“There’s a new wind blowing like I’ve never known, I’m breathing deeper than I’ve even done. And it sure feels good to finally feel the way I do…And I want to love somebody, love somebody like you.“ - Keith Urban, “Somebody like You”
HERE, HAVE SOME SIDLINK. ENJOY THESE TWO PRECIOUS WALNUTS.
This ship hit me so hard?? From the first time that adorable red sunflower jumped off the tower and begged for Link’s help he was doomed. If I can’t have Mipha/Link than BY ALL THAT IS HOLY SIDLINK WILL RULE! *throws confetti*
Sidon is just a warm, welcoming, sweet and amazing, comforting presence that Link needs?! And he’s just so excited to see him?! And helpful and everything he needs?! LET HIM TELL YOU HOW AMAZING YOU ARE LINK. AND HOW THANKFUL HE IS.
I just wanted to draw them dancing? Link so overcome with happiness over something and just started spinning Sidon around, haha. Link doesn’t get enjoy himself much, and I think Sidon would be quite happy to dance along with his smol boyfriend
“A rose can never be a sunflower, and a sunflower can never be a rose. All flowers are beautiful in their own way, and that’s like women too. I want to encourage women to embrace their own uniqueness.” — Miranda Kerr
I am relatively naïve due to my childhood and religious upbringing. Periodically I skim your blogs.. quite educational by the way.. tonight I found a blog of a woman who, according to her Bio, is an amateur porn producer. She sells her Kik, videos, “pillow chats”, clothing.. (SunflowerSara if you want to find her… $50/ month to chat, get pictures, and videos.)
However, this enlightened me about a problem I have. I have well over 20,000 following me.. shocking I know!!! I never imagined or even wanted the attention. If I were paid $50/month by all to whom I give my time now, I would earn over $100,000 a month. 😐
At some point in their relationship with me, I have had Followers…more than I want to quantify…ask me for personal pictures, sexual interests, sexual stories, videos, my number, my Kik, to call me, meet me…. All with me only seeing a cock or abs or reblogs of their porn interests. I recognize that these individuals probably think they are giving compliments.
I think women, such as Ms. Sunflower, have allowed men to become accustomed to rude behavior.
Men. It is not appropriate to walk up to a lady and stick your cock in her face unless you have a contract to pay her for such treatment. Of course you are beautiful men. But, let us ask for it!! Why would a lady want to give you ANYTHING with a sales job of..”your tits are beautiful, do you want to meet?” From a little Orange box or said “Cock Avatar”?
My suggestion.. Read a woman’s bio, read the content of her blog, and then introduce yourself.
It is totally fine for Ms. Sunflower to run her blog. I hope she is financially and personally very happy. I have female friends here that have stated on their bio to please submit cock pictures and masturbate with them. Again, great for them.
But Gentleman, not EVERY women in an Online environment likes or finds pleasure in those interactions. Be aware of your presentation and interactions as you meet new people. For me, I am busy. Yes, I love sex and am sexual. However, I am not your mistress. I am not a your wife or girlfriend. I am certainly not your prostitute or slut!
This NOT my career - nor will it be. I want to communicate positively with those in my path. But these thoughtless interactions are a drain on my Time, Energy, and Emotions. Improve please!!
Another point Gentlemen, if a woman such as a myself ever does give her personal contact information, exchanges clothing or videos, TREASURE her and treat her well; because she is rare and priceless. Thank for this educational moment.
The second he picks up Yuri’s call, he knows something is wrong.
There’s something about the lack of anger in his voice, and how his
breathing wavers whenever he doesn’t speak. Sure, he’s rarely in a good
mood, but this feels different and Otabek doesn’t like it.
“Yura,” he begins, and Yuri immediately quiets down. Something’s definitely up. “You don’t sound well. Are you okay?”
I picked up the pen and started writing about how lost I felt. I wrote about how disconnected I was from myself and those around me and I basked in nostalgia for a brief moment - thinking of all the letters I wrote to you. Then I stood in a pile of anger and disappointment - wanting to fill the page up and burn it out of existence.
I wrote until half of the page was full. I wrote about what I hated and loved and how I felt homeless in a world that had homes for everyone else. I drew sunflowers and roses when I couldn’t find the words anymore and suddenly I started writing about comets. I wrote about collisions and I drew them above the earth. I practiced my signature in the free spaces and by the time I was done, the page was full.
From afar, it is beautiful. From afar, I wanted to put it in a journal for my children to read someday - to have a peek inside my mind. But up close, it was a mess; the ramblings of a lonely girl in her small purple bedroom.
This is me. Beautiful from afar and a mess up close. A chaotic page for someone to paste in their journal but to never actually read.
For @copperbadge: Sounds like you could use some cheering up this week. :)
Most days, being a superhero did not pay off. He’d been chased through probably twenty miles of
tunnel, managed to drop his last nine arrows down an open manhole (who just leaves manholes open?), and it was only
by the grace of his fingertips that he hadn’t gone down after them. He’d
forgotten to go grocery shopping, he had a headache from somewhere south of
hell, and he was almost hungry enough
to share a bowl of Kibbles ‘N’ Bits with Lucky and call it a night.
“Happy freaking birthday to me,” he grumbled as he trudged
up the stairs to his apartment. By the time he realized that his keys had
apparently gone the way of the arrows, he didn’t even have enough frustration
left in him to swear. He dropped his head forward, hitting the door about ten
million times harder than he’d meant to, and jerked away with both hands over
He definitely didn’t think anyone could blame him for being
a tiny bit slow to react when his apartment door opened by itself, but he did
manage to have a knife up by the time the interloper leaned around the doorway.
Natasha quirked an eyebrow at him. “Is that a sharpened
Clint glowered at her and slid the blade back into his boot –
one of only three, but his count, that hadn’t ended up buried in some guy’s
thigh, or washed away in Shit River. “I had to improvise,” he defended. “Why
are you in my apartment?”
The other eyebrow quirked up to join the first. “Why are you
not in your apartment? Also, you
smell like sewage.”
She tipped her head to the left to examine him, and maybe he
was projecting or something else that the group home counselor would have said
was unhealthy, but he was positive she could see right through the smarting
mark on his head and read his mind. Without a word, she stepped back to hold
the door open and gestured inside with one hand.
“I’ll get you a beer.”
“Don’t have any,” Clint muttered. He had about half a bottle
of Nat’s shitty vodka somewhere, though he’d used the whiskey for antiseptic
the week before.
“Good thing Jan knows how to throw a party,” she said. Her
smile softened slightly and she gestured in again. “Though Tony thought jumping
out and yelling ‘surprise’ was a smart idea for all of twenty-two seconds.”
Clint shuddered just imagining the heart attack he would have had if he’d
opened the door and yelling had been the result. He was suddenly grateful that
he’d lost his keys – he’d forgotten all about Stark’s threatened birthday
party, and he was more than a little surprised that everyone else had
apparently remembered. Now that he was paying attention like an ex-assassin and
current masked superhero with poor apartment security and lots of enemies
should be, he could hear the faint chatter of about half a dozen people and
the subtle clinking of forks on plates.
He glanced at the door and then over to the elevator. “Maybe
I should just go get some chips or something.”
Natasha shrugged. “If you want. But your meatballs will
probably be cold by the time you get back.”
Clint’s stomach emitted a loud snarl, and his mouth
instantly flooded with saliva. Nat might have been kinder than most people gave
her credit for, but she still laughed at him as he stood rooted to the spot,
doing a good impression of a meatball-zombie.
“Please tell me they’re not those
bullshit fancy meatless-meatballs or whatever Pepper had A Thing about,” he
“Nope, they’re the cheap frozen meatballs you get out of a
bag and dump in the oven.”
He could have kissed her. He definitely did moan, “My favorite.”
His apartment had been cleaned, and it smelled like Pinesol
and sweet sweet processed meatballs fresh from the oven. Every lamp he owned
had been moved into the living room, which had apparently not been enough,
because there was an Iron Man suit standing in the corner and glowing like a
six-and-a-half-foot art deco lamp.
“Surprise?” Tony offered, from the kitchen, and Holy Patron Saint
of I’m never letting you live this down,
was wearing a bright yellow apron liberally splashed with hearts and smiling sunflowers,
a matching pair of oven mitts, and a lime green party hat.
“Why are you like this?” Clint blurted out with a laugh.
“Laugh all you want,” Tony said, setting down a tray of
freshly cooked previously frozen guaranteed delicious meatballs so he could
point at Clint with one bemittened hand. His eyes transferred over Clint’s
shoulder and he nodded faintly. “But I’m leaving this here when I go. You can
“Happy birthday!” Jan said as soon as Clint turned to face
her, looking like she was ready to burst. “I really want to hug you, but you
have been out doing things that got you a little too close to a sewer. Air hug!”
She announced and crossed her arms over her own chest, squeezing hard and
It looked like a really nice hug, and Clint was even sorrier
about the damned sewer. He looked between his bathroom door and the piles of
warm meatballs, and made a noise that he normally would have blamed on Lucky,
but Lucky was on his back in the middle of the living room, shamelessly soaking
up the belly rubs from Thor and getting his muzzle petted by Steve.
Natasha pushed past him to the kitchen, piled a dozen
meatballs on a purple plate with the Hawkeye symbol stamped in the middle, and
nudged him away with one finger. “They should be cooled down by the time you
wash your hands. Go!”
Clint eagerly took the plate, leaned over, and lipped one of
the meatballs right off the top. He tried to smirk at her, but was too busy
sucking air in around the molten mouthful as she pushed him toward his bedroom.
Despite orders to the contrary, Clint had devoured the plate
of meatballs before his shower, and he felt less likely to gnaw someone’s arm
off by the time he made it back to the living room. A long folding table had
been wedged between the couch and the bar, and it looked like Jan had dumped the entire
Hawkeye section of Party City on top of it. It was cheesy, and stupid, and
perfect. He stood in the doorway for a second to just look it over – they were
all pretending that he wasn’t staring at them, and that was what good friends
were for when you just got off of a Hell Week leading into Nightmare Night.
Lucky was up on his back legs so he could have his front paw on Tony’s lap and
was doing his damndest to get at the mountain of meatballs in the center of the
“I’m not feeding you,” Tony told the dog seriously, but his
hand was wrapped around Lucky’s ribs to rub at his belly. “Seriously, have I
ever fed a single thing in your entire life? Why don’t you go to climb in Steve’s
lap? He’s a dog person, and I know for sure that he’s fed you at least once
“That was just a treat, Tony,” Steve protested.
“He said the word treat,” Tony told Lucky, which just got
him a messy kiss across the cheek and Tony leaning comically sideways in the
chair to in a vain attempt to avoid it.
“Just push him away,” Clint suggested, stepping into the
living room and climbing over the couch to get the open chair.
Tony gave him a frankly scandalized look, but turned back to
Lucky to say, “You’re not getting anywhere with this. I am immune to canine
“Not all canine
flattery,” Natasha muttered, and for some unfathomable reason, Steve blushed and
kicked her under the table. Natasha neatly dodged, and held an open beer out for
Clint, so cold that it had mist curling out of the neck and droplets running
down the sides.
“I love you,” Clint told her very seriously.
“I know,” she answered.
He swallowed about half of it before pressing the cold
bottle gently to his forehead and rolling it back and forth. This was the life –
why did he not have a million roommates again? He set the bottle aside and
looked down to realize that what he’d mistaken for plates were actually large plastic
painter’s pallets with little cups of “paint” set around the edges. There was a
bright purple cup of paintbrushes sitting opposite his beer, and a stack of napkins with the Avengers Assemble cartoon Hawkeye at his elbow.
Jan leaned forward to explain, but Clint just shoved his
finger in the yellow paint and licked it off – spicy mustard, the kind he got
at Chinese restaurants and poured over everything.
“Or you could just do that,” Jan finished, laughing. “It was
“This,” Clint said, snagging a meatball off the pile and a
paintbrush, “Is the best birthday idea ever.”
Jan nudged Tony, who was still not-really fending off Lucky’s
affectionate begging. “And you wanted to bring wine,” she scoffed.
Clint had three painted meatballs stuffed in his mouth when Jan
climbed out of her chair and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She leaned over
to press their cheeks together and squeezed hard, rocking him gently
“’appy meathba’ ‘ay,” Clint corrected, but he reached up to
squeeze her wrist and leaned back against her.
Maybe he was just imagining it or something, but it seemed
like his headache was gone.
After a month of ramen noodle memes, it’s finally May…which is also BPD awareness month! And I’m here as your local diagnosed Borderline to break some of the stigma associated with this personality disorder, offering up 15 fun facts, stigma myths, and helping you better understand any Borderlines in your life ☺
1. BPD most commonly develops from severe trauma and is often a product of other diagnoses such as depression, anxiety, PTSD, eating disorders, and bipolar disorder. So there is a lot of stuff going on in our heads, all of the time.
2. BPD and Bipolar disorder are NOT the same thing. Bipolar is characterized by extreme highs and lows that last for a few days or more, sometimes without a discernable trigger. BPD mood swings occur much more rapidly, are more noticeably triggered, and typically only last between a few minutes and a few hours.
3. Borderlines all experience their symptoms in different ways, and not all Borderlines experience the same symptoms. A common misconception is that all Borderlines are manipulative- this is false. Manipulation is a symptom of BPD, but not of all Borderlines.
4. Borderlines experience emotions at TEN TIMES the intensity that normal people do. So if it seems like we’re overreacting or are falling too fast…believe me, we know, but we can’t help it. Please be patient with us and communicate in a straight forward manner. We wish we knew how to turn it off, because it actually becomes physically painful.
5. Because we experience emotions at such a high intensity, Borderlines are some of the most caring, loyal, and generous friends/partners. You will never feel unloved if you are close to a Borderline.
6. Also, we cry a lot. Like…a LOT. We cry over everything whether we’re happy or sad or scared or excited. We cry a lot. There’s nothing you can do. Just let it happen.
7. Borderlines often close themselves off about things that are bothering them, and don’t ask for the things they need because they don’t want to be a burden. If you notice a Borderline bottling up, it’s important to assure them that you are there, without pushing them. Extra affection never hurts either (we love affection).
8. If a Borderline Splits*** on you, it is important to express how their words and actions made you feel, but also important to word it in a constructive way rather than aggressive (see: item #6). Most Borderlines are extremely self-aware and will get over whatever made them Split quickly and realize what they’ve done and apologize. In most cases, this isn’t an act of manipulation, but a frantic effort to make up for an episode they couldn’t control. Again, we require a lot of patience. Know that we are trying.
9. Borderlines dissociate frequently. In most cases we appreciate a lot of attention and affection when that happens to bring us back down to earth.
11. Borderlines love attention in general but are too anxious to ask for it. Attention is to Borderlines as the sun is to sunflowers. We perk right up and turn into happy beans. WE WANT IT ALL.
12. If a Borderline asks for space, give us space. But be reassuring that you’re not going to leave.
13. Borderlines are terrified of abandonment, and will often leave before they can get left. If they use the phrase “it’s not you, it’s me.” I promise you, it is not you. It is them. We’re waiting to find the right person who doesn’t let us self-sabotage everything. But we also hate feeling trapped so honestly idfk, good luck trying to figure out where your Borderline is at.
14. PATIENCE. PATIENCE IS KEY. But also, you can’t be nice all the time. Borderlines like to pick fights, and sometimes we need you to fight us over stupid little stuff. I guarantee you we’ll get over it within 10 minutes, but sometimes you just have to let us get the fighting mood out of our system since we’re actually wimpy crybabies who couldn’t hurt a fly.
15. If we’re talking about things that are going on in our head, we don’t always need a response or want words of encouragement or need you to try to fix everything. Chances are we are already working it out in our heads, and we just need you to listen so it’s not just rumbling around up there. Validation is appreciated. However, just saying “your feelings are valid” can be taken more as insensitive than reassuring if not followed up with an interpretation of your understanding.
I hope these were informative and/or helpful to those who took the time to read through entirely; just by reading you’re helping to #endthestigma
***Splitting: a term in the BPD community to reference the black-and-white thinking used as a defense mechanism with Borderlines. Usually referencing the flip from the idealization of an FP** to devaluation.
**FP: “Favorite Person”, term used to reference the person a Borderline seeks the most attention and validation from.
I hope someday you’ll find someone that has a better playlist than mine - songs that will never let you miss him. A sweeter version of me, I hope. Someone who will never forget to remind you that among all these beautiful roses, you don’t have to be one. If you choose to be a lily or a sunflower, he will wholeheartedly support you and will always appreciate you for who you are. Someone who will love you more than you could ever love yourself. I want you to be happier. I hope you could find someone who never shouts on arguments. A midnight talker, an all day companion, a dreamer, a dog or a cat person, an admirer of sunsets and waking up next to you. All the things you wished I should be but couldn’t be. I hope he sends you voice memos just so you wouldn’t forget his voice. Someone who will sing you to sleep and will give you a morning forehead kiss. a better version of what you used to love.
12:05 AM // excerpt from the letter i’ll never write
i saw a post that said “when you hear Vincent Van Gogh, do you think of starry night or bloody ear?” and all i could think about was his sunflowers and how his memorial is sunflowers and fields of them and how you can go and pick as many as you want and how he was barely holding on but painting was his way to cope and he was such a deeply sad man and still his paintings were beautiful and filled w bright colors and life and happiness and if that’s not proof that the things you love truly can keep you going (even if it’s not forever) then i don’t know what is cause yeah yanno maybe he cut off his ear but he found a way to make his pain beautiful and he was constantly looking for a way to hang on and i think that’s proof that as humans our nature is to fight cause we have that fight or flight mode right and he was so low that he tried eating yellow paint to make him happy inside and i really wonder what he would be like if he was alive now?? like would he still paint as beautiful? would his pain still be as unbearable as it was to him??? would he have cut off his ear?? maybe he would have made person the thing that wills him to hold on, instead of eating paint chips or painting. and i think that’s just proof that we all have more fight in us than we think we do because he thought eating yellow paint and cutting off his ear was his lowest point, and maybe it was, but the very thought of him eating yellow paint made him survive and kept him going for just a while longer and maybe it wasn’t forever but sometimes the things we find solace and consolation in, keep us alive for longer than we thought was even possible, and i think we all have our yellow paints and things we do to help us survive even if they’re odd, or make no sense, or end up hurting us even more and i think he’s a pretty fuckin rockin man and i wish everyone would have loved and appreciated him more because his paintings (and just him in general) is deadass proof that when things are shitty and you’re at rock bottom, sometimes all you can do is slap a paint brush against paper and hope for something prettier than your chaotic mind. or write and write and write until your hand cramps and hope to silence your thoughts. or sing, or dance, or run, or call someone, or simply confide in a person who’s hand is outstretched and waiting for you to take it. and i think that’s good, i think we all have our yellow paints and sunflowers and starry nights. i think beauty comes from all things painful (not to romanticize anything because self destruction is not beautiful but the strength you gain from getting over it is) and anyways, i hope you find your yellow paint and i hope it keeps you alive. i hope you allow sunflowers to bloom from your lungs and i hope you allow yourself room to breathe and grow and become the artist (in any way you express yourself) that you’re meant to be.
Requested: Anonymous said:Hi! Can I please request a Hoseok x Reader scenario where they have a fight because Hoseok thought the reader is cheating on him with her male best friend. (there was more i shortened it) Thank you! ❤
Summary:You’ve been spendingtoo much time with your male friend and when Hoseok comes to get you for a date and sees you with sex hair it’s the final straw.
Genre: angst / fluff
A/N: I loved this request and in general i love long unique requests! Please more angst requests guys its my favourite to write and I know you’re all fluffy bunnies but some good angst is always nice to have ;)
There were sunflowers lying disregarded on the floor, they were slightly stomped on and damp as the rain poured, your wet hair hung in your face obscuring your vision of your boyfriend’s fury filled face, but he still continued to shout at you, “Just tell me you’re cheating on me. By continuing to lie you’re just making me angrier,”
Some nights I find myself pouring some of my heart’s contents out as writing. I wonder if my pens and keyboard get tired of me using them for this purpose. Maybe they’re happy they get any use at all. I’ll never know. I do know some things, though. I know that the sun rises every morning. I know that the moon watches over us every night. I know that your smile emits enough warmth and light to make both of them jealous. I remember there was a time when my high school music teacher would tell me that he couldn’t tell when I liked something. I wonder if he’d be able to say the same if I ever brought you up in conversation. Sunflower yellow voice. Coffee brown eyes. I’ve always had quite the poker face, but I don’t think I’d be able to resist smiling then. What other colors do you contain? I want to know them all, both the warm and cool. Maybe I’m weird for this, but I feel like a masterpiece like you should be studied. To simply admire would never be enough.
A little one shot I wrote… I hope you like it! Let me know if you do, and send me a prompt if you feel so inclined!
“This is a terrible idea, Sam,” Dean said, voice hushed and hurried so no one in the library would hear him. “I really can’t do this.”
“Dean, you’ve been staring at him for the past hour. Go talk to him!” Sam hissed, poking his brother with the spine of one of his books.
They were at the library, picking up books for one of Sam’s middle school classes. Dean had had to drive him to the library right after his football practice, so Dean was still in his letterman jacket, hair damp and eyes bright when he saw him. A boy, the boy, of Dean’s dreams, fantasies, and desires. He was a little smaller than Dean, with ruffled dark hair and those eyes, like every tear Dean had ever shed was crystallized in that hypnotizing blue. He was a fucking masterpiece, and while Dean was well versed in flirtation, he had no idea how to approach this stunning and slightly nerdy boy. He could flirt, yes, but he didn’t know how to flirt with someone in a sweater vest.
“How am I supposed to talk to him?” Dean peeked around the edge of the bookshelf to glance at the boy, who was carefully running a slim finger across the spines of the books on the shelf. Dean turned back to his brother, a look of unadulterated panic on his face. “He reads.”
i did a thing today, so i thought i’d share!! (spoiler: the thing was i dehydrated some lilacs from our bush for cooking!!)
1) pick some lilacs (lavender, sunflowers, clover, dandelion, rose, chamomile, etc etc are also edible!!)
2) rise, and let dry. i didn’t let mine dry completely bc i’m an impatient lil bee, but you can pay them dry as well
3) pluck all the flowers off aka keep an eye out for green!! you just want the yummy lil purple in there**
4a) i own a dehydrator thanks to my lovely parents, so i followed its directions for drying herbs - laid on trays, closed, checked back in 20+ minutes until done
4b) if you don’t on a dehydrator, you can still do this!! the methods i’ve seen involve setting your oven to its lowest temperature, then baking for an hour+. takes a bit longer, and i recommend doing research before jumping in as i’ve never done myself, but it works! c:
5) remove newly dried flowers and place them in an air tight container, that isn’t wet. i washed my jar the day before and let it air dry completely before storing!!
6) store in a cool, dry place
** when doing this, i recommend popping a squat with a bowl. it takes a while to do this, so save your back!! plus, having a bowl right in front you helps with sorting etc
recipes: personally, i’ll be making a vanilla cake w lilac frosting. you can also use in teas, oatmeal, cookies, yogurts, etc and look up specific recipes!! lilac is said to have a lemony taste, and that’s the idea i got from it when trying it as well!!
my personal correspondence with lilac is home and happiness, contentedness. the overall correspondence is love and beauty, exorcism, protection.
happy cooking, and blessed be 🍃
update: double check flowers to make sure they haven’t been treated with pesticides or anything harmful. i use the bush we’ve grown ourselves to be sure i’m avoiding this, if not ask your florist or buy organic!!