We actually think Sans is not lazy! At least not as lazy as he makes other believe. However, the presence of a treadmill really doesn’t mean much. Just because he owns it doesn’t mean he has to use it.
A concept: Soft MacDennis slow dancing in the bar after hours. Nighttime, dim lights, Mac is glowing and Dennis is feeling™ and there are hands on waists, extremely gentle and tender. They both have tears in their eyes and don't try to hide it. They don't talk about it in the morning
“Put on that one song again,” Mac says shyly, looking up at Dennis while he wipes down the bar counter. It’s their turn to close up Paddy’s for the night, and Dennis is avoiding doing any kind of actual work as usual. He’s been making eyes at the jukebox from his perch atop one of the bar stools for the past half hour, and Mac figures it couldn’t hurt to indulge the guy. He’s almost done with the cleaning anyway.
Dennis is already halfway out of his seat, ready to make a beeline for the jukebox. “Which song, dude?”
“You know. That slow one.”
A small smile lifts the corners of Dennis’s mouth as he heads toward the jukebox, fiddling around with the buttons until the familiar sweep of piano chords begins to play. He turns around to look back at Mac, who’s already tossed aside his dishrag and hopped over the counter, making his way to Dennis.
”You know our love was meant to be…”
Dennis reaches over and flicks the light off, leaving the interior of Paddy’s illuminated solely by the various lamps hanging around the bar, creating a hypnotically hazy palette of neon colors. Of course, Mac glows with an incandescent intensity of his own, his warm gaze easily the brightest thing in the room.
“…the kind of love to last forever…”
It’s routine, this. They’re facing each other, separated only by a couple feet. It gets easier to find a rhythm with each time they do this, and tonight is no exception to that rule; they’re mirroring each other’s gentle swaying in a matter of seconds.
“…and I want you here with me from tonight until the end of time.”
Dennis hooks his thumbs around Mac’s belt loops and pulls Mac flush against him, hiding a content sigh as he feels Mac’s lightly calloused hands find their place on either side of Dennis’s waist, thumbs stroking tiny circles along the skin peeking above his jeans. Dennis lets his head tip forward and rest against Mac’s, and they spend the next three minutes in their own little soft rock world.
Unsure of how to put into words the fact that these nights are all that he ever looks forward to anymore, Dennis settles for tangling his fingers into the other man’s hair and pressing feather light kisses against Mac’s forehead. “You’re my inspiration,” he swears he hears Mac say in a feverishly reverent whisper, before the first drops of water make their descent down his cheeks.
@mr-smith-i-need-you What a fantastic idea! Sorry it took me so long to finish this; I was unexpectedly busy this weekend. I had a hard time deciding which princess to pick, but what finally made my decision on Sleeping Beauty was realizing how great Crow would look as Maleficent. I know it’s not exactly what you asked for, but I hope it fits your vision nonetheless c:
if you're still doing these, i wish you'd write something extra angsty and depressing, because i'm in that mood and you always know how to break me 😙
His world was too quiet now, Robert decided, looking around the empty flat he now called home. He’d moved into the tiny one bedroom flat in Leeds nearly two years ago now, and it still didn’t feel like home. He hadn’t exactly put up any homely touches, no photographs, nothing.
He didn’t have much of a life, not anymore.
Robert sat down at his kitchen table, cracking open a fresh bottle of whiskey, satisfied by the burning sensation he felt in his throat as he knocked some back, relishing in how it made him feel awake, made him feel something close to alive again.
Aaron was getting married today.
They’d tried to hide it from him, Victoria and Diane, but Robert had found out. He’d seen it on Facebook, on Liv’s Facebook page - a cheesy post about getting ready for her brother’s wedding.
He was getting married today. The love of Robert’s life was getting married to someone else today, and it made Robert want to curl up and die.
How had he managed to make such a mess of it all? He’d ruined their marriage before they’d managed to even make it a legal one, he’d ruined the life he built with Aaron in a matter of weeks, a life he’d spent months and months working to have a second chance at.
All ruined because of her.
Because of one mistake, because of a baby that had never existed in the first place, because he’d been too weak to hold himself together, too stupid not to jump into bed with the one person who’d been out to ruin him and Aaron from the day she’d arrived in Emmerdale.
Robert could remember the fight as if it had happened last week, instead of close to two and a half years ago. The way Aaron had just crumbled when Rebecca had played that voicemail in a pub full of people, the way Aaron had just cried, and cried, and cried when Robert had admitted it all.
The way Aaron had set his wedding ring down on the kitchen counter and told Robert that was it, that it was over, that there was no coming back from this for them.
Robert didn’t remember much of the last two years, if he was honest. He’d spent most of the first one in a drunken haze, draining bottle after bottle of whiskey for the first few months, until Victoria had demanded he get help.
That’s when Robert had decided to move out, live somewhere no one could judge him for his drinking habits.
He was better off alone, anyway. This way at least, the only person he could ever hurt was himself.
Glancing at his phone, Robert knew he shouldn’t look, that he shouldn’t check, but he couldn’t help himself, bringing up Liv’s Facebook page, his stomach churning as he looked at the newest post.
Happy wedding day bro.
Aaron looked happy, one arm around Liv, another around his husband, a dark haired man with a bright smile and nowhere near the baggage Robert had come with. He’d overhead Victoria telling Diane Aaron had met him at Bar West, a chef who lived in Hotten who worshipped the ground Aaron walked on.
A man who loved him the way Aaron deserved, a man who didn’t hurt him the way Robert had.
Robert couldn’t stop the tears as he threw his phone across the room, the smash as it connected with the kitchen counter too satisfying, another broken piece of Robert’s broken, useless life.
Everything felt too loud now, his thoughts screaming at him, telling him he was never going to be good enough, asking how he’d ever even thought that he could be good enough for Aaron, for anyone.
Reaching for the whiskey, Robert put the bottle to his head, knowing the alcohol would put an end to the screaming thoughts he had in his head. Maybe drinking himself into oblivion wasn’t the healthiest way to cope with his problems, but well -
I've noticed a trend of whenever people say something kind of unreasonable to you, you take it seriously and you're very passive and easily say "okay" to it and I get it if it's you're personality and you're young and all but I hope, like, really really hope that one day you'll think of what's good and bad for yourself and base it off of your own beliefs and stand for them rather than let other people say things that might be unreasonable and you agree. (1/4)
(2/4) because I read when people were telling you that because you practiced a different style then you should be ashamed and that was utterly ridiculous but you still kind of lowered yourself to that other person’s bad standard. And then someone said that you should reflect on if someone that’s anti-white washing is after you then think about why and you lowered yourself to the thought again and agreed to reflect even though you didn’t whitewash the characters.
(¾) and it IS important to consider why other people feel the way that they feel but some people are irrational and have bad opinions (especially on this site people can be very rude, over the top, radical and unfair) and I feel like you take them to heart equally and I feel like you might hold yourself back to much by doing that. Of course even my opinion about all of this is just an opinion so don’t even take mine in so deeply.
(4/4) but I just wanted to say this because you’re a very young and bright artist and even if you’re not going to pursue art, you’re truthfully very talented for your age and have been/will be a very quality part of the community for as long as you choose to stay. And I just don’t want anyone to discourage your young heart from trying new things or drawing however you please. You seem kind of fragile about your art but it’s so lovely and I wish for you to take pride in it.
Hi anon, firstly, thank you so much for writing this sweet message 😄💖💕 I read it several times because this really was nice of you to write
Tumblr is incredibly opinionated and I personally think that trying to fight back will just turn ugly, so I stay passive to end the argument quickly and save my breath. Deep inside, I know I didn’t do much wrong but agree anyway coz
I have no energy to deal with on-going arguments online so I prefer to go “okay!” and bam it’s done, although I know others will disagree with this mindset
I FORGOT I HAD THIS ASK HOW COULD I IT’S SO GOOD (Okay let me first say AUs in which any of les amis are royalty weird me out since, yknow, monarchy, so let’s assume Enjolras happened to be born the crown prince of Camelot and absolutely hates it and is determined to dissolve the whole notion of a kingdom when he’s supposed to ascend to the throne or something like that)
We all know how the story goes: everyone hates the current king for his ban on magic throughout Camelot. Enter Grantaire, a powerful (though he doesn’t realize it) wizard new to the kingdom who hates the king for the exact same reason, and his son by extension.
A vengeful witch tries to kill Enjolras. Grantaire saves his life, though he doesn’t understand why at the time. The king makes Grantaire Enjolras’ manservant as a ‘reward’.
They can’t standeach other at first. Grantaire’s never been that well-off, and he’s uncomfortable in a ridiculously lavish place like the castle. He throws snark at Enjolras every time he’s forced to dress him or pull his bath water or whatever. Enjolras, for his part, hates Grantaire’s attitude and snaps back every time he prods, saying things like ‘the size of my bed/stable/army is beyond my control’.
The Great Dragon tells him it’s his destiny to protect Enjolras and stay by his side. ‘Two sides of the same coin’, the Dragon calls them. Grantaire wants to serve Enjolras even less, after that.
Then he starts to notice things. The sparseness of Enjolras’ chambers compared to the other rooms in the castle. Enjolras paying the merchants for far more than their goods cost, then distributing it to the children of the town. His camaraderie with many of Camelot’s knights, yet his disdain towards the ones who talk down on the poor. Arguments that happen between Enjolras and his father behind closed doors while Grantaire stands outside (”No one person should be allowed to decide who lives or dies!” “It’s the way we’ve lived for centuries.” “Then the way we live must be changed. When I become king…”).
Grantaire sees a glimmer of hope through Enjolras. Maybe, just maybe, he’s someone who could change Camelot for the better.
Grantaire stops complaining about having to prepare Enjolras’ breakfast or polish his armour, even after Enjolras says he doesn’t have to. Grantaire tells himself he’s only doing it because it takes no effort with his magic.
If it were up to Enjolras, he wouldn’t have a manservant, but he can’t bring himself to tell Grantaire to leave. He doesn’t understand why–Grantaire is loud, insufferable, pessimistic, and often shows up late in the morning reeking of the town’s tavern.
But sometimes Enjolras catches a glimmer in Grantaire’s eyes. When he’s reading, or caring for Enjolras’ horse, or when he’s laughing with the knights on the training grounds. The grass seems to stand up taller where Grantaire walks through it. Enjolras knows that’s a ridiculous notion.
One day, Camelot is swept up in a mysterious drought that left it with barely any water and food (hint: it was magic). Enjolras steals the food that the king has been hoarding away in the castle stores and distributes it to the people.
It’s the same day Grantaire realizes he now has two secrets to keep: that he’s a sorcerer, and that he loves Enjolras.
Another day, a great beast which seems impervious to Enjolras and his knights’ attacks (hint: it was magical) knocks Enjolras unconscious on his back. When he comes to, it’s only to see an armourless, weaponless Grantaire standing alone in front of the slain beast. Grantaire’s eyes are golden when he turns around and fixes them on Enjolras.
It’s strange. He could swear on the life of every citizen in Camelot that Grantaire’s eyes are a deep brown.
“Do you permit it?” Grantaire keeps asking Enjolras. He asks when he wants to leave the castle, or assist one of the knights, or borrow a book. Enjolras tells him he doesn’t need to ask for permission to do anything. Grantaire is his own person, after all. Not that Enjolras could refuse him anyway. Still, Grantaire keeps asking.
“Do you permit it?” he asks, with a roll of his eyes, when Enjolras asks where he’s going. He’s only going back to his own chambers. Enjolras reddens.
“Do you permit it?” he asks, shyly, holding a tunic that Enjolras has gifted him for his birthday (which Enjolras went through a lot of trouble to discover).
“Do you permit it?” he asks, with thinly veiled panic behind his eyes as he holds a letter from his mother with shaking hands. He needs to return to his hometown for a while. Enjolras never wants to see that look on him again.
“Do you permit it?” he asks one day, when he stands beside Enjolras as a dozen archers aim their arrows at him. Enjolras takes his hand and smiles. He wishes they had more time together.
They aren’t shot. As if propelled by an invisible force, all the archers are knocked off their feet and their bows broken. Grantaire holds his free hand towards them. His eyes are golden. It’s all the confession Enjolras needs.
“Do you permit it?” he asks, wanting permission to leave Enjolras’ service. They avoided each other for a week after the incident. Grantaire’s use of magic broke Camelot’s highest law, which Enjolras hates. He doesn’t understand why Grantaire wants to leave. The thought makes his heart clench.
Enjolras permits it, on the condition that Grantaire stay by his side. It’s not an order, but a plea. No one should be forced to live in the servitude of another, after all, least of all someone like Grantaire.
Grantaire wants the reason for his condition. Enjolras gives it to him in a rush of breath. Grantaire’s eyes go wide.
“Do you permit it?” Grantaire asks, laying a tentative hand on Enjolras’ cheek.
“Yes,” Enjolras says. Grantaire’s eyes close. Maybe they’re golden. Somehow, when Grantaire’s lips touch his, he can’t bring himself to care.
Hi there...I'm a writer and I have been having a lot of content of mine stolen, and I don't know how to deal with it. Do you have any knowledge on what to do? I really need help, people keep taking my book covers and some stories of mine and posting them without any kind of credit at all.. :(
yikes… I’m so sorry, I don’t really know how to help with this sort of thing ;; it’s different from art theft since we can watermark our art or make it so that no one can right click and save the image, but I have no idea how to prevent people from stealing written works.. I hope you can find someone who’s more knowledgeable about this to help you ;v;