i'm giving up for today

Learning how to draw the whole gang slowly but surely. Here’s a little Keyleth on very bad paper

Never Underestimate the pain of a person, because in all honesty, everyone is struggling. Some people are better at hiding it than others.
—  Will Smith
Food Poisoning

Requested: can u do one where he gets food poisoning? // Maybe something about Shawn being sick to his stomach?



After having lunch in town with Shawn, you head back to your apartment where you have to attend one more class at your University before it is officially the weekend. Shawn had some time off so that is why he came out to visit you. He’s staying and spending the weekend with you. He booked a hotel for you two to stay in, because you share your apartment with two other girls and you wanted to be able to spend some alone time with Shawn.

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I keep seeing certain comparisons, and people worrying they’re going to become a faschist dictatorship now or something, and while I don’t really agree with them, I want to say this.

When Hitler came into power, my great-grandfather turned off his radio because he didn’t want to his kids to hear the propaganda. When the SS came for his Jewish landlord, he tried to intervene, almost getting arrested himself, and he and the other people in the building watched as the Jewish family was taken away. They couldn’t do anything, except to stand there and silently say, “We are watching.” Other people could, and did, do something. My great-grandfather’s landlord and his family ended up escaping to England.

My grandfather and the landlord’s son were friends. Towards the end of the war, my grandfather was drafted, and became a Nazi soldier, against his will and everything he believed in. He was captured by the British. After the war ended, he went to London, to stay with his Jewish friend for a while. They’d both survived, and they stayed friends for the rest of their lives.

The point is: there’s always something you can do. Even if you do live under a faschist dictatorship. You always have choices, and they’re not constricted to “it has to go my way or I’ll give up and leave”. You can help people. You can choose your friends, and your values, and your causes. You can choose not to listen to people who preach hate and prejudice. You can choose not to be hateful and prejudiced in turn. And also: there will always be people who don’t hate you, who are willing to help you.

Your Heart’s Desire

a very late submission to @tmntflashfic‘s valentine’s day prompt thing, since it got insanely long, and has to be broken up into parts. I’ll post the next part within a few days.

Master Post of Chapters.


In which Casey makes a lot of bad decisions, buys more groceries than he wants to, deals with his own mistakes, makes a bad drunk decision, almost dies more than once, falls in love, and summons a demon.

Not in that order.

Chapter One. 

Casey heard his alarm sound, and he rolled over to slap the snooze. However, his had made contact with something… not plastic.

Casey grumbled, refusing to open his eyes yet. Too early, it was way too early… too much hangover, not enough sleep…

He slapped the thing again, trying to find his alarm clock.

“Quit it before I bite your hand off,” Someone growled.

Casey’s eyes snapped open, and he yanked his hand away so fast it smacked the wall behind him. Tangling his legs in his sheets as he did, he scrambled into sitting position.

There was someone in his room. Sitting by his bed. A pair of acidic green eyes glared back at him, standing out against the man’s darker skin.

“Wha- what the hell’re you doing in my house?!” Casey yelped.

The man glared harder, sneering at Casey. “You’re the one who brought me here!”

Casey frantically tried to recall if he’d brought a dude home with him last night, and failed.

“Shit- did I really?” He said, wincing apologetically. “God, I was so smashed last night, I can’t remember anything.”

The man gave him a look of disbelief. “Wha- seriously?! You can’t remember anything?”

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the words we press into our skin, part 1


Sherlock’s voice is faint, hesitant, the single word more question than command.

John had only come in to make sure Sherlock was okay. After a case he’s normally all restless limbs and manic energy, the adrenaline rolling through him in crashing waves, but something about this one had seemed to unsettle him, to pull him into himself, to turn him introspective and taciturn. He had been worryingly still in the cab, staring out the window in silence, lost in thought, and after absently removing his coat and scarf and gloves when they got home, he’d gone straight to his room without a word. John had left him to it for a while, but curiosity and concern had gotten the better of him, and he had shuffled into Sherlock’s room to find him sitting on the edge of his bed staring at the floor in the growing darkness.

“Sherlock, you okay?”

The only response was a nod so slight it might have been a tremble.

“You sure?”

Another nod, barely stronger than the first.

Not knowing what else to do, John had turned to leave, making it as far as the doorway before Sherlock had spoken. Stay?

He turns back to find Sherlock now turned toward him, the same question writ large across his face, twisting in the hopeful arch of his brow, pulling at the corner of his lips. But his eyes, his eyes are unguarded in a way John has never seen, and when he looks into them, he knows. He knows what Sherlock’s thinking, what he’s saying, what he’s asking. This isn’t stay with me for a moment. This is stay with me tonight, stay with me tomorrow, stay all week, all month, all year. Stay for a lifetime. Stay always. Stay.

And there’s only one answer John could possibly give.

His feet carry him back to Sherlock’s side, closing the distance between them as if crossing an ocean. As if choosing his fate. As if coming home. His hands find Sherlock’s face, the first hint of stubble rasping against the smooth skin of John’s palms as they cradle those familiar, delicate angles, while Sherlock’s hands settle light but steady into the gentle dip of John’s waist. His chin tips down, as Sherlock’s tips up, their breath warm, lips trembling, as they meet in the middle. Their mouths slot together the same way their lives have, fitting around one another as if they were moulded that way. Sherlock’s lips are plush and full, as soft as John had imagined, and when he traces them with the tip of his tongue, Sherlock’s tiny gasp sends a shiver down John’s spine. A clever tongue slips out to meet his, and they learn each other in teases, in flicks, in tiny little sipping breaths. Sherlock tastes of silver smoke and strong coffee, of moonlight and music and memory. Little licks turn to long curls of their tongues, timidity giving way to temptation as they lose themselves in the kiss, John’s fingers sliding back to trail along Sherlock’s scalp and twist into silky curls, not pulling, just anchoring himself, the hairs held taut between his fingers reminding him that this is real.

John breaks away with a series of smaller, lingering kisses whispered against Sherlock’s lips, and the corners of his mouth quirk into a smile as he takes in the rapid rise and fall of Sherlock’s chest, the fingers that come up to trace his lips as if comparing the sensations, the flutter of his lashes as his eyes flit back and forth beneath their lids replaying the moment, analysing it, committing it to memory. He watches and waits, and Sherlock finally opens his eyes, bright in the deepening twilight, shining with joy and relief and a hundred nameless emotions that all together add up to love. “John,” he breathes, full of wonder, and John kisses him again.

[on ao3]           next >

Augh, so I thought I must’ve just slept funny on my arm two nights ago, but I guess all the skidding around my bike was doing day before yesterday (lots of loose gravel on the trails) meant I was yanking the handlebars around to try and correct, and I guess this is an old injury flaring up, which is apparently a thing that happens now. At least it’s just the one arm.

Don’t break both arms at the elbows, kids. It’s still annoying years later.

Happy Weekend!

*in an annoying informercial voice*

Wanna read some Valentine’s Day themed scenarios? Well you’ve come to the right place. Just click here and for the price $19.99 you can read some amazing Valentine’s Day themed scenarios based on these interesting date ideas. 

Today I’ll be working on adding some more scenarios to the series, so stay tuned!



i (finally) got my haircut and feel on top of the world right now!


I have anxiety.

I have anxiety about school,
Over grades,
And tests
And going out with friends.
I have anxiety over people
Who notice my anxiety,
And I have anxiety over
Those who don’t.
I press too much on me
And my friends, too,
But still never enough,
And never
the right people.
I have anxiety over
Small things
Huge things, and
Things that do not matter.
I have anxiety about my anxiety, and
I worry
About worrying too much
About my anxiety.

I have anxiety.

When someone does something wrong, don’t forget all the things they did right.
—  Unknown

the small number of people in my life who i can hug always seem to get hugs and rarely seem to give hugs and like…is it too much to ask for someone to give me a hug once in a while

@thebibliosphere taught us all not to use the tab button to indent paragraphs a few weeks ago… after half an hour of playing with settings, buttons, and Google, I gave up on my Google Doc ever doing what I want it to do and just used the tab button while hating myself.

Here’s to all the mentally ill people that are seen as scary or wrong and therefore don’t get the support, comfort or help they need…

You aren’t a bad person because of your violent intrusive thoughts. 

You aren’t unlovable because you lack empathy or sympathy. 

You aren’t dirty because of your hypersexuality. 

You aren’t heartless because of your apathy.

You aren’t inherently dangerous because you have hallucinations or psychosis. 

You ARE deserving of unconditional love, support and help and it’s going to be okay one day and I’m going to keep saying it until it is <3

interlude: what are you wearing?

jikook / 1,178 words / rated T for suggestive themes and drinking / AO3
i actually decided to write this

“What are you doing?”

Jimin furrows his eye brows and pulls his phone away from his face just to check–yep, Jungkook is calling him at four in the morning, asking him what he’s doing. “I’m sleeping. What do you think I’m doing? What are you doing?”

“I,” Jungkook pauses, “I’m calling you.”

“Yeah, I know,” Jimin says. “At four a.m.? Are you still in the studio with Yoongi-hyung? Are you guys okay?” He’s tired and kind of annoyed, but if Jungkook is calling him and being weird this late, Jimin doesn’t want to hang up on him in case something’s wrong.

“Yes! I’m great!” Jungkook says. “Super. What are you doing, Jiminnie?”

“You already asked me that,” Jimin grumbles, looking suspiciously at his phone. “Kookie, are you drunk?”

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