idk man i'm proud of this one


Standing before me was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. Everything about the stranger radiated sensual grace and ease. High Fae, no doubt. His short black hair gleamed like a raven’s feathers, off-setting his pale skin and blue eyes so deep they were violet, even in the firelight. They twinkled with amusement as he beheld me.

His clothes - all black, all finely made - were cut close enough to his body that I could see how magnificent he was. As if he’d been molded from the night itself.

Happy TDOV! I’m Luke (he/him) and I hope you’re all having a great day filled with happiness and pride, although I know life’s not always as kind as I’d wish to most of us, we’re still here and we’re visible. Whether you decide to post a selfie today or not, I’ll always be proud of you, stay safe♡


testosterone has changed my life, but i still have the same stupid crooked grin.

[pre-trans identity (7/2008) >> 13 months on t (4/2017)]


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anonymous asked:

Oh my goodness your writing is beautiful! <3 If you're open to it, now that we have a fic of Zelda realizing she's in love with Link, can we have one of Link realizing he's in love with Zelda?

Thank you so much!! This has actually been requested a couple times, so without further ado;

The first time he saw her, she had been nothing more than a flash of golden hair. He was at the training grounds, sparring with the other aspiring knights. It wasn’t much sparring on his side rather than easily defeating anyone who approached him for a challenge. Link had grinned at one of his friends, mopping sweat away from his forehead when he saw it – a flash of golden and royal blue out of the corner of his eye. It disappeared almost immediately, but he was left feeling awe.

“Hey, Link, you okay?” One of the others threw their arm around him, and Link’s smile returned.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just thought I saw someone for a moment. Nevermind.”

They went back to sparring, but not before Link could look back once more at the spot where the gold disappeared.

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i don’t want a lot for christmas
this is all i’m asking for
i just want to see my baby
standing right outside my door

my twitter friend group did secret satan santa and i got @noctilin!! we have a military aki au so when i saw i had gotten her, i only felt it fitting to draw akiham for the other half of AkiHam House™. i used her military aki uniform design and the scarf from one of her past commissions! happy holidays, jez!! i hope you like your present! (人 ˘ ³˘ ) ♥

here’s your friendly reminder that i should be done with this animatic within the next couple days, and i’ll have it up as soon as i??? figure out youtube???

anyway, it might not be perfect, but i am so proud of this animatic and all the work that i’ve poured into it over the past four weeks, and i hope that other  people enjoy it too!!! 

(((and maybe i’m planning another one if people like this one ;) )))

See you again

pairing: michael x reader

word count: 2,769


michaels in hiding like he usually is during breaks so in turn i write more about him idk how my mind works that way but oh well whatever

so in drivers ed there are so many sad videos about drunk driving n shit like that and thats where i found inspiration for this.. its super sad hence the most depressing and heart wrenching gif of michael clifford to ever exist

You crouched down to Matty’s eye level, taking his hands in yours and disregarding the slight discomfort that filled your abdomen. You marked it as the guilt from leaving your child angry with you for a night. “You’re going to have a super fun night with Grace, bud. It’s just a couple of hours.”

Your son nodded, instinctively wrapping his arms around your neck and hugging you tightly. You hugged him back, closing your eyes and sighing deeply. “I love you Mommy.” He said. “Don’t be gone too long.”

“I won’t, Matty. Besides, you love Grace! I bet if you’re good all night she’ll take you out for ice cream.” You coaxed, him immediately releasing your neck and looking at you with excited eyes.

He looked up to his nanny, smiling widely. “Can we get ice cream, Grace? Can we?”

“Of course, Matt.” Grace laughed, amused with how excited he had gotten from being annoyed with you choosing to spend tonight at one of Michael’s shows. You hadn’t seen he perform in what seemed like years (and it had been years since you have been so busy raising Matty, and a loud concert late at night wasn’t the kind of environment you wanted for your 4 year old).

You kissed Matty’s forehead, hugging him one last time. “I’ll be back before you know it. Do I ever break my promises?” Matty shook his head. “Exactly. I love you very much.”

“I love you more, Mommy.” He said, kissing your cheek. “Tell Daddy I love him too.”

“I will.”

You watched as Matty was seated in the back of Grace’s car, and after making sure he was safe, you waved to the car as it drove away from the back of the arena, watching Matty wave back. 

You spent your time backstage, making sure not to be in anyone’s way and chatting with a few members of the crew when you could. Up until performance time, you didn’t see Michael at all. But he was busy; there was no way he could just drop everything and come spend time with you when he’s touring. You didn’t mind at all, because you saw him right before he went on and you were the first person he saw when he got offstage, mainly because you watch right from there. He would occasionally glance over at you, involuntarily smiling as he would sing to you. And you couldn’t help but smile back, watching him bounce around onstage as happy as he is. 

While you were grabbing yourself some water from the green room, you felt two arms hug you from behind, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck. 

“Hi Angel.” Michael greeted, turning you around so you faced him.

You smiled up at him, pecking his lips. “You excited for tonight?”

“When am I never excited?” He quizzed, releasing you and grabbing the water out of your hands.

You felt your phone ring in your back pocket, and pulling it out, you saw Grace texted you.

Grace: Matty saw a guy with purple hair playing guitar and thought it was Michael. He asked why he wasn’t onstage like he was supposed to be and the man just laughed, saying he wishes he was Michael. The guy then proceeded to play Matty’s favorite song of Michael’s, Airplanes. Must’ve been a fan. Needless to say, Matty was very happy

Attached was a picture of your son high-fiving the other purple haired twenty-something with a guitar in his lap. On his face he wore a bright smile, looking up at the guy who smiled just as brightly back at the enthusiastic toddler.

Grace sent another text.

Grace: Oh, and Matty says he loves and misses you guys. Especially Michael

The texts brought a smile to your face. “Someone loves their daddy a lot.” You told Michael, holding out your phone to show him the texts.

“Oh, for a second there I thought you were talking about yourself.” He teased, sticking his tongue out before reading the screen, smiling from it. “How fucking cute is he.”

“The cutest.” You cooed, resting your head on Michael’s shoulder.

“C’mon, Mike. We’re on in 5.” Calum said, sticking his head into the room. He was gone as quick as he came.

You two hurried backstage where Michael was handed his guitar. You stood off, waiting for him to get his ear piece all situated, and once he was, he returned to you. He cupped your face, pressing his lips to yours. You savored every second of it, before he pulled away and said, “I love you, Angel.”

“I love you too, Mikey. I’ll be right here the entire time.”

“Just like always.” He said, his left eye falling into a sly wink before turning back to his friends and running out onstage with them.

Michael’s small hand encapsulated yours, his thumb skimming over your white knuckles as he recounted your last conversation. All he could do was hold your hand, knowing that no amount of hugs or encouragement or love could change what happened just hours ago. His eyes traveled from your connecting hands up your arm, right up to your collarbones to your face. To him you were the most beautiful person to ever walk the earth, an angel in disguise when the two of you met. 

He loved to watch you sleep, especially. How your eyes were gently closed, and how peaceful you looked lying next to him, or like many times, in his arms. He couldn’t remember a time where you didn’t look absolutely gorgeous.

But now, here you laid in this small hospital bed not big enough for the both of you, and although you looked asleep–as peaceful as you could be–Michael knew the story behind those closed eyes was something much more haunting than just a calm slumber.

His heart ached as memories flooded his mind; he remembered every second which landed you in a hospital bed.

Michael screwed his eyes shut as he sang, using every ounce of energy to hit the rights notes to create a beautiful harmony during your favorite song, Outer Space. He wanted to impress you with every performance, so he put all his heart into singing it, always delivering a promising performance you would find posted to every social media platformed (many fans tagging you in them since they know of your deep love for the song) and always commend Michael on how wonderful he did. He would always smile.

“The darkest night never felt so bright with you by my side…” Michael sang, looking back to where you usually stood, and he was prepared to see you smile and wave at him as he would serenade you.

But that’s not what he saw.

Instead, the backstage area you usually occupied, where other crew members would loiter amid, performing their duties to deliver a smooth show, was now empty. 

Immediately, his voice trailed off and he dropped his guitar–not caring about the crowd he was leaving mid-song–and hurried offstage to find you. His chest began to fill with worry, because he knew what had happened the last time something like this occurred.

There’s only been one scenario where you hadn’t been right in your spot, watching from backstage, and that was when you had passed out. You were feeling lightheaded all day, and the amount of water you drank didn’t help with the dizziness. Followed by the numbness in your hands and face, you had fainted, many crew members rushing to tend to you and the concert being delayed half an hour due to Michael running offstage to make sure his fiancé was alright. 

After you had regained consciousness and assured him he was fine, he went back to finish the show, but first thing the next day, he made you go to the doctor. It was then you were diagnosed anemic, and after blood tests and different medications and changes in diet, you were perfectly healthy. Everything had returned back to normal.

This time, though, Michael had worries that it was something worse than just passing out from your anemia. Which is why he didn’t care about the fans he was leaving in that moment; all he cared about was knowing that you were safe.

“Where is she, where is she, where is she!” He yelled, running through the corridors and looking for some type of answers in the crew standing by, all of which bore concerned faces. The sight of their expressions made him sick to his stomach.

“Mike, what’s wrong?” Ashton called out to him, running up behind him along Luke and Calum.

Michael paid no attention to them, the only thing he was thinking was is my Angel okay? He walked into a room in the far back of the arena where a crowd of people was standing, one standing by and talking on the phone in a hurried tone.

Michael barged through the crew to see you lying on the floor in Zoe’s arms, your mouth hung open and your eyes hanging closed. He dropped to his knees and took you in his arms, his breath hitching in his throat.

“Angel, come on. Wake up,.” He spoke softly, pushing the hair out of your face.

Minutes later, which all went by in a blur to Michael, and he was in the back of an ambulance, you lying on the bed in front of him and another doctor inserting  different needles into your veins in your arms. He didn’t understand what was happening–nobody did–but nearly an hour later, a doctor came out of her room, a somber expression on his face as he pronounced you dead, due to kidney failure.

The doctor suspected that over the past couple of days you had been experiencing slight symptoms of the condition, but had just brushed them off as nerves or anxiety, or even thought it was just your anemia acting up. Going hand in hand with you being anemic was the high blood pressure, which usually didn’t affect you since you’ve had it all your life, you just assumed your body had grown used to it and you were perfectly fine. The reality of it, though, was that those two key components led to where you were today, and Michael blamed himself.

He blamed himself for not paying attention to you, and he began to think if he ever ignored your complaining about you not feeling well, and regretted not being there for you more. But when he found himself blaming himself, he immediately felt terrible for pitying himself when you were lying before him.

He thought about himself before mourning over you, and when he finally realized it after 10 minutes of blaming himself, his entire world came crashing down.

Now, hours later, and the tears had dried on his face, the endless clock continued to tick on the wall in front of him, and all he could do was hold your hand. 

“Please tell me this is just a bad dream.” He said aloud, after being silent for a while, just studying your appearance. “Just let this one be like the others. Where I’ll wake up and see you lying next to me, safe and sound and so beautifully alive. And I’ll know everything is okay because I still have you.”

He brought his free hand up to wipe his cheeks, attempting to rid his skin of the tears, but his attempts were useless. Another wave of sadness overcame him, and he broke down in loud sobs over your body. “Why couldn’t I have just paid more attention and made sure you were okay? Then none of this would’ve ever happened.” He thought out loud, rocking back on his feet and standing up, covering his eyes with his hands and shaking his head, walking to the other side of the room, staring at the blinds covering the window. He looked back at you, and whimpered. 

“Oh, Angel…” he said, walking back to you and sinking to his knees again, grabbing your hand once more and pressing gentle kisses to your cold flesh. It sent a shiver down his spine.


He looked over to see Matty standing in the doorway, his eyes bloodshot and his thumb in his mouth. Michael looked at his son, and sniffled. The child stood there, staring at his mom, before looking to his dad. “Mommy’s not coming back.” He stated.

Michael nodded his head, biting his bottom lip. “No, Mommy isn’t coming back, bud.” He confirmed, just above a whisper.

Right when you were taken to the hospital, Grace received a call from Calum, saying she needed to bring Matty to the hospital immediately because you were in an accident. And when Matty got here, he saw you being wheeled into a room, your lifeless arm hanging off of the stretcher. His face immediately drained of all color before he looked up at Grace and asked what was wrong. Michael overheard, and briefly explained to him how you were sick, and that you went to Heaven. Matty didn’t exactly understand, and Michael didn’t have the strength to explain everything to him–especially at that time. So Grace chimed in, offering to ease the burden on Michael and tell Matty what she was told when her Aunt died in a car crash when she was no older than Matty.

Matty remained in the threshold of the door, only removing his thumb from his mouth to ask Michael something. “Mommy’s not coming back…but you’re gonna be here, right?”

“Of course I am, Matty.” He said, shifting his body to face his son entirely.

“That’s what Mommy said, though.” Matty said, his voice starting to shake. “She said she would see me after your show. She said she would be back.” 

Michael sighed. “Sometimes things happen we can’t control. But you will see her again, that’s for sure.”

“I will?” He asked, a glint of hope flashing in his sparkling eyes. 

“One day all of us will see her again. She’s in Heaven now, and one day I’m going to be with her and then one day you’ll be with us.”

“And we’ll be all together.” Matty finished, and Michael nodded.

“We’ll all be together again.” He said. “But that’s not going to happen anytime soon, I can promise you that. For now, though, it’s me and you, bud. I hope you’re okay with that.”

Matty didn’t answer immediately; instead, he came charging towards his father, throwing himself into Michael’s arms and holding onto him as if his life depended on it. And Michael held him, like he would never let go. 

“Why do you call Mommy ‘Angel’ all the time?” He asked.

Michael shrugged, patting the back of his son’s head lightly. “Because Angels are people that are put on this earth to make people’s lives better. Mommy made my life so much better, and she was an angel to me. Now that she’s in Heaven, she’s a real angel looking down on us.”

Matty was silent for a moment, the only noise he would make was the occasional hiccup from crying. “I miss Mommy.” He cried, his small voice shaking as he looked up to his mom lying still on the bed. Seeing her this close frightened him a bit; usually she’s full of life and smiling and being so happy, but this time, all she looked like was asleep.

So beautifully asleep.

“I miss her too, Matty.” Michael said, rubbing the back of Matty’s head in attempts to comfort him. He hugged his son tighter. “But we gotta be strong for Mommy, can you do that? Until we see her again.”

Matty nodded, looking at his dad. “I’ll be strong for Mommy. She’ll be proud of me.”

“Yes, she’ll always be proud of you, bud.” Michael told him, kissing his cheek lightly. “Always.”

Even if what they say is true, let’s pretend that it wasn’t you [x


I think, for a long time, I was scared to write what I really wanted to put down on paper or post for others to see. I was so intent on making the audience happy that I forgot that my writing, my plots, and characterization really affects me more than anyone else.

 It took me about a year to come to the realization that I write for me–I’m the one who sits up in bed at ass o'clock in the morning, writing and jotting down ideas in my documents. I’m the one who thinks of the plot twists and specific adjectives that would really brightened the scene, simply because I like them. I like that word, that sentence, that phrase, that character, so I’m going to write it like this–it’s for me. I write for me. 

I share my writing because that also makes me happy. I share my plot twists because I want others to see what I did, to enjoy what I enjoy. 

Always, always write for yourself. Write that thriller, that comedy, that romance. Abuse that trope, and cliche, because if you enjoy it, that’s all you need.

Write for yourself. And share it with others, if that will make you happy.

does anyone remember when fairy tail was like,,, for kids


when it was about natsu’s motion sickness and not the fact that he is actually the most powerful of zeref’s demons

when it was about gray’s stripping habit and not the fact that he swore he’d destroy E.N.D. and the fact that he probably still thinks juvia’s dead

when it was about erza’s eccentricities and not the fact that she’s faced horrors from her past who have fought and tortured her

when it was about happy being an obnoxious, sassy cat and not the fact that he’s struggling to keep his best friend alive despite the fact that he’s the most powerful demon in creation and lots of people indirectly want him dead

when it was about lucy being a whiny girl and not the fact that she’s willing to fight and die for her guild, her family, after losing so much, willing to fight people much stronger than herself and look danger and pain directly in the eye for the sake of her friends

when it was about wendy being clumsy and not the fact that she has become so strong, and is able to fight and fight well and defend those she loves

just,,,, idk man i’m so proud of them they’ve come so far and developed so much

To all my fellow trans dudes out there

- Having your period does not make you any less of a man
- Shaving your body hair does not make you any less of a man
- Having longer head hair does not make you any less of a man
- Having boobs does not make you any less of a man
- Wearing clothing from the women’s section does not make you any less of a man
- Wearing makeup does not make you any less of a man
- Being called your birth name does not make you any less of a man
- Being called she/her does not make you any less of a man
- Liking feminine things does not make you any less of a man

Your gender identity is only something you can decide.

No one else can decide it for you. You know yourself better than anyone else. Don’t let anyone else decide your gender. No one. Only you decide. Not your parents. Not relatives. Not friends. Not coworkers. Not strangers. Not even doctors.

If you identify as a male and and say you’re a man. Then you’re a man. It’s as simple as that. You are what you say you are no matter what. Don’t take crap from anybody. You’re you’re own person. Own yourself. Be yourself.

anonymous asked:

hey, on anon b/c social anxiety; I really love swaptale! u write all the characters so well and plan all the pages amazingly and I can't wait to find out what happens ;n; but this is kinda a weird ask; I re-drew one of my favourite sequences in swaptale just to see how my art skills are for comics (I'm planning to go into sequential art sometime so this is pretty important for me lol), and I'm pretty proud of how I did. I was wondering if u'd be interested in seeing it? idk, just in case ^^'

yeah man I’d love to see! sequential art is my life tbh im glad you also have an interest in it :’)

idk man, i kinda wanna be in a punk band and have tattoos and listen to rock music, but i also wanna be indie and have like a flower shop or a coffee shop or something, but i also wanna be a teacher or something and get a degree and make my parents proud, but i also wanna be a comic book artist and go to art school even though i can’t draw, but i also wanna be nothing at all because fuck everything, it’s not worth it, ya feel?

dan and phil are presenting at a very big event in london and they have a radio show at one of the biggest radio stations ever and they’ve collectively got 6 million youtube subscribers yet THEY REMAIN THE MOST DOWN TO EARTH, GROUNDED PEOPLE I HAVE EVER COME ACROSS, FAME HASN’T CHANGED THEM AND I FREAKING APPLAUD THE ADORABLE NERDS FOR THAT. 

In New York you can be a new man…

Alexander Hamilton’s grave with One World Trade Center shining in the background. This is probably my favorite picture that I took in Trinity Church Cemetery. Which, funnily enough, was from the street after I left it. Hamilton remains smack dab in the middle of progress.

to celebrate getting 100 followers (THANK YOU ALL!!) i drew this meme. he looks way too kawaii but oh well (edit: kawaii phil here!)

no killing

summary: 21. “i have to make out with someone for the play and oh dear god it’s that attractive arsehole i wanted to murder yesterday” au. requested by  in-spirational, and an Anonymous.

word count: ~ 3,000

rating: t.


She’s been hoping all day that nothing goes wrong with her audition, and she is ecstatic when the roles are posted up and she sees her name listed besides the protagonist. The entire day prior to auditions was spent worrying and nearly kicking this British guy in the balls because he’d been bothering her while she was going through her lines over and over.

There’s a casting call at the end of the day, and when she heads there, she wants to gouge her eyes out because the guy she’s wanted to not see is standing there talking to other members of the cast for this play.

Inhaling a deep breath, it apparently catches his eye and they lock gazes, a knowing smirk on his face and an annoyed one on hers. His name includes Jones, or something, but Emma doesn’t like him very much. Too cocky, some gigantic ego, it’s just not the type of person she likes. (Yet how she managed to tolerate him yesterday is beyond her own understanding. But she did want to murder him at some point, too, just that she’d never ended up doing so.) (Not that she was going to murder him.)

“We meet again,” he greets enthusiastically, that smirk still plastered on his face.

She really wants to punch him.

(She expects herself to during some point if he’s involved with the play.)

(She may get kicked out and replaced if she does, though.)

“I guess we do,” she responds, putting up one of her smiles that doesn’t scream excitement of any sorts. “But, why are you here?”

“Got casted for the Captain of course,” he proudly exclaims.


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