is he allowed to look this good

anonymous asked:

Underfell brothers HAD an s/o but recently they turned into a wolf and can no longer speak so when they try to say that its them its extremely difficult without looking like a killer but they howl out what somewhat sounds like the broken words of a song their s/o sang before disappearing do they get recognized or not? Your choice whether or not this can be sad or good

hnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn ~Mod Feral


UF Sans

He’s legitimately scared of you now. He won’t even get close enough to try and see why this wolf won’t leave him alone. It’s taking a lot of self control to prevent from attacking a poor, unaware animal. He refuses to look at you for too long. He hears you, though. Every night he hears your howls and wonders what allowed the animal to know how to truly sing. He doesn’t know where you went, and he doesn’t know what happened to you. Heck, as far as he knows, you’re dead. The odds of him finding out are slim to none.


UF Papyrus

He’s likely to work a lot, a lot, on chasing you away from Snowdin. There’s too many monsters with a natural prey look to them there, and he has to protect his home. He’ll attempt to listen sometimes, if you encounter him out of the town, but he’ll never get it. Not until, that is, he finally realizes that it’s you that’s howling the song. He may not be sure if it’s actually you or not, but he will use that as an excuse to bring you to Alphys. She may figure it out.

He was wearing red through the whole thing he looked so lovely

The song was so upbeat and cheery I’m so glad it wasn’t a ballad the mv was a lil cheesy in places but god it feels good to hear his voice and see him smiling one last time

I’m crying and i don’t even know what I’m feeling. I feel like I’m feeling everything. Sadness, grief, joy, gratefulness, just, everything….

Boi howdy the newest chapter of Thunderstruck with that part where Edge talks to Red just shot an arrow right into that soft!fellpap spot in my kokoro. I’m so fuckin weak for sweet soft fellpap who wants to leave the trauma of the underground behind and have a good healthy family relationship with sans again.

Let the boi better himself and grow and allow himself to be affectionate while being awkward and adorable about it cause he still wants to look like a bad boi pLEASE

anonymous asked:

Are his parents really still gonna let him blog after an ask is what gave him the idea to run?

That’s a really good question. I hadn’t thought about it. Was the ask what caused him to run, though? It seemed as if it was Snoke or whomever that told him to.

Still, if I were his parent, I would start monitoring his activity more closely. Maybe screen all his messages before he’s allowed to read them…look through his history…that sort of thing.

I can’t deny that maybe it would be for the best if his parents took away his blog completely. I don’t know; do you think he has the judgment necessary to properly weigh all the advice he gets from anonymous strangers?

A Pauper’s Grave

Jakku hadn’t changed a bit. It was all as Rey remembered: the sun just as searing, the air as dry, the people as selfish and desperate. The galaxy’s garbage bin, where junk was left to rot.

She found her parents’ grave on the outskirts of town, so close to the place where she’d spent years bargaining for her daily bread, waiting for a family already laid to rest. Rey remembered coming here once when she was five or six, just a few days after her parents had sold her to Unkar Plutt. She’d buried it down, deeper than the single grave that held their bodies.

The spot was marked by a stripped down cruiser’s battery. It had been so heavy to her childish arms that she’d been forced to beg an older scavenger to carry it for her. It was a miracle that the shifting sands hadn’t dislodged it.

Rey sat, legs crossed, and pressed her bare hands to the ground. Breathe, Luke would have told her. Just breathe.

She could feel the decay below the earth, bones stripped of flesh toward no purpose. This wasn’t Ahch-To; her parents’ bodies had never fed new life.

They’d been weak people with rough lives who had loved neither her nor each other. Your parents threw you away like garbage, Ben had said. A nasty thing to toss in her face, and all the more bitter to swallow because it was true.

Rey spent that night in her AT-AT. (A foul-mouthed Twi’lek had taken it for himself, but one swing of her lightsaber near his lekku had the bastard running off.) She could have slept aboard the Falcon, or better yet taken it back to base, but she didn’t want to. She wasn’t ready to leave. Maybe she’d never been ready to leave.

Her hammock was gone, but the Twi’lek had put together a pallet of musty blankets and flight seat cushions. Rey clutched her doll to her chest, looking up at the wall defaced with thousands of tally marks. Each one commemorating a day passed on this desert hell, wasted waiting on people who were here all along, dead and buried.

Rey didn’t cry. She’d shed enough tears for a family who had undoubtedly shed none on her.

She was half asleep when she felt the world slow down, her crippled walker hushed to an unnatural silence. And then Ben was there, lying right beside her.

He stared at her with hungry eyes, mouth trembling with want and anger.

“No wonder you wore a mask,” Rey said. “Everything you think shows on your face.”

Ben sat up and snarled, baring his uneven teeth. Rey looked up at him, frozen under the weight of his fury.

“I should be the angry one. It didn’t have to be this way, Ben.”

He laughed, a sound so sharp that it could cut her from across the stars. “No, it didn’t. You could have come with me, ruled with me. And instead you’re doing–what, trying to build a rebellion out of one ship full of fighters?”

Rey didn’t answer, although his assessment was spot on and he had to know it.

Then he softened, settling back to the calm she’d learned to expect from him in the quiet moments when the Force connected them. It was strange, how even keeled he could be with her when the rest of the world only ever saw his rage, as unbridled as an animal’s.

“What do you want?” Rey asked. “You know I won’t join you.”

Ben’s gaze swept over her, taking her in, and Rey felt suddenly exposed. She could be his prey, lying on her back like this; she could be his lover.

He reached for her, brushing her cheek with the back of his hand. Rey closed her eyes, a shudder rippling over her body. They’d touched so little since they met that it always felt precious, even when it was only the ghost of him that laid hands on her.

“Come back to me,” he whispered. “Please.”

Ben cupped her cheek now, and Rey clenched her jaw to keep from making some small, pitiful noise. It felt so good to make him beg, to break this powerful man over his need for her–but it was growing so hard to deny him, more difficult every time he asked. Rey leaned into his touch, stealing what comfort she could while he was here. The Force wouldn’t allow them much more time. She could already feel their connection slipping away, the noise of the real world invading this sacred space.

Rey couldn’t give in, but she could give him something.

“I miss you,” she said.

Ben looked down at her, his vulnerable lips parting, but she’d never know what he was going to say, because then he was gone.

Rey held her doll tighter. She’d almost forgotten the principal law of this world, the one that ruled every day of her childhood: the desert only took, never gave.


NOTES: This story is for the @reylofanfictionanthology‘s TLJ Flash Fic Challenge prompt “Jakku”

I’m Okay- Sweet Pea x Reader

Originally posted by forsythpjones

Fandom: Riverdale

Pairing: Sweet Pea x Female!Reader

Words: 1075

Warning(s): Attempted Rape, Drugs, Trauma

Description: All you wanted to do is support your friend, not get dragged away by the new boy with a dark side.

Taglist: @sleepylunarwolf @stranger-films

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You know what? I really love this and here’s why.

You have Draco, who has never been much of a (physically) touchy person, even more so after the war.

Draco, who feels as though he has no other option than to isolate himself from the students at school because of this web of guilt gripping his insides.

Harry, who is crushed under the weight of being treated like a celebrity; of constant inquiries of whether or not he was okay; of everyone treating him like one of Aunt Petunia’s antique China cups.

Was there reluctancy behind the friendship Draco and Harry found in each other? Perhaps. But that didn’t mean they didn’t immediately gravitate towards each other.

Befriending Draco, Harry thought, felt like a small act of rebellion. Like dunking your head underwater but emerging feeling new, feeling clean.

And befriending Harry, Draco thought, was everything he never said he’d wanted from the first time he saw his picture in the papers. Like coming home for the holidays to a fire burning and soup on the stove. Like sharing secrets on the playground as a kid.

Like a giant crush he would never admit to anyone.

They really did mesh well together in an unconventional way, much like mixing hot and cold water to create something mild. Maybe with a few added drops of hot sauce.

The hair, though. That was going to have to change.

Here’s the thing. Draco liked control. Adored control. He needed control in order to breathe.

But Harry? He made Draco lose his grasp on the reins of reality. His palms got clammy. The urge to constantly lick his lips increased by a factor of twenty. His clothes felt entirely too tight to fit him anymore. All because of that damn hair.

Harry let it grow out, and now it fell lazily over his shoulders in a way Draco thought should be illegal (no one should be allowed to look that good with hair that atrocious). Hairbrushes and combs and products seemed nonexistent to Harry. His hair draped itself across his eyes when he wasn’t paying attention during one of his dazed-out moments. It probably smelled like Irish Spring.

Draco wanted to roll around in it forever.

He hated it.

He couldn’t stop thinking about it. The hair. He couldn’t stop thinking about the boy on which it dwelled. Maybe if it didn’t look so damn good all the time Draco wouldn’t have to deal with the unwanted feelings cropping up every time they were in the room together, lingering somewhere between his stomach and his rib cage. He couldn’t handle it.

He finally caved one day, barging into the eighth year common room armed with his combs and products and a slew of other hair-related items, and announced to an amused but compliant Harry that he was going to “fix” his hair. It was only for the good of humanity as a whole (so Draco said).

Yes, yes, this was exactly what he needed. Get the hair out of Harry’s face. Out of sight, out of mind. If only he could do that with Harry himself… God, his hair was softer than he had imagined it.

No, fuck, no! He looked damn wonderful with a French braid in!

Harry kept the braid in all day, twiddling the end with his thumb and forefinger while he slouched in an overstuffed chair and read a book. He was just trying to taunt him with his devastatingly good looks, Draco thought. He’d have to have another go the next day. He was determined.

A goddamn ponytail was no better. Hell, Harry looked bloody fuckable in space buns, for heavens sake! Draco was running out of hairstyles to try out, and out of excuses as to why he was so desperate to “fix” Harry’s hair. “It’s bloody atrocious” was not going to be a suitable excuse for much longer.

It became routine, however, somehow: Draco shoving his feelings down his throat each morning, approaching Harry in the common room armed with a wide variety of products, sculpting his hair into some style Harry would somehow use to unknowingly taunt Draco from across the room for the entirety of the day… a routine they both secretly enjoyed immensely but would never say anything about.

The hints of reluctancy loitering uninvited behind their newfound friendship were gone.

Harry told Draco everything now. Not just the hard stuff. His favorite color. His favorite quidditch moment. Why he thought the sky was blue. Things he never talked about with Ron and Mione.

All while Draco did his hair in the mornings and tried with every fiber of his being not to blurt out how he really felt.

Until the time everyone was gone for the holidays, and they were the only ones in the common room, and they had both had far too much firewhiskey to drink. The few embers remaining in the fireplace cast a warm orange glow across the room and Draco didn’t think twice before absently reaching up to wind a lock of Harry’s hair around his finger. It was the softest thing he’d ever ever felt.

Harry smelled like Irish Spring.

He wasn’t sure why he’d felt prompted to touch it. He just thought Harry looked like what might happen if Draco took all the magic out of his body and made a person out of it and forgot about everything else.

They were sitting limply against the front of one of the couches, forced to the ground with drunkenness and sleep. The clock said it was past midnight. Midnight was dangerous. Midnight was full of lowered inhibitions and regrettable conversations.

Draco didn’t see it happen. He didn’t know it was happening, even after it was over. They just were. They were drunk. They were content. They were Harry. They were Draco. They were… kissing.

Harry was kissing him.

Kissing, with more meaning (and tongue) than Draco had ever been kissed with before. And there was so much hair everywhere, hair to roll around in, to smell, to touch, to feel, to love, and they were kissing

“Why fix my hair? What was wrong with it to begin with?”

Draco scowled, internally scolding his feelings for not forcing him to regurgitate them before Harry made the first move. “Nothing at all, you idiot. That was the problem.”

Variety’s Top 10 Shots of 2017 :

“The fire itself was not enough so I started to fill in some things, because the emotion is so intense. I put in another reflection to make it more visible. But my principle of working is I don’t allow myself to put anything in the way of the actor. What I want to do is create a space for them. And having a fire, for me, it’s a really good tool to show what he feels inside. That’s what I’m looking for, something as simple as that.” —Sayombhu Mukdeeprom

billboard.com
Shake It Off: Despite Negative Press, Taylor Swift's Reputation Tour Could Be One of the Biggest of All Time
Taylor Swift is on track to chart one of the highest-grossing tours of all time, with projections that she could sell $450 million worth of tickets on her Reputation stadium tour which kicks off this summer.

Ticket sales could approach the half-billion dollar range as slower, steadier sales with higher returns replace sellouts as the barometer for success

Taylor Swift is on track to chart one of the highest-grossing tours of all time, with projections that she could sell $450 million worth of tickets on her Reputation stadium tour which kicks off this summer.

Swift is using a strategy deployed by Jay-Z and bands like The Rolling Stones – price tickets high and have seats available on the primary market up until the day of show. That means few, if any, early sellouts but huge revenues, as tickets, especially premium seats, are marked up much higher than previous tours. While several recent stories have warned of poor ticket sales – including a New York Post article this morning – those close to Swift say the “Look What You Made Me Do” singer sold $180 million worth of tickets in the first seven days of sales – that’s four days of sales through the Verified Fan platform and three days of sales to the general public that began Dec. 13. Swift is planning to add eight more shows to the North American leg of her tour for a total of 41 shows, with double, and in some cases triple, visits to major cities.

In markets like Los Angeles, Swift has sold 110,000 tickets for her May 18 and 19 concerts at the Rose Bowl, an increase of 36 percent over her 2015 visit, where she performed six shows at Staples Center for 81,000 fans. Thousands of tickets for both Rose Bowl concerts are still available and promoter Louis Messina told Billboard in December he was confident every show on the tour would sell out over the next five months. (The Reputation Tour kicks off May 8 in Glendale, Arizona.)

Sources now tell Billboard each show on the tour is forecast to sell between $7.5 million and $10 million worth of tickets. Couple that with six shows in Europe and five shows in Australia and New Zealand, and Swift is looking at earning anywhere between $390 million and $510 million for the Reputation Tour, putting her on track to have one of the top-grossing tours of all time based on Billboard Boxscores. (A request for comment from representatives for Swift and promoter AEG was not returned as of press time.)

Swift is looking at a huge earnout despite not having sold out a single show on her tour, a stark contrast from her 1989 Tour in 2015 which sold out in seconds. Swift watched as tickets were rapidly bought up by scalpers and bots and then resold on secondary sites like StubHub at high markups, sometimes three, four or five times face value. Hoping to capture more of the revenue for her Reputation Tour, Swift sold her tickets at much higher prices than in previous years, fetching upwards of $500 for floor seats, $800 for pit passes and $1,500 for VIP tickets.

The idea is to charge what people end up eventually paying for the ticket on the secondary market, capturing the revenue for the artist and making it more difficult for scalpers to flip the tickets on the secondary. While the practice does shift spending toward the artist, several ticketing professionals say they are concerned about how Swift’s high ticket prices will affect consumers.

At Houston’s NRG Stadium, where Swift plays Sept. 29, the cheapest tickets are $160 apiece, with some seats listed high up in the rafters selling for $230, meaning a young fan would have to pay between $400-$500 for a pair of tickets to her show.

“Whenever I see an upper deck ticket priced above $200 for a football stadium tour I have a hard time imagining that fan will leave the show thinking they got their money’s worth,” says Patrick Ryan, co-founder of ticketing and distribution company Eventellect. “Regardless of whether they bought that ticket on the primary or secondary market, $200 is a lot to spend on a seat literally in the rafters.”

While Ryan says he believes it is "good that the artist is taking a harder look at the ticket prices and isn’t focused on getting an immediate sellout,” he said the consequences of high ticket prices could mean fans "go to fewer sporting events and other concerts during that same time frame.”

"Overall, it’s good and smart for Taylor to price her tickets higher,” he says, "but it could cannibalize other games or shows, because for most consumers, they don’t have an endless budget.”

There’s also a larger question about whether the days of instant tour sellouts are gone, replaced by a “slow ticketing” model where platforms like Ticketmaster’s Verified Fan allow only a few fans to purchase tickets at a time. After running a month-long promotion for Taylor Swift Tix where fans were encouraged to buy her albums and merchandise in order to “boost” their chances of getting a good ticket, Swift began selling a small number of tickets to fans on Dec. 5, only allowing three people at a time into the purchase queue to complete transactions.

As each day of the Verified Fan presale passed, more buyers were allowed into the sales queue – the idea was to weed out scalpers who often overwhelm an onsale with ticketing bots and automated programs that allow them to buy up tickets faster than fans. What Ticketmaster wants to avoid is having all the tickets sell out in seconds and then have fans turn to sites like StubHub for available tickets.

"We’d like to sell the last ticket to her concert when she takes the stage each night,” David Marcus, executive vp and head of music at Ticketmaster, told Billboard last month. “We’re not trying to sell all of her tickets in one minute; we’re trying to figure out how to sell tickets in a more modern way.”

The Ink of My Heart

Summary: Prompt 51 for @rotisserierogers ‘s writing challenge: A tattoo artist gives clients tattoos that determine their fate 

Pairing: Tattoo Artist/Alchemist!Bucky x Reader 

Word Count: 2824 Words

Warnings: Fluff, angst in the form of physical pain and being scared

Notes: This is pretty cute, but I’m so sleepy that I dunno anymore ahaha, sorry this is late Kumi!

Permanent Tags are OPEN | masterlist

Originally posted by winter-barnes

“Nattie, I’m fucking terrified. Is this even legal?” You’re gripping her hand so tight that you’re sure that you’re crushing her bones.

She gives you a withering look, before pulling up her sleeve. “It works, every time, guaranteed. Look at mine. Perfectly passive, and it’s gotten me my dream job and boyfriend.”

Your eyes linger over the highly detailed tattoo on her bicep, before looking back up at her. “You sure that this guy won’t use his…tattoo powers to murder me?”

She snorts, leaning against the brick wall. “He’s not allowed to do that, he doesn’t know what he’s casting but they can’t involve death or illness. Well…maybe illness, but there’ll be a good outcome. He sort of has a selection of objects, and you choose them, and they’re meant to influence your tattoo’s meaning. People don’t know what they’re getting, but in the end, it’ll be something that they’ve wanted for a while.”

“Do you know how sketchy that sounds?” You cross your arms, heart running wild with panic and oh shit this is a horrible idea isn’t it-

“Shut up, you’ll be fine,” Nat snatches your hand and marches you towards the door of the building, “you can’t miss your designated appointment, he stores his magic up for each client.”

“So what is he? A wizard? Like, from Harry Potter?” The bell tinkles as you enter the waiting room area. You take a brief look around, taking in the modern interior, with succulents on benches and plant pots dangling from the ceilings. There’s nothing ‘magic’ to this, what with fluffy blankets on the arms of the sofas, and industrial light bulbs casting a glow over the room.

“I’d prefer the word ‘alchemist,’ but you can call me a wizard if you want.” A voice says behind you, and you shriek, whipping around instantly.

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Call Me Mistress – Ramen (M) (Part 3)

Summary: The Mistress has her first session with Ramen, her newest client.

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Smut

Word Count: 12,176

Warning: Sub!Jungkook, Domme!Reader, BDSM, sex work, femdom, sexual themes, nipple play, masturbation, teasing, edging, overstimulation, sex toys, profanity

Series: Call Me Mistress

A/N: If you thought Part 2 was something…Enjoy, dears!

Client List: Prologue | River (Namjoon) | Ramen (Jungkook): Pt. 1, Pt. 2, Pt. 3 | Firetruck (Jin) | (more forthcoming)

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paint heaven and anger the gods

so the trailer for miss hokusai advertised one type of movie, and then the actual movie was …. something else entirely. but the trailer gave me ideas, so here they are:

there is girl –

no.

there is woman –

no.

there is a young woman, an old girl, and she has the eyes of youth but the weight upon her shoulders is that of age. or perhaps it is the other way around. perhaps she has the eyes of age, but upon her shoulder is the weightlessness of youth, of ignorance.

there she is, whatever she is.

her name is kana.

she is the daughter of a famous painter, known as juro. he is a man larger than life, and he paints wonderful things. he takes what is ugly, and makes it beautiful. he paints an unhandsome woman as a goddess, a sneering merchant as a king, a dirty city as a glowing capitol. he leaves all he touches brighter than it was found.

kana is not like her father.

she is a painter, but she is not famous. she has a mother she doesn’t speak to, and younger sister she visits as much as she can. she has pushed them both aside to follow her father, to sit with him in dirty shacks putting ink to paper as she does her best to make beautiful things. she throws off the expectations of her gender, of her station, of anything and everything in her pursuit to be a master painter.

technique is easy. she completes half of her father’s painting while he drinks, while he whores, while he seduces lords and ladies, while he paints empty things for empty people, while he leaves her alone in their dirty shacks. she can do the detail work, has a steady hand and a sharp eye, but when it comes to the whole picture – it is left lacking.

“her work lacks your beauty,” an old man says, talking to her old father while she kneels in the corner, ink staining her hands, the floor, ink just – staining.

“of course it does,” her father says, offhand. “how can she paint what she does not know?”

kana never expected lack of knowledge to be her downfall.

so that night when her father is gone, she does not stay in to work. instead kana paints her face, wears a kimono that’s too small on her, and goes to the worst part of the city, to where the alleyways and walls are stained red by the glow of the lanterns.

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