i struggled on the night before!

what works: finding out ur energy levels and use it to ur advantage

some people work best at 6am and can’t focus after 9pm, some people can’t focus before 11am and work best at midnight. take note of and chart ur energy levels throughout the day for about a week or so, are u particularly refreshed in the morning? do u feel urself always dozing off at 4? are u the most productive at night? 

work ur body clock out and work around it! every body functions differently! like in the last point, 3 hours of studying at ur worst energy levels = 1 hour of studying at ur peak energy level! forcing urself to work when ur body refuses to do so will only lead to procrastination. 

i sincerely hope these few tips can help u out w being productive! what are some of the things u do to get shit done? 

anonymous asked:

For the "I wish you would write a fic where..." thing: In a canon setting, except Stiles is older, went to highschool with Derek and was friend with him. He can be a deputy at the beginning, trying to deal with a newly bitten Scott, whom he considers a little brother, and the return of Derek, his friend from school and old (current) crush. Do you think it's a good idea?

So, turns out I love this idea more than anything, and I have so many ideas about this and how it would proceed, but I’m not rewriting the first season, okay. I’m not.


Stiles was very cold, very wet, and very tired, because it was midnight, raining, and he was out in the preserve looking for a body.

Half a body.

They had the bottom half, they just had to find the part they could actually ID.

East side clear, the radio on his shoulder crackled, and his dad’s voice responded for the pair of deputies to head north to meet up with the K9 team. Everything cool was happening on the northside, and yet Stiles was stuck on the southside of the preserve, with Jordan Parrish.

Jordan Parrish of unending optimism and energy.

How he got paired up with the newbie, he’d never know.

Okay, he would, because technically he was also a newbie, except he really wasn’t. Sure, he might’ve been somewhat new to being employed as a deputy of the Sheriff’s Station of Beacon County, but he’d literally grown up in that station; not one person there could say he was really a rookie.

“God, this sucks,” Stiles muttered, sweeping his flashlight back and forth across the wet and muddy ground in front of him. So far he’d found all of two dead rabbits and some dog shit someone didn’t clean up, so, real thrilling night here. Great search.

“Could be worse,” Parrish responded lightly with a shrug, and Stiles rolled his eyes at the darkness in front of him.

“Don’t say Afghanistan.”

The audible smirk in the following pause told him that was exactly what Parrish was about to say.

“I’d rather be a little damp than have sand in my boots, any day.”

“Yeah, well you didn’t step in that puddle.” Stiles’ foot was still freezing and squelched even more than the muddy forest floor beneath it.

It sucked that a woman died, yes, but Stiles was also having a rotten time.

Time passed, there were more updates of nothing found over the radio, a couple dog barks in the distance, and still they found no body.

Given that it was almost one in the morning and everyone Stiles normally talked to was either at home asleep or out in the woods with him on the radio, it took a second for his ringing cellphone to register beyond a mild annoyance that Parrish would have his phone on that loud during his shift.

“You gonna get that?” Parrish asked, and Stiles frowned at him for a second before realizing that was indeed his ringtone, and if someone was calling this late, it was probably something serious.

He only glanced at the caller ID for the briefest second as he answered.

“Yo, Scotty, what’s up?” He was about to add that he couldn’t talk right then when Scott’s panicked babbling steamrolled through his mind.

“Stiles! Oh god, you have to come get me! You’re in the preserve right? Because I’m pretty sure I’m lost, and something bit me, and—”

“Wait, hang on, you’re where?” He was tired, he was struggling to keep up with everything, and Scott was breathing like he would be needing his inhaler in about five seconds. “Why the hell are you in the woods, you know we’re looking for a body right?” he hissed into the phone, glancing briefly at Parrish, who was watching with raised eyebrows.

“Problem, Stiles?”

He shook his head, trying to act casual as Scott frantically rambled out,

“I’m by the west entrance to the preserve, I think? Stiles, I don’t know what the hell it was, but it came out of nowhere, and I’m bleeding, and I can’t find Erica—”

“Erica’s with you?” Christ, it just got better and better. “Okay, stay where you are, I’ll come find you and I’ll tell everyone to keep an eye out for Erica.”

That didn’t calm Scott down at all.

“You can’t do that, her parents would kill her if cops brought her home! You know how crazy they are!”

Stiles rubbed at his forehead. He was cold and wet and tired and now he was getting a headache. “Yes, because she has epilepsy, Scott! She could die out here.” Parrish was coming over, looking concerned. “Just stay where you are, we’re coming.”

He hung up with a frustrated huff.

“Scott’s out here?” Parrish asked, already heading south, so clearly that phone call hadn’t been as discreet as Stiles would’ve liked. At least he seemed to be going with it—despite appearances, not a total stickler for the rules. Good to know.

“And Erica. They went looking for the body.” They must’ve heard the call on the old police scanner in Stiles’ jeep. He needed to stop letting Scott borrow his car. And Scott needed to learn to stand up to Erica’s insane whims, because there was no way this wasn’t her idea.

They walked in silence for a second before Parrish said, “You know you’d do the same if you were their age, right?”

“Shut up.”

Keep reading

so its probably a little late for who killed markiplier theories but

i was watching some fan videos and i was reminded of just how often damien can be found cradling his cane, squeezing and rubbing the silver head of it against his palm. especially when he’s stressed, or upset, or trying to think.

it’s obviously some kind of fidgeting for him. something to keep his hands occupied while his mind works, to take his frustrations out on. and as wkm progresses we see him do it more and more, with growing tension.

now i’m not sure what happens to that cane, seeing as dark starts out with it at the end of wkm but obviously the dark we’re used to doesn’t carry it. that’s not what this theory is about.

what does dark like to do? i mean, besides the neck cracking and being a manipulative little shit.

he clasps his hands behind his back. a lot. almost constantly, really, if he isn’t gesturing (at least when he’s standing). damien used to do this too, occasionally, but more often he fidgeted with his cane. so, my thoughts?

either dark disposed of/stored away the cane because of the painful memories attached, or something happened to it in his quest for vengeance. but without that de-stresser, without something to put his hands on, he’s shifted gears into the position we’re accustomed to seeing him in. he channels that energy into his hands and locks it away, hides it, uses it to make himself look prim and proper and trustworthy. a man who knows what he’s talking about.

it honestly wouldn’t surprise me if behind his back his fingers and hands are twitching and shifting with the old urge to twist silver and wood between them.

I know a lot of people are upset that we didn’t get to see Dean carry Cas’s body into the house—and don’t get me wrong, I wanted to see it too; but can you imagine them actually trying to film that scene? It would’ve been impossible!



Attempt 1:

“Okay—just jump up here” Jensen says, squatting down some and holding out his arms.

“No way!” Misha yelps instantly, backing up a few paces.

“Why not?”

“You’re gonna drop me!”

“I won’t drop you!” Jensen scoffs, opening his arms wider now and motioning for Misha to move.

“Hell no! As soon as I jump, you’ll drop me.”

“I’ve carried you before, man. Did I drop you then?”

“That was for photos and shit—two seconds tops. This is a whole scene!” Misha argues, putting his hands on his hips.

“C’mon, guys! Are we doing this or what?” Phil calls out from somewhere behind the monitors.

“Yep!” Jensen answers quickly and then motions to Misha again—this time, with an urgent look on his face.

Misha rolls his eyes but eventually moves in closer, bracing one hand on Jensen’s shoulder before throwing his own body into the air.

Jensen grunts.

They both immediately tumble to the ground.


Attempt 2:

“Dude—why are your arms around my neck?”

“I don’t want to fall again!” Misha whines, looking warily towards the gravel as Jensen scoots along.

Jensen breathes out a strained laugh at that . “Yeah, but you’re supposed to be dead. This is kinda killing the illusion.”

“I don’t think so” Misha mutters, obviously choosing to be difficult now.

“Seriously, dude? I can’t carry dead-Cas inside, bridal-style!” Jensen huffs, shifting his arms a little to try and keep Misha’s weight in the air.

“Why not? You carrying me to my death bed is pretty much the same as you carrying me to the marriage bed … especially on this show.”

Jensen quickly drops Misha again.


Attempt 3:

Jensen is out of breath—and his back is hurting like a mother fucker, but he hunkers down to lift Misha up once more.

And this time—Misha slumps his body backwards and completely relaxes his muscles, which nearly breaks Jensen in two.

Oof! God—damn!” Jensen grunts, trying desperately to step forward across the dirt and grass. “It’s like—ugh—carrying a—agh—a sack of wet leather!”

Misha slits one eye open and smirks at his costar. “You’re so sweet, Dean. This is why I fell for you in the first place.”

He’s prepared to be dropped this time, and he laughs as he rolls out of Jensen’s arms.

“What’s goin’ on, guys?” Phil yells out across the clearing.

“Nothin’!” Jensen wheezes, bending his body over his knees as he tries to catch his breath. “Just—just need a minute!”

A second later, Jared is bounding up to them. “Hey, y’all okay?”

Misha chuckles and goes over to pat Jensen on the back. “Yeah—someone just needs to spend more time lifting weights.”

Jensen immediately sneers up at the other man. “And someone else needs to lay off the pizza!”

“How about I be the one to carry him in?” Jared says suddenly—loud enough for Phil to hear it too.

“We could try that” Phil says, sounding frustrated and just eager to get this scene over with.

“What?” Misha yelps. “No way! No, no, no, no, no! No way Jared is carrying me!”

“Wha—why?” Jared asks, feigning some puppy dog innocence that is damn near Oscar worthy.

“You know exactly why!” Misha insists, taking several steps backwards to be out of the moose’s long reach. “Phil! You can’t be serious! Jared is just going to throw me in the lake if we do it this way!”

Jared’s face bursts into a giant grin, and his eyes sparkle like a Disney character whose wish just came true. “The lake! I didn’t even think of that!”

Misha groans loudly, and Jensen is laughing– all while Phil is angrily rubbing his temples behind the monitor.


Attempt 4:

“Are we ready yet?”

“One more sec, Phil!” Misha answers, turning back to look at Jared and Jensen with a face of warning.

“How about we both carry him in?” Jared suggests, and it sounds genuine but Misha still isn’t falling for it.

“No! Not gonna happen! Then you’ll both just throw me into the lake!”

Jensen rolls his eyes but he can’t stop himself from smiling. “No we won’t, man. Seriously—we’re losing the light here. We need to get this done.”

“I know that! Don’t you think I know that? But this is my dead body we’re talking about and I need to make sure it’s respected!”

“We’ll respect it” Jared insists.

“Since when have you ever respected it?” Misha counters.

“Okay! Alright! Just… Jared, get back there—we’re gonna try this again the way it’s scripted, okay?”

Jared holds up his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine, but I’ll be over here if you need me.”

“We won’t need you” Misha warns, knowing Jared’s deviousness all too well and it’s starting to make him break out in hives.

Jared laughs but finally backs away, until he’s far off on the other side of the set.

Jensen then takes a deep breath. “Okay, man. Let’s go. Let’s do this.”

Misha nods, and they both seem determined now.

With a heave and some careful balancing, Misha is once again in Jensen’s arms and Jensen is once again, huffing his way to the front door of the cabin. He’s huffing a lot … he sounds like he’s in pain.

“You okay?” Misha whispers, trying not to look up or move his mouth much—because, he is dead after all.

“Fine” Jensen wheezes shortly, but he doesn’t sound very convincing.

“You sure?” Misha asks again.

“Shh!” Jensen snips, trying to concentrate.

Misha finally peeks up at him. “Your face is really red.”

Jensen doesn’t answer, he just strains to keep Misha in his grasp.

“And your veins are popping out of your neck.”

“I’m acting” Jensen finally grunts.

Acting—constipated?” Misha asks.

“Shut up!”

“Ow—okay, now you’re pinching my ass!”

“Well, I need to hold onto something!”

“You need to hold onto my ass?”

“It’s got the most grip.”

“Okay … okay … now that just tickles!” Misha starts to laugh, squirming a little and it eventually  throws Jensen off balance.

“F—fu—fuck!” Jensen wobbles to one side and sends Misha rolling dramatically  onto the ground.

“I can help!” Jared yells out, sounding so excited, he might just burst.

“No … no, that’s alright, Jared” Phil cuts in, just as Misha is lifting himself from the dirt. “We’ve been talking and we think we’re just going to cut this scene. It’s uh … it’s not working out.”

With that, Misha throws his fist into the air victoriously, and Jensen drops exhaustively to the ground with the overwhelming relief—and Jared’s disappointed moans can be heard all the way on the other side of the lake; echoing out “Aw, man!”  and “Damnit” and lamenting all the glorious opportunity that he’s just lost.

4

Anonymous said:
Thanks for your tutorials, they are so simple to understand even for someone quite dumb about arts (me)! If you’ll have time and mood, can you, please, create tutorial for making lineart. I’m fairy bad at that.


Thank you! That’s really great to hear that! :D
If you browse my gallery you’ll notice that lineart isn’t something I use often (so that’s why I digged in my old drawings a bit to get some examples u_u) Anyway, I think there are more competent and skillful people out there whom you can ask about it but this is what I do. Just study other artists’ art, it’s helpful. Try to use different brushes and see what works best. Also things I think are important:
⁎ use bigger canvas (mistakes are less visible)
⁎ don’t use smal brushes with smooth but very defined edges because the lines will seem very jerky and ragged
⁎ vary thickness of your lines to make everything more dynamic but try to make it natural (it’s a little bit like calligraphy)
⁎ practice! lines will be smooth and flowy if you make your hand confident:
- draw traditionaly
- excercise with drawing straight lines and curves
- make quick, long strokes instead of drawing short lines (they’ll look sketchy) or doing painfully precise, slow moves
- don’t zoom in too much
- turn off the stabiliser (at least sometimes))
(Aaaand… you can always use vector drawing tools as a last resort :))

The Dozens of Times Eddie Kapbrak Came Home, and the One Time He Didn’t

(A Story in Sonia’s POV)


–There was the one time Eddie came home angry. Slamming doors, cursing under his breath. I was upset at the language, but more worried he’d catch a little finger, or a toe in the cabinets or doors. I asked why and he pushed me away. He had always been doing that lately. Am I being too much of a worrier? Maybe I am. He’s older now, and doesn’t need me as much. As much as that hurts to admit, seventeen is old enough to be independent. 


–He came home crying again. He’d been doing a lot of that, too. Something was different. He came to me for once. I was selfishly happy, but that left me when I saw him. He had a bruise under his left eye. His lip was cut, and his hands were shaking and red, a sign that he’d had a panic attack again. Those signs used to be foreign to me until he told me those weren’t asthma like I had thought for years. I’d like to think of myself as an almost expert on them now. The only thing hard for me to tell anymore is what might cause them. He has them so often. Eddie comes to me, and sits down, panting. He looks worn down and sad and resigned, as if he’s accepted a heavy fate, or like he was waiting for a piano to fall on him. 

This time when I ask him what’s wrong, he crumbles and starts to cry again. He tells me Henry and his psychopath friends cornered him in the locker room, and roughed him up. He shows me his ribs, and I see red. Partly the dried blood, partly rage. That little freak carved the word “Fag” into Eddie’s little side. It takes everything in me not to take him to the hospital, but Eddie insists he cleaned and dressed it as much as it needed, and it wasn’t deep, no stitches needed. I prayed with everything in me that it wouldn’t scar. When I asked him why they would choose that word, he becomes silent again. He seems to be trying to find the right words to say, and eventually he does. He tells me, stuttering more than the elder Denbrough boy, that it’s because they saw him kissing Richard Tozier. I had nothing to say, and he goes to his room before I could find the right words. I did eventually, over dinner. I tried to make a lighthearted joke, and said he could do better than little Richie Tozier, and that I loved him. He did laugh, but he also cried. This time it was the good way. 


–One time he came home excited, his feet barely touching the ground as he ran upstairs. I called out to him to get the door, but he was down just as fast heading out again. His cheeks are pink and his eyes are bright, and I can’t help but to think that just a few months ago this same boy was crying in shame over what had happened. He was a lot happier in general, due in part I suppose to coming out, but mostly Richard. Richie, Richie this, and Richie that. I almost wanted to tell him I was tired of hearing it, but his happiness wasn’t something I could get tired of. Despite being a trouble maker and a bad mouth, he did take care of Eddie. I did tell him to stop coming home with love marks- unsanitary and shameless little things. I tried not to think about the fact that he still probably got them where I couldn’t see them. He may be an adult next month but he’s still my little angel.

He tells me he’s finally going out on a real date, just the two of them. That they’re going to see a movie, and he tells me not to wait up. I know I’ll try to, but he always manages to come home after I fall asleep. Sneaky little boy. He tells me he’s already left the name, address, and number of the movie theatre on the counter, and that he’ll be with Richie who can be reached as well. I have his number in my Rolodex, as I do his parents, and the rest of his friends- you never know when you might need them. He kisses my cheek and practically skips out to the beat up truck Richard drives. It has a bench seat and the driver seatbelt doesn’t work most of the time, and I cringe thinking about Richie just sitting on it so he doesn’t get a ticket for not actually wearing it. Eddie promised me he’d never drive it, so at least there’s that. 


–He came home today, silent. It’s almost worse when he does that instead of crying. Eddie was pale, and he had dark circles under his eyes. I asked if he was okay, and he just stares at me. It feels like an eternity when he opens and says “The school won’t let Richie and I go to prom together… They said if we showed up they’d kick us out.” His voice sounds so fragile and small, like he doesn’t feel like a real person. I’m furious. I tell him I’ll call the school, but he begs me not to. He says it’s okay, he knew it would happen, that this is just the way things are. I, however, will not stand this. As soon as he goes to his room, I call his principle. I can’t remember exactly what I said, though I am equal parts embarrassed and proud to have used foul language in place of his name. “Mr. Shitstain” and I came to an agreement that they may attend as long as they are within a larger group. He will not allow them to have couple’s pictures, but he did reluctantly allow that they dance together. I tell Eddie in the morning and he cries and hugs me. He goes to Richie to give him good news. 


–He comes home after prom with a photo- the whole group is in it, all holding a sign that says “Loser’s Club”. I cringed at the name, but they chose it for themselves years ago. Eddie and Richie are next to each other, and I suppress an eye roll that Richard had ripped open his shirt to reveal an exclamation point painted on his pale abdomen at the last moment. The picture is slightly blurred, and Eddie confirms my theory when he laughs and says the camera guy was startled and tried to lunge at Richard to put all of his clothes back on. Despite this, I see the stars in his eyes. He is happy, so I am happy. 


–Lately he’s been coming home with heaps of papers, college letters, essays, SATs, tests. I try not to think about him leaving. I turn up the volume on the TV or the radio when he uses the phone to talk to his friends about it. It hurts and he knows it hurts. I’ve never been good at not worrying. This goes on for weeks. I fail to keep my tears in when he’s at school or out with friends, but at the same time, I’m immensely proud. He’s such a good boy. 


–This time he comes home, and he doesn’t say a word, and I can’t see him from the kitchen but I know something is wrong. His feet are dragging and his breathing sounds funny. I drop the spoon into the soup when I hear a crash. He’s laying on the floor and crying. Despite him being curled up in a ball I can see he’s covered in bruises and cuts, and bleeding badly. I try not to scream but when I rush to him I can’t hold it, he’s been cut up badly again, more words carved into his soft belly and his thighs. I can see the word “Queer” seeping through his khaki pantleg as he sobs. This time, he does need stitches. In many places. The only thing he says to me from the hospital bed is that he is oh so tired of this town. Richard never leaves his side, growling at anyone who causes him pain or wakes him up, like a wild animal. I’ve decided that I am incredibly grateful that he is who he is. 

He’s in the hospital for three days. Night one was cleaning and stitching and recounting what happened. The police had been called to file a report. He hesitantly confesses that Henry, Patrick, and the other cretins did this to him. Chief Bowers is red with rage. I hear him in the hallway calling my son a “flamer” but that his boy was “going to get it”. This is the first and only time I’ve yelled at a cop. Richie laughs and holds up his hand for a high five, something I wouldn’t usually reciprocate, but tonight is a night of firsts. Night two was observation and tests to see how bad the internal injuries might be. He has a concussion, but they found no internal damage aside from bruises and a cracked rib. They send him home wrapped in Ace bandages and taped up like Richard’s glasses. That night he tells me he needs to leave, that he can’t take this anymore. I’m angry, and admittedly irrational. We do not speak to each other for a week. 


–When we speak again, he walks in the door with Richie, William, and Michael. Out of his friends, Michael is my favorite despite where he lives being so messy. He brings me flowers and fresh fruits and vegetables. He washes them himself, but only once he gets here so I can see it. He’s a very well mannered and intelligent man. William is wonderful too, but I feel guilt in having trouble understanding him, and he has a habit of talking with his mouth full. He’s not as messy as Richard, so at least there is that. Eddie has healed nicely so far, most of the stitches are out already, and the scars he has, though sadly legible, are hidden under clothes. His lip and eyebrow have small scars, but they are hard to notice. The boys have folded boxes in their hands. I knew this was coming, but I still couldn’t bear it. I stubbornly told him I wouldn’t help him, and that I wouldn’t watch him either. He only nods his head, looking down. 

They pack up his belongings, and I step out into the yard, smoking my first cigarette in years. I swiped one from the Marsh girl months ago, when Eddie was starting to talk about college. I thought that was the worst, but this hurts more. He’s leaving too soon, and I can’t stop him. He promised me he’d finish high school, and go to college, but that he would not live here, in Derry. Because we weren’t completely speaking, I have no idea where he’s moving, and now I’m too embarrassed to ask. When I go back inside, William hands me a piece of paper, his handwriting surprisingly neat, with Eddie’s address, and number. He was moving just outside of the city, into the matchbox apartments. With Richard. I can’t help it. When he walks out of the front door with his things, he kisses my cheek. I can’t help it. When the car drives away, their silhouettes in the windshield. I can’t help it. I sit down on the porch, and I begin to cry. I can’t help it. 


–He doesn’t come in the door anymore. Not the way he used to. No angry slams, no excited pops as the door hits the wall. No silent entries when he’s tired. No little footsteps. He doesn’t come home. He visits, sometimes with Richard, and with his friends. He calls frequently, too. He’s a good boy. Time passes, and he came to visit after graduation. He got accepted to a college in Maine. I try to hide how happy that makes me. I promise I won’t go to the dorms too much. He and Richie talk about their lease ending and moving on campus. His little group of friends are trying their best to stick together. They all got accepted to the same school, and will try to attend until their majors take them elsewhere. It’s nice knowing that he’ll have so many friends. 

He doesn’t come home, but he visits. Holidays he even stays in his old room. Sometimes. Other times he stays with William in his new house, just down the street from mine. Sometimes they visit Richie’s parents, or Michael’s farm. It’s a lot like it used to be, but it isn’t the same. I know it never will be, and while I’m sad, I’m happy too. He doesn’t come home, but he gets married in the same church I was married in. They make the paper as the first same sex couple to get married in Derry. Someone booed them as they walked to their car, but before anyone said anything, Richard flipped them off. I don’t tell Eddie, but I caught it on camera. It’s framed in my room, shameful but endearing. He doesn’t come home, but he visits often, asking for advice. We’ll have lunch together and talk about stain removal, and he’s picked up cross stitching for Richard’s anniversary gift. He’s going to make a sign that says “Tozier-Kaspbrak” for their sitting room. 


He doesn’t come home, but he visits often. Many times with Richard, and even more happily with their new daughter. I’ve always wanted a daughter, so I spoil her rotten. I try not to be so overbearing as I was with Eddie. I know it had the wrong impression on him, and I don’t want her to feel the same. I give her sweets when they aren’t looking, and I teach her all about keeping a good home, and let her watch football with me when they need a babysitter. Eddie doesn’t know, but sports are a guilty pleasure of mine. I want her well rounded, too- to know that girls can like whatever they please. Her name is Amelia Isabelle, and she grows so fast. He doesn’t come home anymore, not like he used to. And I’m so, so grateful. He’s leading a good and proud life, and I’ve never been more proud to be the mother of Edward Tozier-Kaspbrak. He doesn’t come anymore, but when he visits, it’s like he never left at all. I’ve lived a good little life, I feel.



“Sonia Kaspbrak, 65, passed in her sleep in her home of Derry, Maine. Natural causes. She leaves her son, son-in-law, and granddaughter. Funeral to be held this Saturday, July 17th at the First Church of Derry. She will be fondly remembered by all who knew her. Everyone is welcome to attend the open service ceremony being held to celebrate her life. 
Thank you, 
Richard Tozier-Kaspbrak”

4

REAL MEN WEAR PINK

people have been talking about lup and barry having a kid in the 2 years they spent on faerun before lup disappeared, and i suddenly had the urge to rewrite the entire story with taako raising this pair of half elf twins that he thinks are his cause they look like him, but he has no idea who the other parent is.

like, it’s a work in progress because i cannot imagine barry would have had taako kill him when he started forgetting lup if he had two lil babies waiting for him, but just hear me out.

imagine sizzle it up with taako & family, with these two little kids hamming it up as much as taako does.  imagine one of them almost eating the poisoned chicken, and taako manages to stop them at the last second, vowing right then and there that he will never, ever feed these kids his cooking again.  taako still never settles down in an actual house, so he ends up with a pair of street savvy caravan kids good at making themselves useful and better at picking pockets.

taako is extremely protective of these kids, trying very hard to always be there if something happens, but also teaching them how to look out for themselves.  he teaches them to rely on each other, because he knows how terrible it is to grow up all alone.  he teaches them to protect themselves and each other first, to not be ashamed to run away from danger, even if others (him) need help.  he teaches them survival.

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YOU’RE CUTE WHEN YOU SLEEP, WEIRDO.

REQUESTED IMAGINE:  omg so could i like request a Steve x Reader imagine where the reader is Jonathan and Will’s sister? She would be the middle child and like really anxious & shy and thru the hard times she gets really close with Steve and Jonathan doesn’t really like it but the reader ignores it. This would take place when Steve and the kids go into the Upside Down and he becomes really protective of the reader and makes sure that she’s ok when she’s really scared? Lots of angst and fluff? ( requested by @bookishdreamss​ )

PAIRING: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

WARNING: Swearing and Spoilers

WORD COUNT: 4.6K+

A/N: I had a little bit of a difficult time keeping Steve in character but also keeping the timeline - but! I think it turned out okay. I didn’t want it to be too too long either soo…. I hope you enjoy! 

You were sitting at the breakfast table, aimlessly twirling your spoon in a bowl half full of cereal, taking a bite of it now and again. You were reading a book, something that was assigned for English class, George Orwell’s 1984, funnily enough. You see, your teacher wanted everyone to do a study on the book – considering it was that year. She wanted you to compare the differences and similarities from your life, to the life depicted by Orwell. You found yourself looking towards your mom, who was partially shaking in her seat.

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Four Weddings

Part 1 of this really fluffy series that I’ve been trying to write for what feels like ten years. I hope you guys enjoy it! Please send some feedback and fill this out to be added to my tag list! 

Word Count: 6000+

Warnings: Language and cute stuff 

Originally posted by tom-hollcnd

Tom was an idiot, he was sure of it. The only reason he even decided to go to these stupid weddings were because Joanne was going to be there, she was going to be at each of the weddings, and of course, when he found out she was seeing someone else Tom just had to RSVP with, “Yes I will be attending, with one guest.”

Now it was three days before the first wedding, and he was just as single as ever. “How hard can it be to find a girl to go with me to a few weddings?” he remembered telling himself when he sent in his RSVP months ago and had since forgotten about it. That is until his old friend, Jerry, who was getting married, sent him a message. It read, hey man! Can’t wait to see you and your girl at the wedding, been too long. Tom knew he was royally fucked.

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Sugar, I’m Goin’ Down// Bad Boy Shawn // Chapter One

(*shows up two weeks late with Starbucks* anyways here’s college!badboy!shawn and yes, it’s going to be a fic because I can’t control myself and yes, the title is from the fallout boy song.)


The library is quiet, it’s after 8pm after all and you open up your folder with your notes to get started on an outline for an assignment for your mythology class. You’re about ten minutes in, just getting into the flow of it, really feeling your notes start to come together and you hear him. That loud, open mouthed, head thrown back, laughing jackal of a human being that you shared three classes with. Fucking Shawn.

Lord only know what he’s laughing at but it’s probably something his stupid ass friend Andrew has said or done. You wish he would just shut up because now you can hear him /talking/ and you’re just not in the mood to listen to him. Wasn’t it enough you had to listen to him chit chat with every girl who asked him about his stupid fucking black denim jacket with the stupid logo on the back that nobody cared about? Or maybe the way you had to share a worktable with him on the days showed up late because you were the only one without a table partner. He would always forget a pen, always fuck with the instruments on the table, ask stupid questions, and text while the professor was teaching. He was the absolute worst.

“Ha, yeah, anyways I told her to fuck off if she thought I was gonna-” Shawn stops mid sentence and you dare to look up, shocked by his silence, curious to know what caused it. Unfortunately when you do look up, he’s standing right there at the end of your table that’s tucked into the back corner of the library.

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