i wish i could color these ha

Unknown Number: [text] Good day your highness, this is Obi-Wan Kenobi. I would like to inform you that I have a new number, m’lady. 
Satine: All right, thank you for letting me know! 
Obi-Wan: Yes and also I am greatly interested in knowing how you are faring on this day my dear sweet Mandalorian flower. 
Satine: What?
Obi-Wan: Mayhaps we could talk at length about the many times we’ve spent together and the reasons why we chose to part. 
Satine: Obi-Wan, this is strange. Are you all right?
Obi-Wan: I am most well my dearest Duchess just wishing to reminisce about days long gone! 💐
Satine: Obi, I think I’d better go. Maybe you should rest? 

[Obi-Wan Kenobi has sent an image.]

Satine: What is this?
Obi-Wan: It is a picture of me on my last mission, where my hair was the color of a beautiful Mandalorian sunset much like the many we saw together all those years ago.
Obi-Wan: You know I have heard that one of the other Jedi I know may be married in secret! Perhaps there is hope for us yet, my darling, and we could go on double dates and travel the universe together with them!   
Satine: Obi, can you please call me? I am worried about you. 
Obi-Wan: Alas I cannot for I am in a mission briefing, my dear one! I must speak with you another time.
Satine: Are you absolutely sure you are all right?
Obi-Wan: Most certain, though I will be in agony until I can see your face. Surely you have only grown more beautiful, for a Duchess.
Satine: What does that mean?!
Obi-Wan: I must go now, away to save the universe with my brave and handsome friend Anakin Skywalker The Chosen One, while my very soul remains in Mandalore! 🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹

Obi-Wan: Anakin, please pay attention to what Master Windu is saying. I can see you typing on your phone from here. 
Anakin: sorry master
Obi-Wan: Who are you even talking to right now?
Anakin: no one master sorry ill pay attention  😇


Harper has a bit of a thing for the “Teen Titans”. She recently told me: “Dad, I wish I could eat dinner with the Teen Titans every night”. So, I had her sit down with me on my computer and we drew all of the characters together in Photoshop. I would draw the shape of the head and she would do the rest, minus some obvious color choices and slight tweaks from dad. Here’s how it turned out!

I also made sure she got to eat dinner with them by having a plate made with her artwork. “Teen Titans… YET’S GO!” (She says “yet’s” and it’s one of our favorite things ever.)

Vampire hunter/Vampire AU Rhack..!

Woo! Glad I got to finish this before Halloween ended haha. I wish I could color this too but I just don’t have the time. :’( October has been an especially busy month for me.

This drawing is a small thank-you gift to all the rhack fan-artists and fanfic writers who shared amazing stories, artworks, and ideas with everyone else.

Since I’ve understood the charm of Borderlands and rhack beginning of this year (2016), going through your works after a tough day has been one of the most enjoyable experiences I’ve had (and still continues to be! :D 

Thank you for being awesome and I hope you all have a great Halloween!!

i miss you
i used to feel so close to you
but now you feel even further away than normal
i wish i had noticed
when we started to fade
from bright colors
to black and white
i look at you
and i feel as though
i’m looking at a stranger
where has my love gone?
will it ever return?
god i hope so
i don’t want to let go
and maybe you don’t either
maybe we can find a way
to illuminate ourselves once again
to infuse the rainbow back into our hearts
to glow and shine
to find our way back to the start
back to when
you didn’t feel so far away.
—  Anonymous said: Could you write a poem about a long distance relationship that both people are starting to fade away from each other?
(cc, 2017)

“How do you call your hero?”

“Oh, come here, Hero!”

God it’s been far too long since I’ve last done a fully colored drawing of my fave parents. So here they are giving each other a playful smooch. (And yes, Inko has to get on a stool to give All Might a kiss.)

Also yes, that little dialogue was inspired by me having “Love is Strange” by Mickey and Sylvia on repeat while drawing this. It was just too fitting ahaha!

offended-goat  asked:

Hi! My birthday is April 3rd and I was wondering if I could get a best friends/ peeta is jealous Drabble please? Thank you so much lovelies.

Originally posted by itadakimasu-letmeeat

Wishing you a wonderful birthday! The incredible @alliswell21 has written this perfect little bit of Everlark, just for you. Enjoy!


A/N: Happy Birthday! Here is a fluffy Everlark growing-back-together story with just a touch of spice. Enjoy!!!

Canon compliant
Rated T
Fluff and Comfort


It’s a rare evening, peaceful and quiet, Peeta and I sit on the porch watching the sun dip to sleep in the horizon, displaying the most beautiful array of colors either of us has seen in months.

“Look!” I whisper, “It’s your favorite color,” I point at the glorious arrange of oranges, yellows and pinks just in front of us.

Peeta smiles at the sky contentedly, softly. At peace. “I remember it clearly now,” he says with a pleased sigh. Then his sweet, blue eyes, turn to find mine, reaching my hand with his. “Thank you,”

“What for?” I ask confused.

“You gave me back part of my identity just by knowing something as simple as my favorite color, or how I tie my shoelaces.” He scoots closer to me on the stoop while intertwining our fingers more firmly. “You help me rediscover the real me every day. Thank you for not forgetting who I was, even when I did.” He kisses my knuckles.

“Well, you’ve help me stay sane, so I guess…” I fish in my head for the right words, but he smirks and answers,

“We’re even?”

I scowl causing him to chuckle.

“No,” I counter. “We make a good team. We are good for each other.”

Keep reading


this is the first thing I thought of when I saw this photo of @crankgameplays lol. but halfway through drawing it I remembered?? jack is allergic to cats? I think?? I can’t believe ethan killed jacksepticeye (and yes I know he has 2 sets of ears, I didn’t wanna make him a TOTAL furry) (( also I wish my laptop/tablet worked so I could do this digitally but this still turned out okay? ))


I’ve been gifted a new character. No, not made by me, but by a friend; @bravemustaine

He, who for whatever reason, wished to axe this wonderful character, and I simply asked if could I have her before that happened. Since I always wished to play, but could never make a female Argonian I was happy with, I admittedly bounced a bit upon being told yes. There were a couple issues at first, him having used ECE, which has preset slots not compatible with racemenu, but I managed to create a custom race with the files he gave me. Miraculously, it’s not much different than making a follower.

This is Zaura. A barbarian - sort of “Judge Dread” - style Argonian with an ice-colored underbelly. Her sword, while not the most lore-friendly thing in the word, is one that rivals her height. Yet she’s capable of wielding it with one hand, despite its name, the Zweihander, otherwise in her eyes, it is a peacekeeper. Any crime committed before her, or noticed, and the malefactor becomes but a ubiquitous stain upon it, despite their entitled plea.

She is very tall. Zaura is perhaps a person and three heads high, and very scant when it comes to clothing; both of which I’m very unfamiliar with.

One thing I can say about her with no reluctance is that she’s fun as hell to play. Thanks Brave.

Love (In Progress)

A Dean/Cas Fluff-fest fic by @pathsofpassion

January 24

The bed isn’t their bed, but Ellen keeps decent mattresses in her temporary rooms and he wakes comfortably, though no mattress is comfortable enough to make morning a bearable or humane time of day. Castiel blindly gestures at the coffeepot on the small desk, his eyes still squinted shut against the intrusion of daylight.

Obligingly, the coffee pot turns itself on and starts brewing. Being a witch has its perks.

He is not at all surprised that the largest and most beloved of those perks has left him to wake alone; rolling into the warm spot his familiar left in the covers, Castiel snuffles and mumbles incoherently. Undoubtedly Dean pushed for staying at the Roadhouse last night instead of returning to their cozy apartment across town purely for the chance to cadge Ellen into making him breakfast.

The other Roadhouse guests, renters, and temporary lodgers have long since risen by the time Cas drags himself from the bed and, coffee pot in hand, makes his way down to the kitchen.

Ellen is finishing up the last of the breakfast orders, surrounded by flour and biscuits and bacon. He leans in the kitchen doorjamb between the bar and the kitchen and watches, sipping his coffee straight from the carafe. At her feet, a large toffee-colored mutt is bounding around the kitchen floor, feathery tail wagging and fluffy ears relaxed and floppy against his head as he darts in to chomp at a bowl of scraps.

This is not the breakfast Cas anticipated Dean begging off of his near-aunt, but when his familiar is in canine form, leftover hamburger and steak trimmings are the very height of luxury.

“You’re going to spoil him,” he drawls, abandoning the half-empty carafe on a countertop in favor of bending down to snag his hand in the thick ruff at the back of Dean’s neck and drag him away from the bowl.

Ellen shrugs at him from where she is frying the last of the bacon, her wry smile tucking up the edges of her mouth. “It’s his birthday, s’far as I see it, that’s the point.”

The fond roll of his eyes precedes Cas down to crouching on the floor next to Dean, who is happily panting and alternates between lunging fruitlessly back toward the bowl of leftovers and licking Cas’s face.

“There are plans,” he informs Dean firmly, ignoring an excited yip and the tail hitting his side. “Plans made for your enjoyment, specific plans which are time-sensitive and depend upon you having two legs, not four.”

Read on AO3 or

Dean sits, miracle of miracles, and cocks his head at Cas. Mischievous moss-green eyes narrow, and three seconds later, he is facing not a maple-colored lab-retriever mix, but a stately and overly-large golden eagle. Dean launches himself up to perch on Cas’s shoulder, his beak and the talons of one foot raking affectionately through messy hair.

Ellen doesn’t even pretend not to bark out a laugh.

“I wish I could have seen your bird form when you first chose it,” Cas says, carefully rising to his feet. He knows that Dean picked a golden eagle after one too many viewings of Rescuers Down Under as a child. “You must have made an adorable eaglet. Maybe your mother has pictures.”

Unsurprisingly, Dean makes a horrified noise in protest and flaps off of his shoulder in a huff. There is absolutely not room for a fucking eagle to fly in Ellen’s kitchen, but Dean does manage to flutter to the floor without (much) awkwardness or errant clouds of flour. Cas snorts as Dean struts smugly around his feet, the reason for his familiar’s shift finally connecting from his earlier statement. “A form that has two legs and hands, you absolute menace. No feathers. No fur.”

Aw, Caaaaas. Deans voice in his head is all summer grass and sunshine, despite the whining.

He folds his arms, putting on his sternest expression. Today is a surprise, and he is going to spoil Dean whether Dean cooperates or not. The secrecy has been driving Dean crazy, and Cas would be a filthy rotten liar if he said he didn’t enjoy every minute.

At his feet, Dean takes two exaggeratedly-stealthy steps toward the bowl of leftover meat, his talons clicking on the hard tile. Cas merely cocks an eyebrow at him, waiting, and Dean steps again.

“You’re welcome to that breakfast, of course,” he says mildly as Dean hunches over to grasp a shred of meat with his beak. “Though it does mean I’ll have to cancel the pie-tasting at Gabriel’s for brunch.”

The eagle pauses in the midst of tipping his head back to gulp down his scrap, bright eyes peering over at Cas. …Pie?

“Strawberry, apple, rhubarb, pecan, coconut… something with maple.”

Dean drops the remaining shred of meat back into the bowl and takes off running toward the bar and the stairs that lead up to the Roadhouse showers. A couple of awkward, lunging steps in, he shifts from eagle to cat and becomes a lithe streak of ginger dashing away.

It’s… nice, to see Dean switching between forms so easily. To see him excited for his birthday for the first time Cas has known him. He cleans out the bowl of scraps for Ellen while he remembers last year’s January 24th, how Dean had gruffly requested that Cas ignore the day and – cautious with the newness of both their bond and their romantic relationship – he had reluctantly agreed.

It had been the right thing to do at the time. Cas respecting Dean’s wishes even in the face of his own desire to spoil his familiar and boyfriend had gone a long ways toward deepening Dean’s trust and their bond. This year, they’ve made enough progress in their relationship that Dean has cautiously allowed Cas to plan him a nice birthday, which is – meaningful. In ways he can’t yet express.

“As if I wouldn’t include pie on his birthday,” he mutters to Ellen as he sets the dirty bowl into the dishwasher.

She makes a considering sound. “Mary and John’ll be here with the rest of the gang at four to set up for the party. You sure you can keep him out ‘til five?”

Cas tilts his hand from side to side. It wouldn’t be the first time that they’ve had to head home early; with his ultra-sensitive shifter senses, Dean’s tolerance for crowds of strangers only goes so far. But most of the day he’s planned should be in private, intimate spaces where the press of humanity won’t constantly push at Dean. “If we have to change plans, I’ll let you know.”

And if he makes the pair of them later than intended by following Dean up into the shower, well. Dean certainly doesn’t protest.

When Dean – clean and finally human – pushes away from the table at Gabriel’s café, Cas can almost imagine that he can see the man’s stomach protruding with his pastry-related indulgences. He does not have to imagine the satisfaction radiating from his partner; he can feel it across their link, and closes his eyes for a moment to bask contentedly in the knowledge that he has made Dean happy.

His lids lift, and at his side Dean is smirking at him. The expression is a little wry, a little fond; “Dork,” Dean tells him, nudging Cas’s shin with his foot, but his eyes are surrounded by pleased crinkles. Dean reaches a hand out to ruffle at Cas’s hair, nearly identical to how he’d run his talons through it earlier. “What’s up next, sunshine?”

“You will see,” Cas hums, as Meg clears off their table. The pie sampling had really been Gabriel’s present for Dean, an awkward expression of fondness. With Gabriel, it is best not to acknowledge such things. Cas will never understand why his brother and his shifter-familiar get along so well, but he’s learned not to attempt comprehension of their fondly antagonistic relationship.

(They are both quick-witted, funny assholes who share a juvenile sense of humor. This is not difficult to understand; he simply refuses to acknowledge it. Undesirable behavior is best countered with a lack of attention, after all.)

Dragging Dean out of the café before Gabriel can appear and try to guess the rest of Dean’s surprise, Cas winds his fingers with his partner’s and tugs them toward the Impala, black and gleaming where she’s parked on the curb. This morning was Gabriel’s gift, and this evening will be consumed with all of their family and friends, but the rest of the afternoon is just for him and Dean. No one else knows where Cas is planning to take them, nor will they.

“Still not gonna tell me?” Dean’s settled behind the wheel, and Cas grins from his place in the passenger seat.

“Just drive. I’ll tell you where to turn.”

A gesture of Cas’s fingers brings up a floating green arrow in front of the windshield. Cas’s direction-spell leads them by back ways and circular routes, eventually coming into the chosen establishment from the rear so that Dean won’t have the chance to blanch and bolt until he’s out of the car.

They get out; Dean closes the Impala’s door behind him, and his nose wrinkles as he looks over the hood at Cas. His canine form was his first, and even in his human shape those are the heightened senses Dean can access most easily. “I smell water. And frou-frou bath shit. And Gilda.”

He keeps his gaze even, steady on Dean as his familiar’s eyes narrow. Like all skittish, wounded animals, Dean is ever ready to bite first and analyze intent later, but they have been building trust, and he will not falter in providing his heart’s mate with the best care he can.

If Dean truly doesn’t want this, beneath any macho posturing, Castiel does have back-up plans. But. Dean rarely allows his physical self to be cared for, to be pampered and tended and eased. Such things are labeled as frills, feminine, unmanly, un_necessary_. For someone who is so vibrantly present in their own body, so intimately connected to their physical being in any shape, Dean is almost violent in his opposition to actually caring for his corporeal self.

Cas lifts an eyebrow, refusing to be cowed by Dean’s initial grimace, and the subsequent, “You got me a spa day?” is far more neutral than he’d hoped.

“Us. I will be with you the entire time.”

Dean assesses him, and Cas can sense across their connection how manufactured protests bubble up in Dean’s throat and then falter into silence, one by one. Dean makes a considering hum, bottle-green eyes gaining a mellower shade. Inwardly, Cas allows himself a hint of a smile. It is in Dean’s nature to thrash against structure or guidance when it is first provided, just as it is equally in his nature to melt into a firm grip once he realizes it’s beneficial for him. Cas has learned this much, at least, though Dean finds new ways to test their relationship on a near-daily basis.

Though Dean’s gaze is still suspicious, and though across their bond he is still skeptical, he locks Baby behind them and lets Cas take his hand as they walk into the fairy-run day spa. Victories come one small moment at a time.

“Cas, I love you, I love you, I love you.” Two hours later, Dean’s chants are interspersed with moans as Gilda works her (figurative) magic on his feet. Cas’s own pedicure is finished, completed by the able hands of Gilda’s assistant, but Dean’s feet had been in such poor shape that the fairy was spending extra time working them into submission.

“Can you teach me that?” Cas requests, watching Gilda’s strong hands expertly rub at his partner’s feet. She smiles up at him and beckons; Cas rises from his pedicure chair and goes over to crouch down next to where she is sitting.

“This is the motion to start with.” Gilda’s accent is thick; someone unfamiliar with the supernatural would only identify her as foreign, but Cas knows her native tongue is not from this plane of existence. “See?” She starts over with broad motions, working from the top of Dean’s foot to his sole, and then from his heel up to his toes. Cas watches her fingers closely for technique, noting the different movements involved – pulling here, squeezing there.

He tunes out the sounds of pleasure from Dean; otherwise his ears would turn a nice red, given that usually Cas only hears these sounds in their bed. Or, granted, at Gabriel’s café. Or when Dean is eating one of Ellen’s burgers.

“You try.” Gilda smiles at him and shifts off her stool, beckoning Cas to take her place.

There is intimacy here.

Dean goes quiet, watching him from half-lidded eyes as Cas takes his right foot in both his hands. His thumbs start at Dean’s heel, working in opposite directions as he gently coaxed the muscle into relaxing. He moved up into the arch of Dean’s foot, now stroking outward from the center. Cas’s eyes are on Dean’s, not on his hands, as he works; he does not notice when Gilda tactfully withdraws.

His knuckles drum against the instep in soft, rolling strokes, and Dean can no longer keep his eyes open once Castiel’s fingers hit the ball of his foot, his toes. Each inch is given careful attention, each touch soaked in – not skill, perhaps, but. Love. All of the love and affection that Dean usually will only accept sideways, worked into each of his feet.

When he has finished with both, Cas leans forward, pressing a tender kiss to both Dean’s knees where they are exposed by his spa robe. His familiar makes a grabby-hands motion, reaching for Cas; he smiles as he stands, taking Dean’s hands and kissing each knuckle. This earns him a whine, and he chuckles as he bends over to brush a light, chaste kiss to his partner’s mouth.

“Gilda would kill us,” he says, squeezing Dean’s hands a last time before moving back to his own pedicure chair. Dean’s thought-projections of Cas ducking his head or his hands beneath that robe are not at all subtle.

Dean is pouting at him, but not seriously. His cheeks are pink, flushed, but across their bond he does not feel displeased. “No, Charlie and Dot would kill us for upsetting Gilda,” he corrects, stretching in the reclining chair and flexing his feet.

Gilda reappears as if summoned by her name, her hands beckoning them up. They already had the deep-tissue massage, which Dean approved of, and the body scrub and wrap, which Dean loudly disapproved of before sinking into relaxation with distinct murmurs of pleasure.

Their last treatment is a soothing hot stone massage, a procedure so relaxing that Dean actually falls into a contented doze halfway through. Closely as he’s been monitoring his familiar’s emotions and mental state for the past several hours, Cas smiles as he closes his own eyes. He’d refused to show it in the parking lot, but he had been nervous about this particular surprise. Dean’s utter pleasure and contentment with the massages and treatments are… validating. That he has provided something Dean needed, even if Dean wouldn’t admit it.

Castiel’s eyes narrow when Dean backs him up against the car door in the parking lot, but Dean presses their mouths together in a warm, lingering kiss that leaves little doubt as to his appreciation. Cas winds his arms around Dean’s neck, leaning back into the sturdy cold of Baby’s metal and nuzzling their mouths together in soft, small samples of touch.

“Thanks, Cas,” gets breathed out against his temple, and it’s damn cold in Wichita but Dean is a line of welcome heat all up the front of his body. Possibly even better than the physical connection is the psychic one, where Dean is pulsing out gratitude and happiness along their familiar bond.

Castiel smiles, small, and scrapes his fingernails gently at the back of Dean’s neck. “I did well, then.”

He’s answered with a wry snort, and “Y’did good,” accompanied by a crinkle of Dean’s eyes that is more genuine than their teasing. “Y’always do good, Cas. You know you spoil me.” His familiar’s eyes are serious now, if no less warm.

Shaking his head, Cas gives one more fond squeeze of his arms. “I give you what you deserve, and you deserve everything good.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but lightly colors at the implied praise; genuine appreciation is Dean’s deepest weakness, and one Cas exploits with ruthless love.

It is just past five, so they have nicely managed to fill the requisite hours before the party; Cas has one last surprise planned, but it will not be in place for some time yet. He kisses Dean’s nose and mouth, one after the other, before going around to the passenger side of the impala.

Castiel has been selfish, in the daylight hours; he has kept the majority of Dean’s birthday to the two of them. So now, at the Roadhouse party with most of their family and friends, Cas lets himself fade into the background.

He watches as Jo and Ellen tag-team Dean into a rousing defeat at pool; watches as Mary and John embrace their eldest son, comfortable and easy even in their complications. (Mary and John get along far better after the divorce than they ever did during their marriage; they still share a home on the outskirts of Wichita, having followed Ellen and therefore Dean when the Roadhouse relocated).

Charlie, Benny, Ash, and Kevin pull Dean into a rapid-fire game of Munchkin, while Aaron and Gabriel bicker good-naturedly over the proper way to cut the cake. Gordon even came up from the basement room he’s been renting from Ellen, and he may be drinking steadily at the bar but he is present. Lisa couldn’t make the party, but sent her warmest regards in the form of her homemade Oreos – one of Dean’s particular favorites. Bobby is stuck on a hunt in Idaho; he left a set of work gloves wrapped in newspaper for Dean to open.

Really, there is only one glaring gap on the guest list. Stanford is a long ways from Kansas, and Sam’s scholarship doesn’t cover airfare to attend his brother’s birthday party.

The presents are minor, mostly fond and silly, at Dean’s request – well. At Cas’s interpretation of Dean’s quiet discomfort toward being given Too Much or his birthday being a Big Deal. Donnie makes Dean the pinkest Cosmopolitan Cas has ever seen; Mary and John give him a detailing kit for the Impala and a new rope tug to play with in his dog form. Benny and Kevin give Dean a new set of gaming dice and a book of dirty jokes.

The cake has been cut and all the presents distributed to a laughing Dean by the time the doorbell rings. The Roadhouse was closed down for the evening; everyone stops talking and looks toward the entrance.

“I believe that’s for you, Dean.” Cas has to bite his cheeks in order to keep from smiling too hard. He gets a squinty, green-eyed look for his trouble, and then Dean is opening the door and being swamped by a hug from –

Sammy?” chokes out into a shoulder that is now the height of Dean’s head; Sam has grown since summer. The crowd of kith and kin flocks to the door, everyone exclaiming and reaching to claim their own hug from the youngest Winchester. Castiel stays back. It is enough, for now, to watch Dean’s disbelieving joy at being reunited with his brother.

You did this for me, whispers across their bond, awed and reverent. Dean is still half-wrapped around Sam, but his eyes have once again found his witch’s. Cas. Thank you.

He has to fly back Sunday morning, Cas cautions; he cannot help but send a wave of love and happiness across their bond. We wanted to surprise you.

He feels more than hears Dean’s snort of amusement. Believe me, buddy, I’m surprised.

Long hours later, it is only the actual Roadhouse crew left. Cas herds Dean upstairs with kisses and warm insistence; this once, Jo and Ash can finish the clean-up. Cas needs to lay Dean out in their bed and settle next to him, exchanging slow, slow touches of lips. Sam went home with John and Mary, but will be back for breakfast in the morning. Now, this, is just the two of them.

The both of them had too many drinks to drive back to their apartment when Ellen offered a cozy mattress upstairs. Dean will protest the lack of memory-foam in the morning, but he is the reason Castiel is too warm and fuzzy with alcohol to drive.

“Best birthday ever,” Dean slurs in between the grazing of their mouths; Cas draws back to smile at him, thumb tracing gently along Dean’s cheek. “S’rsly, Cas, tha’ was – “ Dean yawns, huge and sleepy. “Aw’some.”

“I’m glad you liked it,” Cas kisses Dean’s forehead, soothing him. “Sleep now. Sam will be here early.”

His only response is a contented hum, as the man in his arms wriggles and turns, trying to find a position where he is completely curled up in Cas’s hold. Dean huffs softly, and within seconds Cas is holding a much smaller creature – Dean’s feline form, the ginger tabby. He strokes his hand down Dean’s head and back as the cat settles against his chest, curled up in a comfy, tight little ball. “Good night, Dean,” he murmurs before closing his eyes.

He falls asleep with Dean’s purrs rumbling against his heart; how he ever lived without this man in his life, he will never understand.

Synesthesia problems (maybe)

i can draw, but i’ll never be able to do a perfect jawline or develop my own style because i don’t picture people as people i picture them as blobs of color so what is anatomy lineart is a lie

i can write, but i don’t think i’ll ever get a scene right because it never keeps the same pace, which means the colors get all mixed up and it doesn’t look like swirls of red and pink it looks more like footsteps in blue gum and i don’t care for that shit at all

i can’t dance because the song is a certain color and i can never be that color when i try to learn choreography (Sia’s “The Greatest” is purple, but if i dance to it, i’m chartreuse) 

i’m super self-conscious about my voice because everyone else’s is so smooth or it has a nice texture and a snazzy color but mine is just. brown and it looks like dried food on a fuckin cooking pan

i’m picky about certain food because the color palette that appears in my head doesn’t match what it’s supposed to be and it makes me feel uncomfortable

im just a mess and it’s the worst 

i wish i could be blue but im just brown

eene-fangirl  asked:

What are your top 3 favorite Edd moments and why?

My top 2 favorite scenes are, unsurprisingly, from Big Picture Show, and both draw connections between the anger and sadness at the foundation of the relationship between Edd and his parents and Edd and his friends:

Even though I’m all about Eddy’s story in the movie, I feel like the visuals and sound design fell pretty short for him.  A little too much of the emotion in Eddy’s story is left to the audience’s imagination, and not enough of it is put into the camera angles and color schemes.  This is not the case with Edd, who has these fantastic emotional-rollercoaster scenes directed meticulously, of course, by Raven Molisee. Despite lacking the meat of his story in the movie (reliving getting kicked out of his old town for the dodgeball incident), Edd’s scenes are so engaging that they carry most of the movie for me.

From shrinking and crumpling into tears to furiously scribbling and performing all manner of anxious gestures, this scene is loaded with the type of visual storytelling that make me wish EEnE could have a chance to redo the movie theatrically.  Edd’s confession letter is also such a dark concept and it makes my mind run wild with the repercussions it may have had when his parents found all of these half-written messages. I can only imagine they interpreted it as a suicide note, and I remember hearing that this was one of few scenes CN gave notes on because they were worried it seemed like Edd had killed somebody.

By the swamp scene, the budget has lowered so there isn’t as much shading and color direction, but Raven’s storyboards are so detailed, no moment of Edd’s cathartic rant goes undersold.  My favorite part is “EXCUSE MY SINCERITY FOR THINKING I HAD LOST THE ONLY TWO PEOPLE I HAVE LEFT IN THIS WORLD” because it always feels like an admission that Edd has given up on his parents.

I have less to say about my two other scenes… Pretty much all of ‘A Fistful of Ed’ is my favorite Edd story, and I’m sure I’ll go over the emotional resonance of this episode repetitively this month, but I’ll pick the botanical garden scene in particular because its color direction is on par with the first BPS scene I described:

Finally, I wanted to pick one pre-digital era bonus scene.  This scene in ‘Run For Your Ed’, where Edd silently locks the Kankers out of his house and turns away from the door before panicking, KILLS me every time.  Edd has tons of funny little moments like this and it took me a really long time to pick just one, but I have to go with this scene because season 4 was far from my favorite season, especially for Edd, so it stands out as a moment where this era of Edd managed to steal the show for me.

Other favorite tidbits I considered include the static electricity lesson in ‘Every Which Way But Ed’, his adrenaline in ‘Know It All Ed’, 88 Fingers Eddward in ‘Avast Ye Eds’, “a tad peckish” and “a stubborn lid, this” from BPS, and Edd turning Eddy’s home movie into an art film throughout ‘An Ed is Born’.

So this is a silly fic brought to you by that recent post about The Truth about Florists, and a little bit by that other floristry post from a few months ago. And when I’m not on mobile and it’s not past one in the morning, I will link those. If I can find them again.


It’s the end of a long day, and Derek is putting the last of the display flowers in the fridge as the front door bangs open. He frowns; he’s technically closed the shop, but he mustn’t have latched the door yet.

A young man leans on the newly cleaned glass counter. He’s out of breath and a little pink in the face, like he’d run down the whole street, though the color in his cheeks could just be from the cold outside. Fall has come late this year.

The guy’s hands will be streaking the glass. Derek’ll have to wipe it down again when he’s gone. But, his inner Laura reminds him, customer.

“How do you say ‘fuck you’ in flowers,” gasps the man.

Derek’s brows draw together, like a little conference of perplexity above his nose.

“Well,” he says, thinking it out, “I guess you could order white lilies. You know, like for a funeral. Like ‘I wish you were dead’.”

The customer hums. “I like the way you think,” he says. “But no. I’m thinking a more opaque burn than that. Because the ancient withered old-man crone – why isn’t there a good male equivalent to crone? That’s totally sexism – this old guy that I work for is such a spectacular asshole, and he needs to be told so. But, uh, in a way that can’t be traced back to me, because I badly need this job. Because student loans. So I was thinking a burn using the language of flowers, so I get the satisfaction even if he never knows. And it’ll probably make his PA laugh, because Lydia knows all things. And she deserves a good laugh.”

“I don’t actually have the language of flowers memorized, you know,” Derek says.

“What!” says the customer, outraged. “But you’re a florist!”

In the twenty-first century,” says Derek oppressively. “The language of flowers hasn’t been used for a hundred years.”

“You’re breaking my heart here,” says the guy, clutching one hand to his chest. “How am I supposed to tell my crush that they have my sincerest admiration and sweetest love?”

He bats his long eyelashes. Derek is 100% unmoved.

“Buy them some red roses,” he says. “And use your words.”

The guy bursts out laughing. He laughs with his whole body, tipping his head back and exposing the long column of his throat. It is unfair, and Derek is tired, and he wants to go home. He came into work at five this morning in order to get an order done for a wedding for a demanding groom – worse, this is the order for the rehearsal dinner, who even gets flowers for a rehearsal dinner? The actual wedding order will be for this weekend, and he’ll have to get Isaac to help out – and so it’s just Derek’s luck that a cute guy comes into his shop, and is maybe flirting with him? and Derek is way too tired to be clever and witty back. Why couldn’t the guy have come in yesterday? Yesterday his esprit d’escalier was more like esprit de counter, and he’d actually managed to give as good as he got to Erica when she came by in her lunchbreak. Yesterday he could’ve maybe had a chance with this guy. Today he has bags under his eyes and his brain is running at half speed.

“Really? Really? I need to use my words? Dude. You have literally struck me dumb, because no-one has said that to me once in my whole life. I am stunned and amazed.”

“You talk a lot for someone who’s been struck dumb,” says Derek, leaning his hip against the counter. There is a twitch at the side of his mouth which is definitely not the beginnings of a smile.

“He jokes! Let me guess,” says the guy, “you got into floristry – florism? because plants talk less than people.”

Derek says nothing to this, because it’s a little too close to the truth. Instead, he changes the topic.

“Anyway, you don’t find most books agreeing about the meanings,” he says, tidying the sheets of decorative paper by the till. “Not if you look at the more obscure flowers, and not just, you know, roses or mums or whatever.”

“You do know about the language of flowers,” accuses cute guy.

“Not really,” sighs Derek. “Not enough to be able to make you an arrangement. I read some books on floriography, but it was a long time ago, and I never committed anything to memory.”

Floriography,” repeats the cute guy, looking utterly delighted. “Okay. So, how big a bunch of flowers could I get for fifty dollars?”

“Mm, about this big,” says Derek, sketching out his seventy dollar arrangement in the air. What? It’s his damn florist’s. He can give a cute guy a discount if he wants. He has rehearsal dinner flower arrangement money in the till, it’s fine.

“Nice,” says the cute guy, nodding. “That’d be the perfect size. That should burn him. So. I’ll go away tonight, get my research on – I’m gangbusters at research, research is my bitch – then I’ll come back tomorrow night with some ideas? I’ll even manage to come before closing which, sorry about that. It’s just that my boss had us in for some sudden emergency all-staff meeting until six-thirty for no obvious reason other than to mess us about. I was meant to leave at four today. It’s Lydia I feel sorry for, though. She had to rearrange her dinner, it was a whole thing.”

He yawns, and it’s catching. Derek can barely suppress his own.

“Anyway!” The guy says. He fishes in his messenger bag until he finds his wallet. “I’ll bring the research tomorrow, then can you deliver the flowers to Gerard the next day? I’ll write down the address.”

“Sure,” says Derek. “So long as we don’t pick out anything that I don’t have in stock.”

“No super obscure flowers like aconite or whatever, check.” He snags the notebook that Derek keeps by the till and scribbles down the address. “I’m Stiles, by the way,” he says, without looking up. He adds STILES at the bottom in blocky letters, and follows it with a phone number. “Um, so. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow after work.”

“I look forward to it,” says Derek, then mentally facepalms as Stiles gives him an odd sort of smile. Then the front door closed behind him and he was gone.


That night, Derek pulls out his old book on the language of flowers. He found it at a second-hand bookshop when he was fourteen, and since he’d been obsessed with ciphers and secret messages at the time, he bought it.

The book hadn’t given him any clues as to ways to keep his diary secret from Laura, but there was something about the quiet messages that appealed to him: pansy, think of me; bay leaf, I change but in death; peach, your qualities, like your charms, are unequalled.

Sooner or later, however, the book had been borrowed by someone, or relegated to a scarcely used part in the family bookshelves, and he’d barely thought of it again. It occurs to him that the quiet hours he’d spent at the nursery with his father might not have been the only influence on his choice of career.

Thoughtfully, he pulls a notebook towards him and started taking notes.


“Okay, so, obviously I couldn’t get to a library today because work, but I have crosschecked like six different websites, and possibly have not sleep enough. But I have a list! I don’t suppose you keep hemlock on hand?”

Derek looks up, and is somehow unsurprised to see Stiles coming into the shop. He doesn’t know anyone who would be halfway into a conversation before clearing a doorway.

“Not since I gave up my hobby of poisoning philosophers, no,” he says. “And I’m not sure a plant mostly renowned for its lethality is really a subtle burn.”

“Shame,” says Stiles, pulling out a sheaf of papers and dropping his messenger bag by the counter. “The meaning was ‘you will be my death’, and truer words have not been spoken.”

He runs his long fingers over the top sheet, flattening it out, and passes it to Derek. Derek picks up a pencil and crosses out belvedere and hops. He taps the pencil against his mouth.

“This’d be very primary colored,” he says. “Also I think I would pick either lavender or geranium, but not both.”

“Uh, lavender, then,” says Stiles, watching the pencil’s movement. “Shame about the belvedere. ‘I declare war upon you!’ It’s exactly the sentiment that I wanted to convey.”

“We agreed to limit it to things I’ve got in stock,” Derek reminds him.

“Ruin all my fun. Oh, hey, who’s that one for?”

Derek follows Stiles’s pointing finger, and sees to his horror that the arrangement he’d been working on is still on the bench behind him.

“Nothing,” he says. “I mean, no-one.”

“It’s not mine, is it?” Stiles says as he shuffles his paper pile, and Derek wants to die. “Except, no, pink carnation’s got a nice meaning. Aw, ‘I will never forget you’. That’s sweet.”

He looks up, and catches Derek’s panicked expression.

Are they for me?” he says quietly.

“Fine, yes.”

He puts them down in front of Stiles, but can’t convince his hands to let go of the box.

“They’re not finished,” he says, staring down at them. “I haven’t put the ribbon around or anything …”

“They’re beautiful,” says Stiles. He lifts them out of Derek’s hands, and their fingers brush. Derek feels every little point of contact like electric sparks. “What’re the lilacs mean?”

“First emotions of love.”

“Aw. What about the tulips?”

“Declaration of love.”

“So forward! Did you do research for this?” He looks up. Derek shrugs. “You did! You did research for me! I don’t think anyone’s ever researched for me.”

Stiles is grinning at his flowers, turning the arrangement around in his hands so he can examine it from all sides. Derek wishes he’d spent more time on it.

“Oh!” says Stiles. “I nearly forgot. I brought you these.”

He opens his messenger bag and brings out a bouquet of red roses, cellophane wrapped and only slightly squashed. Derek takes them from him, dumbfounded.

“Sorry,” says Stiles. “It was a stupid idea, just forget it—”

He reaches for the bouquet but Derek clutches at them.

“No,” he says. “I love them. No-one’s— no-one’s brought me flowers before.”

“Oh,” says Stiles. He licks his lips. “That’s— that’s good. Anyway, they were only the first part. The second part is this: ‘You have my sincerest admiration and sweetest love—’”

Derek puts the flowers aside and draws Stiles in for a kiss.

TalesFromTheFrontDesk: What's your favorite color?

My hotel opened in November and we have a lot of really cool special touches. The front desk is a huge light box. Not really sure how it works, but the desk itself is translucent with LED lamps on the inside. We have more LED lights in the ceiling as well.

When a guest is really cool/friendly or I’m in a good mood, I’ll ask what her favorite color is. I’ll then change some settings and BOOM the room is her favorite color. It’s really cool and simple and they always love it. I wish I could share, because we’re getting a ton of pictures on social media of they’re happy smiling faces.

It’s amazing how a simple change in the lights can turn a shitty day around. Weather has been awful and flights were delayed all day. But your favorite color is pink? Coming up.

It’s the little things that make our jobs the best.

By: AustinBennettWriter

Nerdiest Lovers ~TJ Perkins Imagine

Originally posted by dailytjp

TJ x Reader 


It wasn’t that hard to see that you and TJ had something going on between the two of you. One of your friends pointed that you and TJ should just date already. She shipped the two of you but you were afraid to tell him how you felt. You didn’t want to ruin the friendship, he was the cutest nerdiest guy you ever met. 

When he left for the cruiserweight , you had hopes that he would get his wish to be a champion and be on the main roster in the WWE. In his eyes you could see that this was something he really wanted to do. 

“ I’m going to miss you” you mumbled, pouting as you stood with him at the airport. 

“ Don’t do that” he cupped the side of your face, his thumb going to your lips running his thumb over your bottom lip. He thought you were the cutest thing ever. His heart was racing seeing the way you were looking at him, with your wide eyes and pout on your face. He wished he could kiss you right now. 

Wrapping your arms around him,burying your head into his neck breathing in his scent. He wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you tight to him. TJ wished he could take you with him. 

It was getting hard for him.

Pulling away, you cupped his face with your hands brushing your thumbs over his cheeks. 

“ Go get em” a small smile lit on your face, it was weak. You wanted to cry right there and there but held back , swallowing the lump in your throat. He let go of your hand, walking backwards watching you in the distant. 

Closing your eyes, a tear fell down your cheek. TJ watched as you silently cried putting a hand to your mouth, his heart fell into his stomach. He wanted to run back to you hugging you not letting you go. He couldn’t stand seeing you cry. 

TJ and you are best friends growing up, he grew up next to you telling you his dream was to become a professional wrestler. He wanted you to always be by his side, watching him, supporting him just like you did through high school and college. 

He called you his number on girl. 

Although through the years, TJ has been seen different in your eyes. He took your heart, he grew into a gorgeous guy. But you never told him how you felt because you didn’t want to lose him. You’re friendship meant so much to you, if you couldn’t have him then you’d be his best friend through the years even if it hurts watching him look at someone else, hold someone else’s hand, smile at someone else. 

When he had his match in the Cruiserweight, you saw him with the title. It brought tears and amount of happiness you felt for him. First thing TJ did when he ran backstage after his interview, he called you. 

“ Y/N! I did it..” he said. 

“ I am so happy for you TJ. I knew you could, I wish I could be there for you” 

“ Me too” then he hung up on you before face time calling you. When you saw his face pop up, he was smiling at you while holding the purple Cruiserweight title for you to see.

“ It’s purple, nice” giggling, he rolled his eyes knowing it was your favorite color. He looked at the title before looking at you through the phone, he winked saying, “ I can’t wait to see you.” 

“ Soon, maybe”you shrugged sighing, work has been a hassle. They kept you at late hours and you were getting more tired than ever. 

You and TJ stayed talking a little more before he had to go get showered and head back to the hotel. That night he wished you good night sending you a picture of himself while holding a plush toy you hide in his back saying he found it. 

When TJ found the plush toy in his suitcase, he chuckled knowing you put it in there. It was a little dog plush toy that you kept in your room. He kept it with him, hoping one day you’d come see him. 

That day came sooner than expected. The Cruiserweight roster have been put on Raw. They were in LA and you already gotten a ticket to see him. He had no idea that you were coming. 

I miss you so much, TJ texted you. You’re heart melted getting a message from him. He was extremely busy but he made sure he made time to send you a message, a selfie or tag you on twitter. He was so sweet and you wished more and more that you were his girlfriend instead of his best friend. 

You drove up to the arena where RAW was being held, excited to see the look on TJ’s face once he sees you. You got front row tickets, getting out the car you walked towards the arena. 

The closer you got, the more nervous you got. No one knew how much you love TJ, he was your best friend but he meant a lot to you. Biting your lip, you handed your ticket. It was being scanned, your phone buzzed letting you know you had a text.

Getting your phone out while taking the ticket, so many people where. You already went to the bathroom before and grabbed something to eat before coming here. Making your way to your seat, you stopped gasping seeing how big it was. 

It was amazing to be here. Getting to your seat, you glanced at your phone seeing TJ texted you. 

Why haven’t you called me? :( </3 Awe he was upset that you didn’t talk to him today. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to talk to him. You wanted to surprise him, for him to see you in the crowd.

I’m sorry, I will later you texted back with a heart. Right away he send you a blushing emoji with a heart. It was too cute. He was too cute. 

The show started, you stood up putting your phone away watching every match closely. The camera ran by you and you hoped that TJ saw you. You’re phone did buzz, a wide smile appeared on your lips knowing it was him. He saw you backstage. 

When it was time for his match, you screamed throwing your hands up seeing him coming out. TJ scanned the crowd, he did see you backstage and was so excited seeing you here cheering for him. As he walked down the ramp, he turned to see you smiling wide at him.

For you, he broke character rushing to you hugging you before going to the ring. He winked at you, you watched his match closely. Cheering for him, yelling and booing his opponent. 

“ you got this TJ!” you yelled. He heard it, looking at you and nodding his head before he turn the tables on his opponent giving it all he got. As the show came to an end, a security guard made his way over to you.

“ Miss, TJ Perkins requested for you to come backstage” he said to you. “ Okay” you nodded following the security guy backstage. Walking past many superstars and women, you were brought out of your trance when you heard your name being called. 

“ Y/N!” turning your head just in time for the person to crash into you sending you to the ground. You laughed, seeing TJ above you smiling down at you.

“ Hey there” you giggled. He got off you ,letting out a hand for you so you could get up. You grabbed onto his hand, he helped you up before bringing you into his sweaty chest.

“ Ew, TJ your sweaty” “ Oh shush. I am enjoying the moment” you laughed, he was such a goof sometimes. But that was one of the many things you loved about him. 

Pulling away, you looked into your eyes while he looked into yours. It felt like no one else was around. Just you and him. 

“ Damn, she has a nice ass” someone muttered. It was right behind you, TJ looked over your shoulder seeing one of the crew members talking about with the other crew member. TJ pulled you closer to him before telling them, “ Keep your eyes to yourself, thanks. She’s mine” he growled underneath his breath and you swear it was the sexiest thing you ever heard.

Pulling away from him, you arch your eyebrow glancing at him, “ I’m yours?” 

A blush reached his cheek as he rubbed the back of his neck looking elsewhere but you. “ Uh..” was all he had to say, you giggled leaning up kissing his cheek.

“ Go get showered and change, I’ll wait here” He nodded rushing but not before placing a kiss on your forehead. 

It didn’t take him much longer as he came back to get you. He took you to the parking lot where his rental car was, you got into the passenger seat as he drove back to the hotel. 

His room was nice, his room mate wasn’t here yet. 

“ Is it okay if I’m here?” you plopped on his bed as he took off his shoes. 

“ Yeah, I don’t see why not?” you shrugged before bouncing a little as TJ laid down next to you. 

“ Did you enjoy the show?” you nodded. “ You did great out there like always” you turned your head to look at him. He glanced over to you, a strand of hair was in your face so he leaned on his elbow, pushing it away. 

His fingers went to your cheek stroking it. It’s been awhile since he touched your skin. It was soft just like he remembers. He cupped the side of your face, stroke it smiling at you but his smile dropped as his face turned serious. 

He looked down at your lips then to your eyes asking you for permission. You nodded your head. TJ leaned down brushing his nose against yours before brushing his lips against yours. He was hesitant to kiss you. 

You wrapped an arm around his neck bringing him down kissing him softly. His hand went to your neck pulling you so you rolled on top of him. His hands were on your hips before moving to your back rubbing it while he kissed you.

Softly pulling away, you stared into his eyes. They held love in them.

“ TJ…”

“ Y/N” you both said at the same time, you laughed telling him he could go first.

“ Y/N, from the moment I saw you, I wanted to know you. Once I got to know you, I found myself liking you. As our friendship grew my heart was yours from the beginning of it. I am in love with you, I know distance may be hard between us but we can work. I will do anything to have you by my side.. please be mine?” 

“ Of course Perkins, you had my heart since we met. I love you too dork” he leaned up capturing your lips with his, turning over so he was on top now making you squeal into the kiss. 

He pulled away from the kiss brushing his nose against yours, rubbing it giving you an eskimo kiss before he kissed you again mumbling against your lips, “ Mine.” 

You were happy to be his. 

Not Only In My Dreams

I finished a JackCrutchie fic. Someone give me a cookie.

In all seriousness though. Youtube Christmas-y AU thing.

Crutchie doesn’t mean to do it; really he doesn’t.

But it’s been nearly two weeks since Jack last skyped him, and even though they text and email, it’s not the same. He knows Jack’s been busy with exams, but Crutchie could really use his voice right now.

Which is why he types “Jack Kelly” into YouTube’s search bar.

Keep reading

“When I think of all the things I used to feel and no longer do, the spectrum of colors I used to see and have gone blind to, the depth of field I once possessed and which has been so flattened it is difficult to perceive the world in any dimension at all, I wish only that I could spend what’s left of my life asleep and in dreams, even if they are mostly nightmares, just for the chance to have a few moments of feeling, no matter how imaginary, with you. From these ruins, I send you all of my love. If you cannot use it now, please keep it somewhere dark and cool in case you one day can, for it would be better off in some box forgotten than here in this place, with me.”

Elias Lindert, from “All the Things,” Bitter Oleander (vol. 22, no. 1, Spring 2016)