i'm not even gonna read these

When a tarot reading gives you the answer you didn’t want but down in your heart you know it’s right

Originally posted by collegepsychexperiment

he’s gonna start reciting a poem any minute.


7

      Bex just gave a calm smile as if she’d known this moment was coming ever since the day the Blackthorne Boys walked through the front doors—like it was inevitable that the Gallagher Girls would eventually bring at least one of them to their knees.

8

The great thing about what we do, any art, is anybody can read into it what they want to take from it. - Katie McGrath

guess who jumped the bandwagon and started reading percy jackson? i’m only on the 3rd book so he’s not this old yet but i just wanted to draw him older so forgive me if i messed up his older design since i haven’t reached that yet 

ok back to reading

2

Goodnight, Captain
(AKA vague prequel to this)

Where freshly minted Captain Kirk reads up on stuff even when he’s not on shift and nods off in random conference rooms on the Enterprise. Certain first officers who don’t require as much sleep take care of things.

trek

Sanders Sides as Thing me/friends have said pt
  • Morality: I've eaten 15 mini bagels and I regret nothing and everything at the same time.
  • Roman/Prince: That is not the proper way to sword fight. Have you even had to battle for your life?
  • Logic/Logan: I'm taking honors classes, so naturally I live off the tears of the weaker students.
  • Anxiety: Can someone please just stab me with a spoon so I can get out of here.
4

Coffee Luck Part 02 of ? (start here) - MakoHaru Barista!Makoto AU

WHO ON EARTH COULD THAT BE? IT’S OK HARU. I’m pretty sure people draw their crushes too. Finally, something will happen in Part 03. 8D Sorry I’m a bit slow with this one, art stamina is a bit too low. Nonetheless hopefully this was an okay continuation! Thanks for reading this nonsense. OTL

Y’all if i can recommend a really good book series right now, please read When Women Were Warriors by Catherine M Wilson, its about women warriors who love women and they fight and lead armies and strive for peace and save their people and guess what THEY DON’T DIE. Its well written, there’s multiple love stories, 90% of the characters are women and of all character types. 

Its really an amazing story, i love it a lot i’ve read it many times (its a 3 part series, i only linked to the first part) and i don’t think its spoilery to say it has a genuinely happy ending. We deserve to have happy endings. 

I’m so baffled right now.

Someone recently bought something from me and asked how long the item gonna reach their place and if I offer express shipping. I said no and it might take 1-2 weeks to reach their place.

They were shocked and asked where the hell I live. I told them the answer and that they should’ve known that if they check my store FAQ carefully. I ended up getting lectured that my reply was ‘curt’ and that they’re a busy person and have 5 children with a husband working for Disney and I’m just ??????

when stay alive (reprise) comes on and ur all out of skips

concept: me, sitting curled up in a comfy armchair, wrapped snugly in a thick blanket. there’s a mug of tea on the table beside me and a sleepy cat purring in my lap. i have all the time in the world to read books about wlw history

I know that, in theory, love is supposed to be soft.
I have felt soft love, before, but—
for the last two months, love has been
sledgehammer to my nervous system.
It keeps taking me out at the knees.
For the thousandth time, I remind myself
that want and need are two different things.
I remind myself,
to be needed is not love.
I kiss like a seed trying desperately
to put down roots in wet soil.
I keep trying to turn wild animal.
He keeps trying to make a home from my skeleton.
Neither of us is doing this the right way.
In spite of that, we keep crashing our bodies together:
expecting someone to catch us even when we’ve become
falling anvils,
cartoon pianos,
sticks of live dynamite.
I’ve done this song and dance before. I already know
I will let him turn me shelter
even while my roof is leaking.
I’ll put my mouth everywhere that hurts.
I’m good at it: unearthing my foundations
and giving them to other people.
It’s no wonder I have trouble standing on my own two feet.
It’s no wonder I’m so prone to slide downhill.
Even then, I still believe in a love that will meet me
at my own altar.
A love that patches the holes in the ceiling.
A love who comes, heart in hand,
and means it.
—  UNTIL THEN by Ashe Vernon

anonymous asked:

Dan's new live video @ 5:01, there's definitely some hair straighteners on the floor

i have a few things to say, but i’ll start from left to right. 

a) i loved his face when someone pointed out the candle on the other night table, idk he was just so taken aback. like “… oh yeah! single candle… the bedroom candle…” 

b) i love the bed, it’s so pretty. everything just looks neat? besides from the bloody awful curtains; the moon mirror, the frame of the bed, it’s all lovely. 

c) what is that black box my dude. is that the new box of secrets? what is that about.

d) why does he have the stupid rockband drum set in the bedroom, i thought the consoles were upstairs? no, Hold the fuck up, the DRUMSET used to be upstairs!! I’M SURE OF IT. have u guys put a tv in the bedroom and carried all the consoles downstairs so you could play lying on the bed? that’s peak lazyness, i’m so disappointed in you both. 

e) ah yes, the dryson hairdryer. that shit is full 200 pounds. they have the hair dryer and two dryson fans, this is rich commodity in its finest. i wonder if they have the hoover as well, that one looks amazing and everyone says it’s actually totally worth the thousand dollars. 

f) the straighteners and the concept of this being proof. i think that at this point, it’s just funny to me that it’s a topic we have to talk about, the straighteners were on the floor last time he did a liveshow in the room and i thought that was it, right? i feel like people just forget things happen and/or act as if we don’t know they share a bedroom! i mean, do as you please, but i’d like skip ahead into the part where we accept it’s a thing and we let this be the normal, status quo, this is what it is you know? still lovely to be reminded that they do though, i get ya.

g) what is the white thing hanging from that awful curtain, what is it. i need answers.

h) in what fucking moment did both of them hoard so many pairs of shoes. i swear to god, all dan wears is those ones with the zips and phil wears the blue ones and that’s about it. but im counting here over 20 pairs of shoes, and they even want us to believe that they’re owned by just dan? try me again, what the hell is this, they need to start giving to charity, there is NO WAY they find use to over 20 pair of shoes, you do not need that many, specially when you spend most of your life at home wearing socks.

i) it’s funny that even though the mess that was the last time he did a liveshow in his room, with phil’s damage control and all, the mirror is still there, like whatever my dude. cool white mirror dan. 

i think that’s all, thanks for reading if u made it this far. 

So I suppose it’s fanfic author appreciation day? I’m going to jump on to this and call out all those lovely authors out there that have blessed us with the crazy things they’ve cooked up in their delicious meat brains. I always feel like I might miss somebody here, so I’m so sorry if I do. Please shoot me.

The Legends

@birbwin, @stereobone@trippnessa, @queensmooting, @kusuriuri

The “why you gotta kill me with your words”

@valisi-clark, @lostcauses-noregrets, @flecksofpoppy, @zedsdead1001, @ackermom

The softest

@kaguneko, @ahiddenpath, @sumiscribe, @band-geek-727, @kittyboo8015, @minxiebutt, @miss-coverly, @erurink

The king of smut

@goddamnchou

The best headcanon developers

@erwinsalive, @alwaysbesassy, @theforbiddenworld@erwinsbones, @winglysimmer

People I need to get caught up on

@hedera-helixwriteseruri, @lervin-smiss, @teatimewithamz, @daylelight


You all are so appreciated–including those that I may have missed out on–please keep writing. Please keep being creative. Please keep being inspiring. Your words stick with us and heal us, more than you may expect. Papa bless you all. <3

3

on the cover of the rollin’ stone

Five days, three shows. Harry, Louis, Liam, and Niall have been best friends forever, basically, but they’ve only been a band for six months and they’re already going on tour.

Well. Liam says they can’t call it a tour because all the shows are within an hour of home and they could pretty easily just drive back and forth but no, Liam is wrong, because they were booked in hotel rooms by their manager (Gemma) and they have a stylist (Lottie) and they’ve even been announced on the venue websites and this is the greatest start in the history of rock n’ roll.

Harry, Louis, Liam, and Niall are in a punk band and Louis can’t stop writing love songs about Harry, even when Harry has his eye on someone else.

11k | h/l | teen | part of the high school au challenge | read it here

anonymous asked:

Coffee shits anon here to say I may actually have an intolerance to coffee and its making me feel really really sick so i was wondering if i could get some sweet byler fluff of either Mike or Will getting like a cold and the other having to care for them ?!

hey anon i hope you’re feeling better by now!!! i had already gone to bed when you sent this message last night, i’m so sorry! but i worked on this in my spare time today, just for you!!! it’s only a little piece of meaningless fluff, but i hope you enjoy it. :’)

“I can’t believe your mom finally let me into your quarantine zone,” Will says as he enters Mike’s room. He closes the door gently behind him even though the space already feels a bit stuffy.

Mike smiles from where he’s cocooned in his blankets. He struggles, but manages to sit up against the wall behind his bed with all but his head covered by the thick comforter, and Will feels the sweet, familiar warmth wash over him at the sight of Mike’s face. God, he’s missed him.

On the floor beside the bed is a trashcan overflowing with used tissues. A half empty bottle of cold medicine is tipped over on his bedside table (the grape kind - Will’s not sure how Mike has managed to choke so much of that down over the past three days).

“I think I convinced her that if you don’t come up to show me what I missed in calculus the past three days, I’ll definitely fail out of eleventh grade and have no choice but to become a rodeo clown traveling aimlessly across the midwest.”

The flu that’s been plaguing Mike since Monday has yet to leave his head and all of his “v”s come out like “b”s, and he sniffles after every other word. Will finds that it only endears him more to Mike - red nose, messy hair, and all.

He laughs as he sets his notebooks down on the corner of Mike’s desk and walks toward the bed, carefully avoiding stepping on any tissues that haven’t quite made their way into the waste bin thanks to Mike’s less-than-stellar aim.

Mike hums out a happy noise and unfurls himself from his blanket cave, reaching out with long, spider-like arms to yank Will close to him and pull him into a hug. The soft press of his feverish face against Will’s flannel shirt feels warm even through the thick layer of fabric, and Will’s mouth twists down into a frown.

“You’re burning up,” he says.

A soft, careful hand finds its way to Mike’s forehead. He ignores the mumbles of protest as he forces himself backward, out of Mike’s grip, so he can push the hair back from his face and make note of the glassiness of his eyes and the red-pink flush to his skin.

“I’m fine,” Mike insists with a shake of his head.

He grabs Will’s hand between his own and pulls hard, sending Will stumbling and falling face-first onto the bed.

“You’re a nuisance,” he bites out, but there’s laughter in his voice as he finds a way to situate himself among the various blankets and pillows tossed along the mattress.

Mike sighs in satisfaction, curling up to lie down with his head resting in Will’s lap, his low whisper of I missed you nearly lost among the rustling of the sheets as he tries to get comfortable.

“Mike,” Will says softly. “You shouldn’t let me disturb your sleep. I only came by to drop off your homework.”

It hurts him a little just to say it, because the truth is he’d rather be locked up here with Mike in his sick-den than anywhere else in the world. But he also doesn’t want to impede the process of him feeling better by keeping him awake when he should be sleeping.

Mike pouts and opens his eyes to focus on Will.

“Please stay. Just for a little while. I bet it’ll make me feel better.”

His voice is a little raw from the sore throat and a lot emotional from the three days of illness that has separated him from Will, thanks to Karen’s very careful regulation of her sick child. The most contact they’ve had was a ten minute phone conversation the night before, during which Mike blew his nose thirty times and then fell asleep on the line before Will could properly say goodbye.

Will’s heart pulls itself into a bind and he reaches down to run his fingers through the curly mess of Mike’s hair. He should definitely go, his rational brain tells him - he’s likely to get sick himself if he stays much longer - but he finds the too-warm sheets of Mike’s bed and the pleasant weight of Mike resting against him is making him feel lethargic and complacent right where he is.

“Yeah, okay,” he mumbles out, and Mike brightens a bit before furrowing his brow and opening his mouth to speak again.

“I can’t believe she kept you away from me for so long.”

Maybe it’s silly, that three days has felt like so long, but Will has been showing up to the Wheeler house every afternoon with Mike’s missed assignments in tow only to be stopped short by Karen at the front door, all calm mom-smile and friendly-stern voice. It’s taken them far too much time for Will’s taste to convince her that he really does need to see Mike; and Will has felt each and every hour of those three days somewhere deep inside his chest. In the lag of his pulse. Like someone has reached inside him and formed a fist around his heart, squeezing just this side of too tight.

“To be fair, you’ve been pretty sick,” Will reasons, because he likes Mrs. Wheeler and he can’t really blame her for wanting Mike to get better.

Mike coughs on a laugh and reaches up to run his fingertips over Will’s face, lingering on the mole above his lip and settling finally at the hollow of his throat where he catches the humming buzz of Will’s pulse with his ice cold hand.

“Yeah, but you’re my boyfriend,” he says. “You’re supposed to be here when I’m sick. To take care of me or whatever.”

Will blushes, a pleasant carnation pink blossoming over his cheeks, and swallows hard.

Boyfriend. He lets the word sit at the front of his mind, wants to repeat it out loud just to feel the tender weight of it against his tongue, to hear the timid way it will leave his mouth - embarrassed and shy, yet somehow entirely certain at the same time. It’s not a word they let themselves use often, because in Hawkins it’s better not to risk the wrong person overhearing it, the name for this secret, erroneously forbidden thing between them.

And so to hear Mike say it out loud - so casually, like it’s common knowledge half the world over - it makes a slow warmth unwrap itself and settle like a new coat of paint into every crack in Will’s heart. He takes a deep breath and catches Mike’s hand with his own, intertwines their fingers.

“It’s not like she knows that,” he says. Then, softer: “She can’t know it.”

The words come out a bit more melancholy than he’d intended but it’s hard to hide it sometimes, how much it hurts to pretend Mike means nothing more to him than any of his other friends. To pretend he doesn’t daydream about the whisper of Mike’s hand against his own beneath the table in chemistry class. To act as though his breath doesn’t tangle itself into an unmanageable knot and wrap itself around his lungs with expert precision whenever he catches Mike’s eye from across the hallway. To pretend he doesn’t look at Mike and see his whole damn heart projected back at him, doesn’t taste the promise of some kind of future with every fleeting kiss they manage to steal.

Sometimes it just gets a little hard, pretending.

“I wish she could.”

Mike’s voice is soft as he says it, wistful as he opens his eyes and presses their intertwined hands to his warm face to place a kiss against Will’s knuckles.

“I wish everyone could know how much I love you.”

Will’s heart does a stutter-stop in his chest and he thinks for a moment that it must be the fever talking. Either that or the cold medicine, because he and Mike…they haven’t said that word yet.

Sure, Will’s thought it hundreds of times: certainly every day over the last nine months they’ve been together; probably ever since his return from the upside down and his multiple brushes with death and also with the soft weight of Mike’s hand against his own; possibly since the first time Mike placed an arm around him in first grade when Will had fallen off his bike and skinned his knee so badly that the blood had run down into his sock and gone all tacky against his foot as he’d limped home. He’s thought it for years. An entire lifetime, maybe. But they haven’t said it.

He looks down at Mike and expects to see that same feverish glaze, a faraway look on his face like his brain is certainly somewhere else, lost in the haze of illness. Instead all he sees is soft, quiet confidence and the kind of sure and steady gaze that Mike is so expert at - like he’s daring Will to challenge him on this. But this isn’t something Will is going to challenge him on. Not today. Not ever.

“I love you too,” he says, and the words feel big but taste pleasant and it’s okay right now, that no one else can hear it. That no one else can know.

They don’t deserve to know, Will thinks to himself as Mike nuzzles against him with his lips pulled up into a sleepy smile.

“You know, I think I’m starting to feel a little better already,” Mike says, his tone playful and sweet. “Looks like I was right. You’re healing me after all, Byers.”

Will rolls his eyes but he can’t keep the fond look off of his face as he whispers dork and pulls the blankets further up around Mike’s shoulders. It doesn’t take long for Mike to begin nodding off with his head still pillowed in Will’s lap, his breath coming out in soft, whistling snores that make Will giggle silently in the evening-dark of the room.

“Will you still be here when I wake up?” Mike forces his eyes open long enough to ask, wrapping his arms around Will like he’s trying to ensure he can’t get away even if he wants to.

Will hums out softly, rubs his hand over Mike’s back.

“Yeah, Mike. I’ll be here.”

Mike’s asleep before he can hear his response, but it’s okay. He already knew the answer before he’d ever asked the question. And it’s okay, when he wakes up an hour later bleary eyed and pouty as Will insists he needs to get home before his mom begins to worry.

“Are you gonna let me kiss you goodbye, at least?”

He looks so pathetic, with his frowning lips and his stuffy nose and his hair standing up in every direction, and Will is tempted to say no because they have midterms coming up and he really can’t afford to be sick.

But instead he just laughs and half-protests that it’s gross as Mike presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth with warm, chapped lips. (It’s not gross and he missed it and he loves it and he loves Mike, god he loves him.)

And even when Will is lying in bed the next week, coughing and sniffling and downing cold medicine every few hours as Mike spends his afternoons apologizing and bringing Will homemade soup from his mom in a bright red thermos - he still can’t help but think that it was very much worth it.