i'm going to get back to writing now

holy hell, never ask me to draw ezra or design an outfit. i’m sorry u two.

ANYWAY i was thinking: you see a lot of ezra-corrupted-by-maul stuff (WHICH I LOVE) BUT rarely the other way around? ezra’s a good egg and i want more aus where he drags maul kicking and screaming into the light (or somewhere in-between the dark and light b/c lbr, maul is p. much surviving on pure dark side spite these days).

Art Block

Take a block. Any block.

Block of wood, block of metal, some sorta box, a LEGO even…

Write “ART” on it.

(or don’t - revel in the abstract and non-objective if you wish)


So, when you have art block, get your ART BLOCK and put it somewhere. 


Draw your Art Block. That’s it. Just get a simple block shape out of your fingers to get things going. That’s all.

You could dress up your Art Block with some accessories or let a mannequin sit on it if you want to give yourself an extra bit of a nudge but really, take it easy.

This is just an idea and it might not work for you 100%. It might not work for me all the time either, but it’s a start.

(and for fun you could keep a separate sketchbook or file folder of your art block drawings to see how your frustration evolves over the years lmao)

I also almost missed my train stop again because of Writing.

That’s twice this week.

what your favorite fo4 companion says about you
  • Cait: you can and will get into a fight about anything. you probably like pineapple pizza, which is your favorite go-to fight topic. you're ideal death is being crushed between a woman's thighs.
  • Codsworth: you've always wanted your own personal butler, and now you've got one. it's better than you could have ever imagined, like getting back the family you watched die in front of you. you are so lonely. why would bethesda do that?? just? kill your spouse and steal your child? you don't understand. you need a hug. also you've got a surprisingly acerbic wit for someone who thinks codsworth calling you "mr fucker" is funny.
  • Curie: you're just trying to make a life in this horrible fallout wasteland, while simultaneously protecting your cute french girlfriend. you don't care about sin or kinkshaming, you just want to love and be loved in return. you're trying to beef up on your history knowledge so you can give curie tours around town. it's hard work impressing such a cute girl.
  • Danse: you love trash. dumpster-diving is your absolute all-time favorite hobby. sometimes you find old mementos that people have thrown away, and cry, because the meaningful side of junk has shown itself to you while you were surrounded by your pile of tin cans. also you were smart enough to figure out how to get danse out of his power armor and saw that rockin bod.
  • Dogmeat: honestly you're just playing this game for the dog. you have an entire storage of teddy bears just for him. do you even know the other companions's names? probably not. what's the point if they aren't dogmeat. you cried the first time he stood up on his hind legs.
  • Deacon: you love being kinkshamed. people can give it all they've got, it just makes you stronger. you have the fucking worst sense of humor, and will probably die because of a stupid idea that sounded cool or hilarious at the time. the most chill about your fave not being romanceable, people are often fooled into thinking you aren't heartbroken. but you are. you don't understand. why is deacon the only human who can't be romanced?? why god damn iT W--
  • Hancock: you are literally always sinning. you could stop if you wanted to, but, let's be honest, that's never gonna happen. conversations with you are mostly comprised of people typing your name in all caps, followed by the words "no" or "stop". you think bad jokes are hilarious, especially when you're the one telling them. there are no two words that bring you greater joy than "dank memes".
  • MacCready: all you wanted to do was steal things and shoot the shit with the fuckin fo3 easter egg. where did the emotions come from?? you don't know, but you've got a shotgun ready for the next person that hurts a hair on this man's head. every time you think about him for too long you cry. you'll punch any mungo who points that out, though.
  • Nick: you're high-key salty. it's okay, you deserve to be. everyone knows you got shafted. still, you've got a good imagination on you, and you're great at denial. sometimes in your dreams you actually succeed at romancing your beautiful noir detective. you always wake up, though. you always wake up. you enjoy lying in the shade. you don't need to be shady to people, they walk up to you and shade themselves. you're the physical manifestation of the sunglasses emoji.
  • Piper: in a world full of kinks, only you are brave enough to be their shamer. your shaming often includes both low-key and high-key shade, because some people don't just need to get out of the gutter, they need to be dragged out. and you love dragging people. you daydream constantly about living on that one lesbian island all the heteros keep talking about.
  • Preston: you're an honest-to-god good person. or, at least, you aspire to be. you know people have their kinks and their best-left-unsaid sins, but you love and appreciate them anyway, because you know everyone's just doing their best, and a little faith goes a long way. that's a lie. you send everyone to jail. you protect the peace and you're goddamned proud of it. still, you're trying to be a nicer person. for preston.
  • Strong: you have a size kink as big as all of massachusetts. just hearing that comparison turns you on. the thought of hulk/strong has crossed your mind at some point. don't lie.
  • X6-88: you had a thing for the matrix when you were younger, didn't you? it's come back to haunt you, now. you secretly wish x6 would call you "Mr. Anderson". You have a leather fetish.

I’m trying to get better because I haven’t been my best
She took a plain black marker, started writing on my chest
She drew a line across the middle of my broken heart,
And said: “Come on now, let’s fix this mess”
We could get better
Because we’re not dead yet 

-Frank Turner, Get Better

Compass Rose

Pairing: Harry Potter x Pansy Parkinson

Setting: Canon-divergent AU

Word Count: 908

She’s thirteen.

She kisses Draco Malfoy in a winter-empty courtyard overlooking the lake, under the mottled grey-lavender sky of the very early morning, and it’s—

It’s lackluster.

He tastes like peppermint toothpaste and the muddy remnants of a too-quick cup of tea. She can barely feel the outline of his shoulders beneath the weight of his quidditch jersey. There’s an uncomfortable moment of teeth clacking and lips catching, a hovering sort of awkwardness she wouldn’t have ever expected from him. Certainly, the cloying, sandalwood-spicy scent of his cologne is practically suffocating as she breathes in, breathes out, attempts to tilt her face to the side enough that his nose isn’t pressed right up against her own.

“Um,” she says, afterwards, when they’ve each taken a step back. “Good luck, then?”

He glances away, down towards the pitch, and then nods, jerkily. A dark pink blush stains his cheeks.

“Not like I need luck against Potter,” Draco sneers. “Honestly.”

Privately, she disagrees.

She’s sixteen.

She kisses Theodore Nott in a skinny, snow-banked alley between a bookshop and an apothecary, the air crisp and the breeze cold and the silky grey fur of her collar butterfly-soft against her jaw. He’s tall. She isn’t. They don’t quite fit, and he doesn’t quite know what he’s doing.

“You’re not even trying,” she hisses, afterwards, grabbing his hand and placing it firmly on the curve of her waist. “What are you—”

Suddenly, the atmosphere changes. Turns tense and vaguely expectant. Theo is stiff, frozen—a lanky, sweater-vested Grecian statue with milky freckles and a complexion like the petals of a sunflower—as he gapes at something behind her.

She spins around.

Harry Potter is standing at the far end of the alley, eyebrows raised and glasses slightly foggy. A twitch of a smirk is curling like cigarette smoke around the edges of his mouth. He’s smug. His gaze, when it flicks over to her, is sharp with disdain. Condescension. It reminds her of the broom polish in Draco’s trunk and the antique German cuckoo clock in the Malfoy drawing room and the sweltering, fear-tinged certainty that she’s never really belonged.

Instinctively, she lifts her chin.

Potter offers her a sarcastic sort of salute before turning on his heel and walking off.

“How tiresome,” she eventually snaps, rolling her eyes and tugging at the buttons of her coat. “We officially live in a world where Potter is more interested in what I get up to than Draco is.”

She’s seventeen.

She’s the scabs on her knees and the blood on her palms and the scratch of her tonsils kissing as her throat transforms into a rusted-shut padlock and she shouts—

“But, he’s there! Potter’s there! Someone grab him!”

It’s an origin story.

It’s not a plot twist.

She’s eighteen.

She kisses Harry Potter under the green leaves and red berries of the mistletoe, echoing tunnel-vision fragments of go away and of course I’m not sorry and I’d do lots of things over again if I had the chance and it’s—

It’s the firewhisky on her tongue and the butterbeer on his, molten-gold strands of honey and red-hot shivers of cinnamon, a tantalizing flicker of something traveling up and down her spine. She’s the emerald green stripes on her perfectly pressed tie and he’s the scattered ink-stained wrinkles on his long-sleeved cotton t-shirt and there’s symmetry, there’s balance, there’s the narrow windswept wire beneath the feet of a tightrope walker, a breeze and a wobble and a catch.

There’s her side; there’s his.

There’s this, her fingers in his hair and his hands around her waist and the slow, instinctive open-close-open of their mouths as it all escalates.

Moves faster.

There’s the shadows stretching past midnight in the alcove off the sixth-floor landing. There’s the cool castle wall against her back, a shaky, callused palm sliding up the inside of her thigh and pausing, lingering, the metallic clang of his belt buckle and the swishing whisper of her skirt and a memory, glue-tacky and faded, drawing room lessons with her mother and her nanny and wait until there’s a ring on your finger, Pansy

She’s soft; a dizzy, dizzy mist; a hesitant spring shower in the middle of December.

He’s the lightning bolt on his forehead.

He always has been.

“This—this was a mistake,” he blurts out, afterwards, and then winces. “I don’t mean…”

“It was,” she agrees, cutting him off with a brief toss of her hair. “Absolutely.”

His stare is no less penetrating for all its confusion. “Er. Right,” he says, blinking rapidly. “Absolutely.”

He’s curious.

She hadn’t anticipated that.

She’s twenty-one.

She’s six years past the age of leaving lipstick print kisses on her bathroom mirror—sticky crimson and garden-fresh pink and bruised, buttery violet—but she does it today. The cellophane wrapper of a muggle brand pregnancy test is crinkling at her from the tissue-paper depths of her wastebasket.

I love you, he’d said the night before, and he’d meant it.

Meanwhile, her toes had curled with reflexive urgency into the summer-warm cocoon of her sheets. Because if the dungeons at Hogwarts had been a cage, and the snarling serpent pendant on her necklace had been a call to arms, then the sparkling solitaire diamond in his bedside drawer would be the fluttering white flag of a surrender. A truce. A ceasefire.

Once upon a time, she’d been pure enough to pet a unicorn.

anonymous asked:

bodyswap au where roy and riza switch bodies due to accidental alchemy while theyre out trying to capture a criminal alchemist. riza tells roy hes not allowed to change clothes, go to the bathroom or take showers until they get their bodies back. roys like 'riza ive seen you naked before its no big deal' while refering to when riza showed him her tattoo. havoc goes 'ooooooh~ lucky you colonel' and roy corrects himself because 'NOT LIKE THAT' and makes up a vague but believeable excuse

SADfjklafdjsakdfjkafd OH MY GOD I LOVE THIS SO MUCH :’)

I feel like Riza would be a little okay with the above though since it is her body he’s taking care of (though she would probably, like Roy, find it weird to do those things in their temporary bodies). 

BUT ROY SLIPPING UP OH MY GOD AND HAVING TO BACKPEDAL AND BE LIKE, “NO NO NO I MEANT THIS THING. NOT THAT. I’M???” and Riza answering and confirming. But they can see it in Havoc’s eyes. He doesn’t believe them. 

They have bigger things to worry about though. 

At the end, it’s the little things that you remember. 

Ten years from now, you’re not going to remember how expensive the designer watch that your first love bought for you was, or the times when he claimed his love for you with a bouquet of roses. You’re going to make hundreds of similar memories with different people and eventually, you’ll forget all about the grand, carefully planned out moments. 

Instead, all that’s going to be embedded in your memories are the little details. Some days when you’re feeling sad, the memory of you two laughing at an especially bad joke is suddenly going to pop up and make you smile again. At 3A.M., when you’re unable to fall asleep, you’re going to remember how you snuggled with him late at night and how he whispered in your ear about how happy he was to have you in his life. 

It’s not going to be about your senior prom or the trip you took to Hawaii, but about the late-night video chats and soft kisses stolen under the moonlight. What he leaves you with are the memories of you two sharing earphones and listening to your favorite music, your first time holding hands with his thumb mindlessly rubbing over yours, and the rush of emotions that charged through your veins when you softly called his name out to yourself. 

Although at first you won’t remember the little details of your love story, in the end, they are all that are going to matter.

—  little things
a story begins with two truths:
my mother only smiles
with her mouth closed.
she’s still the most beautiful
person i’ve ever seen.

everything that follows
is undetermined.

eventually you have
to leave your mother’s
house and not look back

eurydice in the dark / a 20
year old girl in broad daylight,
trying to ignore the way
the trees wave their
hands something final—

if you go back,
you don’t get to to leave.
those are the rules,
commandments etched in
skin, something safer than stone

are you ever as safe as you were
inside your mother? / probably not

how to keep your mother
as something holy—
what do you do when she
becomes human in the yellow light?

what did you do
when you lost god? / they’re
not the same / of course they are

of course they are
you keep them both safe somewhere,
don’t you? tuck god
away on the shelf until you can
talk to them again,
until you’re ready to figure it out

keep your mother safe in the room
you built of her out of your own
two hands, where she’s
always a part of you.

mother and god—both creators,
both ancient, both made to survive

aren’t we all though? aren’t we
eternal? / no. we don’t get
to last. we don’t deserve it.

we’re just lucky to be standing here,
writing poems about the highway,
writing poems about all those days
we did not die even though
we wanted to / that deserves
something / i can’t make that call / of
course you could, if you weren’t
terrified / i am and shouldn’t we all be?

aren’t we all just
screaming at a red moon?
aren’t we all just
waiting for our mothers’ teeth?
—  Emily Palermo, DELINEATE.

rubyjo for @daniblondy

It just makes me so ridiculously happy that Bryan hasn’t let Hannibal go? Not even one bit??? Like he’s so busy with his other projects now, and I think he would be totally justified in feeling like he’s allowed to let go of his cancelled show and move on to, perhaps, bigger and more successful things. His career is doing beyond well. He doesn’t need another show on his plate with how in demand he is…

But there he is, carrying his little Hannibal with him to SDCC, because despite Hannibal not having a panel this year, Hannibal still is in his heart and on his mind. And he wants us to know he hasn’t let go, every step of the way. That he won’t let go until it’s finished. And that makes me very, very happy. :’)

cillian trevelyan & dorian pavus doin’ what they do best: being adorable nerdy boyfriends

my fave drew my fave gay mage sons (and carrick!) and tbh i basically haven’t stopped yelling about this since i saw the wip. thank you so, so, so much @pfaerie! i knew i was going to love your take on them. i didn’t know i was going to be this head over heels for it! 

okay to reblog, pls don’t use as it was a commission and if you remove the credit i can promise you an excruciatingly slow death. i WILL find you and it will not be pretty.

I had the headcanon that once Lydia regained her body, she conserved some very dog instincts. Like, she can still be alone but she feels a little down and will avoid it. When she meets a friend after two days without saying them, she’s so happy and exciting it’s like she hadn’t see them in months. When she meets Farah, who she actually didn’t see in months, she literally jumps around her because she is happy! She also gets attach to new people a little more easily than before.

But one day, there is a person hitting on her friend. A really normal looking person. But she panics. She feels this person is bad, and she wants to bark at them. But she doesn’t because she’s a human-being thank you very much, so she just convinces her friend to not dating that person. Later, they learn that the person is accused of abuses. Her friend is stunned.

“How did you know?!”

“Call it a hunch.”

to inspire myself to make fanfic i’m also going to make gfx to go along with it!! i’m super excited omg not only will i start writing again but also trying out different gfx styles snsnsn !!!

I want to know more about the time between Edward gaining his title as a State Alchemist and the beginning of the manga. I want to know how Team Mustang greeted the Elrics when they eventually moved out to East City. I want to know if Roy went out of his way to drive past their dorm after a late night doing paperwork to see if their lights were out and they were resting. I want to know if Riza would sometimes drop by with food for Edward because she “accidentally made too much.” I want to know if Breda taught the boys how to play strategic board games. I want to know if Fuery talked about kittens and puppies with Alphonse. I want to know if Havoc ever tried to give Edward unsolicited pointers on how to woo his automail mechanic. I want to know if Falman gave Alphonse books to read for when Edward would go to bed for the night.

Long story short, I want to know more about the Team Mustang and Elric brothers dynamic.

I love THE THING. 

You know, THE THING

The thing where Lavellan flirts with Solas in a thinly veiled manner, and instead of laughing it off or getting flustered, he ups the ante by flirting back. 

That thing. 

Especially when they keep having a back and forth like that, to see who flusters first. 

Especially when it’s coupled with that look he gives, with the little raised eyebrow and half smirk that speaks volumes. 


(╯°□°)╯︵ ┻━┻

I wish i could have the ability to write an essay about even after everything that happened to him, Percy is still a Hufflepuff at heart.