it has been on my mind for ages

Ok, so you wanna know who truly has helped shape my views on so many things, including LGBT+ issues and the struggles of black people? It’s Leo. You all may know him as Leo the Giant from Vine. I’ve known him way before Vine, and this man… this wonderful man… helped bring attention to so many of the struggles and injustices that still exist in this day and age. I may not have been so wary of world issues so early on in my life if it wasn’t for him. He really helped to open my eyes, and for that, I will always be grateful. I just wanted to make sure you all knew to give credit where credit was due. It’s Leo who first showed me how much we have yet to accomplish. I am blessed to have Leo in my life. I love Leo. ❤️

i’ve been thinking…. sera should actually be like… super buff?? very much ripped??? especially in the arms and shoulders.

and her back. this girl has the sort of back michelangelo WISHES he could sculpt, my dudes. she’s cut

seriously tho. longbows are serious business. they are heavy and tall and require a lot of skill to and strength to draw, never mind draw and do a backflip while firing.

anyways i’m starting a new club called SERA: Super Extra Ripped Archer (could also stand for She’s Extremely Radiant Andi’msupergay) reblog to join my club

Ya know, I was thinking about YOI today and remembered how a lot of people were worried about what Victor (and Yuuri) were going to do after the season. Mostly about if Victor was going to leave.

And I also remembered how Yuuri has mentioned that this will most likely be his last season of skating (due to his age or otherwise.) 

But guess who is most certainly going to keep going?

Thats right. Angry kitten. And who also happened to seem to flourish under Victor during their short time together. 

And while he might not admit it, he does get along with Yuuri. Hell, they even have similar responses to Victor’s shenanigans.

But also, look at how supportive Victor and Yuuri are of the smol blonde:

Also, this boy needs some more positive support in his life. He’s so full of sadness and anger he can hardly control it. So, while the show could (and most likely will) go a different direction from what i’m about to say, it is a happy thought. 

And that would be - Yuuri and Victor taking up the role as Yuri’s coaches after this season. 

Its no secret that Victor is an amazing skater (and is slowly improving his coaching abilities), but he also is already acquainted with Yuri as well. He’s been shown to express something of brotherly affection for him already.

As for Yuuri- who else is more than knowledgeable in emotions and insecurities? He’s always the nicest he can be towards his younger peer, and is actually rooting for him from the get-go (despite having a poor meeting and Yuri always being mean to him.) I wouldn’t be surprised if Yuuri already has a firm understanding of how the blonde feels.

Oh, and guess who also has been studying ballet for (what I assume) years ?

So yeah. I would absolutely love if they took up that role for Yuri. I feel it would be a good, wholesome ending to a great show. 

I mean, come on, they’re already acting like embarrassing parents. Might as well adopt him. :) 

@ other whites, if anyone tries to excuse some nasty racist bullshit from one of your relatives by saying it’s not their fault because they’re “old” or “grew up in another time” I want you to know that my grandpa who is in his late 80s has been a communist activist his entire adult life, has worked with the NAACP for decades, and has gotten beaten by cops while trying to defend poor black women multiple times, and I want you to keep that in the back of your mind and remember it when they try to justify racist shit, and I want you to remember that’s nothing but racist apologism. Age does not excuse white supremacist bullshit. 

  • psychic: *reads my mind*
  • me: On Aug. 30, 2007, Ryan’s 21st birthday, he and his girlfriend at the time, Keltie, went to Pete Wentz’ club in NYC to celebrate Ryan’s big day. Because Ryan was the oldest in Panic!, none of the rest of the band members were of age and were unable to attend the party, so they all flew back to California because on Sept. 1, they would be performing in Seattle. Everything is fine and dandy and Ryan goes home with Keltie afterward, but in the morning, he was gone. According to one fan that was fortunate to get a picture with them, Ryan had flown from NYC to Seattle overnight while Keltie was sleeping. The fan said that they saw Ryan and Brendon in a restaurant together, alone, and also said it was raining when they went to get a picture with them. We know this to be true because Ryan is wearing the exact same outfit he wore to his birthday party – he didn’t even change his clothes. Many people wonder if the popular Panic! at the Disco song, “Northern Downpour” was inspired by this event, Seattle also being one of Ryan’s favorite cities in the world, with lines like, “I missed your skin when you were east, you clicked your heels and wished for me.” Although it could be just pure coincidence – Ryan flying to Seattle to the show two days early, in the middle of the night after his birthday, but it’s considered #ryden lore among fans purely based on how curious it is that Ryan would fly cross country, overnight, to his one and lonely, Brendon Urie.
  • psychic: what the fuck
Just imagine it: Wright and Edgeworth in a retirement community.

God. Think of the calls Trucy would get.

  • “Your father has been banned from bingo night. He yelled ‘objection’ and accused another resident of cheating…again. For what it’s worth, he made a compelling case.”
  • “Your father and Mr. Edgeworth disrupted dinner for approximately four hours last night. Wouldn’t let anyone eat until they finished an impromptu trial they started…someone’s guide dog was the defendant? I don’t know. I heard he won. But anyway, can you ask him to…uh…not do that anymore?”
  • “Mr. Wright stole Mr. Edgeworth’s wheelchair again and now Mr. Edgeworth is hitting him with a cane. They’re both fine. Just thought you should know.”
  • “Sigh…your father…he convinced Mr. Justice he was dying in an attempt to ‘escape’ the community…Please come over immediately, preferably with Miss Cykes. Mr. Justice won’t stop crying.”
  • “Your father may or may not have gotten married to Mr. Edgeworth last night. It was really unclear.”
  • “Please tell Mr. Edgeworth to stop smuggling in dogs. And forcing everyone to watch that decades-old cartoon in the community space.”
  • “Your father went wheelchair racing in the streets and ran into a truck. Don’t worry; he’s fine. Kept laughing the entire time.”
  • “One of our residents passed away and your father and Mr. Edgeworth keep telling everyone it was a murder. Please tell them to stop.”
  • “Actually, it turns out they were right. Sorry.”

Incredible.

Imagine your OTP:

Has this been done before?



Both are each other’s roommates in a fairly small apartment, the apartment was made for one and there was a mix up in the system so they ended up as roommates. In the bedroom they replaced the double bed for bunk beds. As their relationship grew, Person A became more aware of Person B’s nightmares, so when Person B twists and turns at night, Person A goes upside down from their bed, their head slightly popping out, and reaches out for Person B’s hand and strokes it, Person B calms down, smiles and goes back to sleep. When Person B finds out that Person A calmed them down in their sleep, they learned how to wake up to Person A’s touch. So whenever Person A touches their hand, Person B wakes up and pecks Person A on the lips. Soon that became routine, and they never got rid of the bunk beds,since the kisses were somewhat traditional to them. And ever since then, upsidedown kisses became their favourite.

3

Bloodlines 
a SVT werewolf AU

With the untimely passing of their esteemed leader, the wolves of the Lee Clan are scrambling to establish a new line of power amidst a drawn-out blood feud with a rival Pack

Keep reading

The Dark One

                                            - Shikha Singh

In the dark of the night

I tried to hide

my jet-black heart

poisoned by evil inside

And the fear that creeps

through the corner of my eye

because of those dreadful deeds

that I cannot undo

nor can I deny


With these shivering hands

I took a life

Nobody’s,

but my own

as I stopped to fight

Sanctioning the devil to seize my mind


For ages,

this body has been hollow

With no voice of the conscience to follow

 And now,

my soul will serve an eternity in hell

‘Cause in me I let the darkness dwell


I bore a hole

in this heart, once pure

In all lands to which

exists not a cure


All vanquished,

dark and doomed

I lay

Not a single soul

at my side to pray

while I count

my last few breaths

waiting for 

my very own death


 ||Picture Credit :Phoebe Klingler||

Random Act of Kindness Giveaway

America’s election season has been making me feel really depressed, upset, and sad. I wanted to do something to show that there are still good people in the world, so I am organizing a giveaway that is a little different than my normal ones (all two of them, lol).

I am going to do something kind for one randomly selected person, the prize to be determined with what works better for the winner. I have some ideas in mind, and I promise you will like them! 

Since this is not a Dragon Age giveaway, you don’t need to be following me. (If you don’t like Dragon Age, there is absolutely zero reason to follow me, cause that is pretty much all I post :P) Likes and all reblogs will count!

Really, I just hope that this will inspire some other people to do good, kind things for someone else. The world needs more Love, and I want to do my part to further that goal.

Originally posted by tana-the-dreamchaser

anonymous asked:

I'm working on a fic in which Marinette learns how to design clothes around age 8-10. I've been doing research on how most people learn how to sketch designs and stuff and there's just a ton of different ways (tracing photos, starting with drawing basics like shapes, buying books with templates, etc.) and I'm not sure which would be most accurate. In my fic, Marinette will be taught by someone who has experience in designing, so how do you think they'd teach her?

That’s actually up to you to plot. Though Paris, or France, might ring the fashion bell in your mind, people are actually fairly normal when it comes to fashion.

So it really is up to the person’s motivation and talent whether or not they want to design clothes. It’s a hobby.

Now, if you’re talking about whether or not it’s easy to design clothes as a particular in Paris, there are indeed a lot of fabric shops in Paris, but more than ever in weekly markets (Internet might tell you about the Marché Saint Pierre in rue Charles Nodier but it, in fact, is pretty hard to find clothing fabric. It’s more furniture centre. I’d advise you the Marché Choisy le Roi, though it’s a bit far, or the Dreyfus shops) but it remains very very expensive in Paris, hence why the more geographically far Marché Choisy le Roi has more interesting prices. Sadly a lot of people are stopped by that.

After all, Paris is the capital of fashion, of course shops would make the most out of it.

Now if you’re thinking of Marinette learning on her own, the methods you listed are all good. Except tracing.

Think of fashion as not drawing perfect clothes like regular artists, but associating clothes and colours. You don’t need to draw perfect folds to make perfect outfits. But you do need anatomy to figure out whether your clothes can be worn or not. You need to be curious about the trends, about collections, about fabric.

But drawing is just a way to convey your ideas.

Now, if someone would teach Marinette… If you’re talking about an actual teacher that would be paid for it, that’s unlikely. Way too expensive for bakers, and very very hard to find anyway.

Now if you’re talking about someone who wants to teach little Marinette for fun, a cosplayer, or a seamstress, etc… that’s up to your plot, just the same way it would be legit to turn to online tutorials.

Now, if you’re wondering how that person would teach Marinette, they could start by teaching her how to sew manually, buttons or stitches, etc… Being between 8 and 10 years old is a bit too early to make full-blown clothes, to design any actual clothes.

No, Marinette would start with clothes personalisation. Adding buttons here and there, cutting here, sewing there, etc… But nothing very elaborated like embroidery.

Think of those girl toys for clothes personalisation. They’re amazing to use.

Then that person could teach her how to harmonise colours, maybe take her to the address aforementioned to show her the world of fabrics and all the possibilities she can play with. Fashion is concrete.

They could help her design her clothes ideas, nothing very elaborated still. And maybe at 12 or 13, even later, they could offer her a first sewing machine which they would then teach them to use, as well as teaching her about patterns which are pieces of fabric you sew together to make your clothes. Like… Sleeves on their own are a pattern you then sew on the clothe.

Whenever you see sewing on your clothes, patterns have been sewed together.

They’re not very easy to make though, so once again, it’s not easy for a 12 years old. Unless she’s determined to try again and again despite it being hard.

Nothing’s impossible!

It is important to note that not all sewing machines have the same abilities and require accessories you add to them little by little. There are beginner sewing machines, and more professional ones. So it’s pointless to go for very elaborated outfits with a beginner sewing machine.

For example, not all sewing machines can sew buttons. You need a special tool to add to the machine.

About the design drawings, you might want to know too that they’re usually not very detailed, and very scarcely coloured. You have a brief sketch with the overall look of the outfit, and then you staple to the drawing samples of the fabric you want for the outfit, and only when you really need detail do you draw in corners of the sketch little zooms of the details. Like lace, or pockets, etc…

Sometimes, if you’re all good with the fabric samples you stapled, colours aren’t even needed.

Now even more important:

Do not mistake fashion sketches and technical drawings

Fashion sketches are all about inspiration, that’s why they’re rough, quick. But sometimes you can find very very detailed fashion drawings. That’s all up to the fashion designer so long that there’s an end result, so long as it’s easier for you to make the clothe.

The reason why they’re not detailed is because the fashion designer gives their sketch to a designer whose job is to turn them into technical drawings with patterns to cut for the seamstresses. It’s not that fashion designers don’t know how to do that. No, you have to be a designer first before being a fashion designer, but once you get to work, you can’t do everything. You’re paid for ideas, not for sewing or detailing for people who know their job as much as you do.

This is a fashion sketch à la française

This is a technical drawing (dessin à plat or dessin technique in French, and what you called templates)

These are a 2 in 1 fashion/technical drawing

This is what you learn in fashion schools, but you need to know that all of this… Well these are just tools to help you, but fashion can be very very instinctive. Think of cosplay.

People don’t take classes to learn how to make their own cosplays.

If you work well with a method, the rest is details.

Hope I helped! And good luck for your fic :)

Slipped and Fell for You

Day 1 of the Carry On countdown via prompts from @carryon-countdown 

Day 1: Coffee Shop AU

Simon

The overhead lights buzz with the old 80s music playing in the overhead speakers as I stand at the counter, bored out of my mind. It’s only been a few minutes since the last costumer, but it feels like it has been ages since I’ve seen anyone. My coworker, Agatha, is in the back “stocking.” I know she’s actually cramming for her upcoming geography exam after the break, so I don’t bother her for attention.

About 10 minutes pass before I’m ready to groan up at the ceiling in boredom for the third time today when a costumer walks in. The little bell on the door has my head snapping up and pulling me into character of the happy-go-lucky barista I am meant to portray.

The guy who walks in is unfamiliar, which is surprising this far into the semester. By now, most of the other Uni kids have come through the on-campus Starbucks in serious need of a caffeine boost or a calming tea. He has long black hair that looks extremely soft (seriously, what conditioner does this guy use?) and a sneer that could ward off anyone that dare try to talk to him.

“Hello,” I say cheerily, my voice cracking when he looks at me, sharp grey eyes boring into mine. “What can I get for you?” Mr. Death-glare glances up at the menu bored, then back to me. He looks tired, or maybe he always has bags under his eyes. Some people just look like that. “Coffee, black. Shot of espresso,” he mumbles. His voice is gravelly and low, and a weird feeling blooms in my chest. As scary as he looks, this guy is kind of…hot? I don’t know. Beauty concepts created by our society is weird, so who can really judge what is “hot,” right? Steaming milk is hot, for sure. He’s giving me a funny look and I realize I’m blushing.

“Sorry,” I mumble.

I don’t remember telling him the price or him handing me money, I only remember his fingers slightly brushing against mine as we exchanged currency for goods. He nods and begins to shuffle over to wear the coffee is usually delivered. “Wait,” I say, outreaching a hand in more of a gesture than an actual attempt to grab him, but he seems to flinch anyway. “I need your name – for the coffee, I mean.”

“Oh,” he says, and his sneer softens to more of a tired scowl.  “Basilton,” he says and turns away to go sit and wait for his coffee. Basilton – what a name. I have no idea how to spell it, and I doubt he would be okay with being bothered again, so I just shorten it. No one else comes in while I make his coffee or when I put it out on the counter, but I say his name anyway, wanting to know how it would sound coming out of my mouth. “Basilton,” I say. His head snaps up and he tucks his phone into his jacket pocket.

As he reaches for his coffee, I pull it away, a lame attempt to – well I’m not sure what I’m attempting to do, but I’m doing something. His sneer is back and his eyes seem to go from daggers to swords as he looks up at me. “What,” he spits. “Erm. I- I didn’t know how to spell your name, so I had to shorten it,” I stumble over my words. What was I doing? More importantly, why was I doing it?

His face doesn’t soften like it did before. His brows knit together in angry confusion at me, and I swallow in attempt to get rid of the lump forming in my throat. His eyes flick to the movement of my Adam’s Apple, or is that my mind playing tricks on me? I don’t know and I don’t care. I feel like a nervous wreck and my palms are sweating from the heat of the coffee – at least, that’s what I tell myself.

I scoot the coffee toward him and he glances at it, almost seeming surprised by its presence – like he had forgotten about it.

“E-Enjoy,” I say.

He grunts and swoops the coffee aggressively off the counter, turns, and heads out the door. My heart is racing and I catch myself lingering my gaze on him until he turns a corner and disappears. Agatha comes out from the back, stretching her arms toward the ceiling and looking like death but beautiful as always. Her eyes widen when meeting mine, “Whoa, Simon, are you feeling okay? You’re completely red and look like you’re about to pass out.” She reaches out to touch my forehead but I swat her away. “’M fine,” I say. “Just hot up here, is all.” I make my way to the back and sit down. For some reason, this guy was in my head and wasn’t leaving. I can’t figure out if I like it or hate it.

Baz

I feel kind of bad for treating Simon so horrid, but today is not the day to fuck around with Tyrannous Basilton Grimm-Pitch.

Firstly, I had to pull an all-nighter with Niall, the git not being able to understand the simple basics of Psychology.

Secondly, my father thought it would be a grand idea for me to stay at school over the break rather than come home so that I could “focus on my studies,” and he had no problem paying for me to stay. I know the real reason is because he cannot handle having an openly queer son at his event, but it’s not like I mind all too much. I just wish I had the option to stay with my aunt in London instead, but he thought that worse than me attending his event, thinking she may be a bad influence on me. Right, because the only thing worse than a gay son is a gay son with a rebellious attitude toward the government.

And now I think I’ve just offended my crush of over a year by being moody in the worse possible way. Seeing him close and personal with his blue eyes staring at me so kindly made me feel like shit. How dare he be even cuter up close, bronze curls elegantly disheveled and eyes darkened from the shadows. What’s worse is that I’m sure he is straight. I have no chance with him, but it’s nice to fantasize about the boy who sits 4 rows in front of me in Literature Lecture. Well, more like torturous. Not nice. Crowley, I am a fool.

As I round another corner, I remember Snow telling me he had put a nickname on my cup. I force myself to not trip over my own two feet as I look at the horrible hand writing that reads “BAZ” in black sharpie. My heart quickens and I can feel myself blushing. Hearing him say my name aloud felt impersonal, surprisingly, but the nickname scrawled in horrible chicken-scratch feels much, much more personal – almost friendly. Did he want to be friends, or am I reading into it? Then there was the teasing with my coffee earlier. Was that flirting or him being spastic? Honestly, I have seen him around campus enough to notice the random spurts of energy he gets, dragging a very reluctant purple-haired girl with him.

I shake the thought from my head, reminding myself that it was his job to be friendly – hell, he didn’t even know who I was, although I can’t say I blame him. I have always kept to myself in the back of the room, never wanting to alert any sort of attention.

Suddenly, I am no longer walking. Instead, I’m on the ground, boiling-hot coffee spilled all over me and seeping into the cracks of the concrete, edging toward dry leaves scattered about the ground. My arse hurts like hell and I don’t know what happened. I try to stand and realize the ground is more slippery than usual. “Fuck,” I huff. I maneuver myself onto a safer part of the pavement, avoiding the ice and my coffee as best as possible. ‘This makes 4,’ I say to myself, adding onto my list of why my day is absolute shit and why I have every right to be mean. I look back down from where I came, defeated, and start to head back toward the Starbucks.

Maybe Simon will pity me enough to give me a free coffee. Or at least a discount.

Simon

The bell rings and I come up front, ready to put on the smiling face everyone expects me to have. It’s harder this time, now that I know who Baz is. Agatha explained to me that he was in our Lit class and came from an extremely high-up government family, but wasn’t going home during the break because his father was embarrassed of him. I can’t imagine why, since he has the highest scoring in our school and literally speaks 5 different languages fluently.

I start to remember seeing him in class, seeing him before everyone else was seated in the room with his nose crammed into a notebook, or in the front arguing with the professor in a hushed tone over the reading material. I don’t know why I had never noticed him before? Maybe he didn’t want to be noticed. Whatever the reason is, I can’t help but to think about how he and I will be one of the few people stuck on campus during break. But I need to stop thinking about him because there’s a costumer and-

“Baz?”

Baz

This was a bad idea. A horrible, terrible idea. I thought that coming back to the coffee shop would give me the chance to clean up and regain some form of dignity. I had kept my head held high the entire way here and practiced my lines for when I came in. Simon was to say, “Hello.” I was to ask for the toilet, calm and cool, and he was to point in its general direction. Then I would clean up, say my thanks, and leave. I hadn’t even thought to buy another coffee to replace the old one, adrenaline having woken me up.

But that didn’t happen. Instead, Simon is looking at me like I had just walked out of the apocalypse with a massive wound I’m casually ignoring and called me Baz. I felt my breath hitch at the sound of him using the nickname. “What happened? Are you okay?” If I didn’t know any better, I would have thought he was genuinely concerned that I had gotten mugged or something – my coat is covered in a giant coffee stain and my hair is windblown everywhere, so it’s understandable. I tried to say something witty, but his eyes were so full of concern it makes me feel sick.

“Toilet,” is all I manage. He nods hurriedly and jumps – actually jumps – over the counter and starts to show me toward the restroom. As soon as we were in, I thought he would leave. But he proves me wrong and stays with me as I take off my jacket and wrinkle my nose at it. I always knew white wasn’t my color, and this is a sign confirming my thoughts.

I sigh and look up at Simon. His eyes are wide and his cheeks go from pinkish to almost red as I meet his gaze. “Do you mind,” I mutter. He blinks at me and sputters, “Oh. Right, of course. Yeah. Sorry, mate. I’ll just. Yeah. I’llbeouthereifyouneedanything.” His hip hits the sink on his clumsy way out and I hear him mutter a curse under his breathe. “Watch your mouth, we’re at work,” I hear a girl call from outside. The door closes and it’s quiet once more.

I splash water on my face and hold on to the sink, staring into the drain as if my problems could be washed down the drain with the water. But they can’t, obviously. I check my pants to make sure they’re not ruined – they’re not, thank Merlin. I plan to check for bruising back in my room – not here, knowing that Simon is outside my door and could come in any time he wished. I leave the restroom, surprised to find him not there, but instead at the register, humming to the overhead music and doing tricks with the cup as he moves about. As if nothing had happened a few minutes ago.

I attempt to sneak past him, hoping he was preoccupied enough to have forgotten about me. “Hey, Baz!”

Apparently not.

I try to put on my sneer, not wanting to talk about how embarrassing I am to the universe. But the effort to do so diminishes immediately when his eyes meet mine. I feel my face fall as I approach the counter, feeling suddenly drained and tired and in great need of a nap. I look up at him and say nothing, knowing whatever may come out of my mouth may come off as offensive.

“You okay, mate? You really had me worried. I’m assuming your coffee spilled all over you somehow. I’ll make you a new one, don’t worry about it. Black coffee with a shot of espresso, right?” I feel my head spin as he takes off from the counter and goes for the cups to his left. “No,” I try to say, but it come out cracked and weak.

“Did I get it wrong?” he asks, stopping in his tracks and bringing his full attention to me.

“No,” I say again, firmer. “You are correct, I just do not want a coffee anymore.” He blinks at me. Once. Twice. He puts the coffee cup back onto its pile. “Oh. Well, could I at least treat you to a pastry?”

I shake my head.

“Not even a sour cherry scone?”

I look at him suspiciously from where I stand. “Sounds like that’s made up, Snow.” He cracks a smile and laughs a little. His laugh is so amazing; I don’t think I could ever get tired of it. I want to hear it again, but I can’t just tell him that. I realize I called him Snow, his last name. Crisse, I think I fucked up. I never gave away that I know him, right? Crowley, he’s going to think I’m some stalker.

But he’s still laughing and that’s good, right? My mouth tugs a little upwards, but I fight the smile. I don’t want to come off creepy – unless I already have and Simon is only laughing because he’s weirded out by me and fears what I may do to him. He stops and looks at me, eyes flicking down to my mouth and then back up at me.

What does that mean?

Simon

He smiles, just a little. It’s so small and brief that I barely catch it. I feel myself uncontrollably smiling wide at him. “Well then, it seems like I owe you a coffee. Perhaps we can get one tomorrow? Or whenever you’re available.” Smooth, Simon. Real smooth.

Baz looks at me, tilting his head in thought, his once windblown hair back to its perfect, soft style. “Will you be here during break?” he asks. I shrug, “Living on campus, but not working since we’re closed. What about you?” I don’t want him to know that I know he’ll be on campus – that would come off as weird.

“Yeah, I’ll be around. Erm… see you then?” he asks, awkwardly waving at me.

“Wait!” I say quickly before picking up a paper cup. I flip it and the marker out of habit and write my number on it. “So we can contact one another,” I say. My heart feels like it’s going to leap out of my chest as he takes the cup out of my hand and examines it. Without a word, he reaches over the counter and grabs a cup and plucks the Sharpie from my hand.

From here, I can tell his handwriting is as beautiful as him. He hands me the cup with elegant numbers scrawled across it and I wrap it in my hands, holding it tightly to my chest.

“I’ll text you,” he says as he reaches for the bar of the door handle blindly, missing the bar twice before finally finding it and stumbling with it as it opened. A giddy laugh escapes me as I look back down at the cup.

Baz

Did I just get a date with Simon fucking Snow?

something else that has been on my mind lately is modern au zevran hanging out in starbucks for long enough that the staff would ordinarily start getting pissed, except that he is so pleasant and keeps giving tips, smiling and chatting at the baristas in between using their free wifi to research his next target

he crinkles his eyes when he sees a phone number written on the side of his newest cup, and teases and flirts until the barista retreats back behind the counter with their hands over their face. sips at his triple vanilla pump soy macchiato with a dash of hot cocoa and narrows down his target’s location for the evening with a few presses of a button, his mouth twisting in what could almost be a smile as he wonders what that cute barista would think of him in the morning. probably the same thing he thinks of himself right now, he decides, and pushes himself up with a small sigh before bidding each of the baristas a dramatic farewell by name, ending with a wink and a smile for still blushing barista

The scene in Mistborn that stuck with me the most was near the beginning of Hero of Ages when this one town was about to be attacked by Koloss but Elend shows up first and tells the mayor he’ll help if he recognizes Elend as his emperor, then the mayor asks if Elend has brought an army with him and Elend is like “I brought 2 armies actually but I arrived early so we have to fight alone for a while first.” And they start fighting the Koloss until suddenly Vin drops out of the sky like a fucking superhero and Elend tells the mayor “Yeah that’s the first army.” and when Elend and Vin finally take control of the Koloss he tells the mayor “Here is the second army” and the mayor looks at Elend like “Look here you little shit…”

The Search

Summary: After your baby daddy left you, Reid has been quite the hero, and happiness ensues after a particularly tough case.  

Warnings: Fluffy fluff

Characters: Specer Reid x reader, OFC baby Isaac, the rest of the BAU team mentioned

Beta: @winchester-with-wings my star and my love

Tags: Nada for this one

W.C. 1897 (Almost 2000 after not writing for months!! Yay!)

Notes: Be easy on me, please. I haven’t written a fanfic in ages, and Criminal Minds fics in much longer. But I got this idea when I was watching the show on TV and I finally had free time to finish it.


Tears sting your eyes as you look down at the file in front of you. This case is really getting to you. You have a baby at home, barely seven months, and being away from him is really starting to drive you mad. Not to mention this case is about babies stolen from their cribs.

With a shudder, you send your babysitter a text, trying to get her to Skype with you. You want to see your baby, and you want to see him as soon as possible.

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Title: Distinction of a Name
Fandom: Servamp (Age AU)
Characters: Mahiru, Kuro, and all the kids.
Summary: The five times Mahiru was called mom, and the one time he learned why.
Notes: @crazyanime3 - taking a break from the longer project, so I thought I’d write some random age au fic for you =) This idea has been on my mind since Lily called Mahiru “mom” <3

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Don’t worry about Ian/Trevor being forced onto us. Worry about Ian/Trevor being forced onto Ian

I’m seeing the same thing happening in 7x02 unfold, when Ian got convinced by Caleb (and indirectly by Lip) that he had to have sex with a chick, or else he would have been close-minded and uncool. And of course Ian fell for that and had full intercourse with a girl while fighting the strong urge to vomit.

Fact is, Ian has been sexually active since he was 14 (my guess is Roger Spikey was at that age), has never been single for more than a month since, and has prostituted himself in the past. If we leave out the friends he made while he was manic (and I’m going to leave them out because Ian doesn’t seem to have kept in touch with any of them), and if you leave out his family, Ian has never had a strong relationship/friendship with another man that didn’t involve having sex. The only platonic relationship Ian ever established was with Mandy, and this shouldn’t be surprising, since they share similarities such as poor self-esteem and hyper-sexualization of themselves.

So damn, if Trevor was as stable as they say, and as healthy as they say, he probably should interpret Ian’s doubts and questions and coldness as a sign that he either isn’t ready to have sex with him yet, or he never will be. Instead of mocking him by kissing him on the mouth and calling him ‘friend’.