it's a queue people

…..HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY YA’LL??

Ok so this WAS just going to be a quick sketch, but- I’ve never done ANY sort of ship art before, at least- None that I can REMEMBER… So I thought it’d be really nice to start on Valentine’s Day!

AND IT ALSO KINDA DOUBLES AS AN EARLYISH BIRTHDAY PRESENT TO ALAINA EVEN THO I WANNA DRAW HER SOMETHIN ELSE AS WELL. YEP. HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAR!!

And also I really really REALLY love this ship so like. Win win :D

[Bubblegum belongs to me!]
[Zigzag belongs to @alainaprana!!]

WHAT IS LUNARRY DAY?

  • a day to show all of our love and appreciation for the ship between harry potter and luna lovegood

HOW TO PARTICIPATE

  • maybe reblog this post to spread the word?
  • make any kind of lunarry content you want
  • follow this blog to see all of the lunarry day posts (and its regular ones!)
  • tag your post(s) as #lunarryday so everybody participating can see all of your amazing content and you track it so you can see everyone else’s

WHAT TO MAKE

  • gifsets, edits, headcanons, graphics, fan mixes, drabbles, text posts, aesthetics, fanart, moodboards (pretty much anything you’d like involving luna and harry)
  • feel free to make more than one post!

THE DAY ITSELF

  • lunarry day will take place on march 18th, so everyone has more than enough time to make content
  • all day on march 18th, you can post your lunarry content using the #lunarryday tag and please don’t forget to reblog and spread other people’s content, too
  • if you have any questions feel free to message me or send me an ask
  • can’t wait to see all of your lunarry posts!
3

Mah Babies~💗

8

one of my favourite things to come out of bvs are the comments about wonder woman’s theme ‘is she with you?’

anonymous asked:

hello sorry to bother you but may i ask how you put shapes onto your icons if you could do a tutorial please? your icons are amazing

It’s not a bother at all, and Thanks! :)

This is gonna be a little long, so a tutorial on how I make my icons w/ shapes

will be under the cut

Keep reading

SNOWDRIFT:


PoV Story: Snow is Falling
Tribe: Icewing
Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation: Aromantic Heterosexual
Age: 14 (Arc 1), 17 (Arc 2), 18 (Arc 0), 20 (End)
Alignment: Chaotic Good
RPG Classes: Bard, Trickster, Berserker
Favorite Quote: “( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°).”
Other Quotes:
- “I must say, it’s ice to finally meet you, your Majesty.”
- “Oh, don’t mind me, I’m just here to provide comedy relief.”
- “Aren’t I just a special little Snow-drake!”
- “What, too many heat puns for ya? Eh, you know what, you’re probably right. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to just chill out for a while.”
- “Simmer down, Hot-Stuff, I’m just messing with you. Try not to kill me just yet, alright?”
- “I guess you could say you’re Press’d for time!
Key Character Traits:
Humor, Nonchalance, Wit, Charisma, Smugness.
Phobia(s): Nyctophobia, Ophidiophobia (fear of snakes).
Close Relations:
- Flurry (his mother), Tidepool (His lil’ bro), Cocoa (His cranky sis), and Valley (His big sis/other-mother), Peril (a friendly(?) rival).
- Sorrauul (his enemy from birth), Darkstalker (a fellow Proxy).
- Slate (unknown), Precipice (unknown), Dusty (unknown).
Shipped With*: Nobody. (crackshipped with Peril and Burn)
Affiliations:
Talons of Peace, Skywing Army, Jade Mountain Academy (Arc 2).
Mental Conditions:
Anxiety, PTSD.
Physical Description:
Primary scale color is dull white/very light blue. Under-scale color is a slightly lighter shade of blue. Wing membrane color is white with dark shades of blue along the edges. All of his scales have dark-blue blood stains along the edges as a result of his “backfiring” technique. The bases of his horns and spines also have blue stains. His eye color is an eerie combination of standard Icewing black with dark-blue cornea. Snow keeps his serrated claws and extra spikes blunted so he doesn’t accidentally harm his friends. He gets random nosebleeds from time to time.
He wears a silver ring on his left horn as a gift from his mother, who wears a matching ring on her right horn.
Physical effects of Snow’s “backfiring” technique*: His repeated use of backfiring has rendered him almost completely immune to physical pain. This comes with a few drawbacks, though; Snow has a particularly fragile physique as a result of his backfiring, so he can be easily wounded if he isn’t utilizing it. However, if he is utilizing it, he becomes a practically unstoppable force, with his scales being hardened profusely by frozen droplets of his own blood. Said blood droplets also harden into razor-sharp points if they push up from under Snow’s scales. Finally, once Snow has begun backfiring, his scales will radiate hypothermic temperatures which will inflict frostbite on most attackers upon contact.
Snow can also use his hypothermic scales to combat both firebreath and firescales, like Peril’s.
Members of his Talon group (two months before Arc 1):
Group Leader: Mire (Mudwing) (58)
Flurry (Icewing) (53)
Geyser (Skywing) (30)
Valley (Sandwing) (18)
Cocoa (Mudwing) (14)
Snow (Icewing) (14)
Tidepool (Seawing) (13)


Bio:
Snowdrift’s egg was smuggled away from the Ice Kingdom by his mother, Flurry, who wanted to escape the War of Succession to join the Talons of Peace after her mate had been killed in battle.
She made it safely to a Talons outpost, and, after explaining her predicament, was welcomed to join the ranks. Flurry felt confident her egg, and the dragonet inside of it, would be save from now on. She was wrong.
By an inconceivable stroke of luck, Flurry’s egg harbored the first Icewing Animus in five thousand years. As wonderful as this should have been, it would turn out to be a horrible misfortune, for the unborn dragon held massive reserves of magic as a result. This made him a beacon for the malicious Sorrauul, who’s ethereal consciousness encircled the world in search for the strongest descendants of his daughter, Majirra.
Two years after the Brightest Night, mere days before hatching, a fragment of Sorrauul assaulted the Icewing dragonet’s mind in an attempt to murder it’s consciousness and inhabit it’s body. It was a brutal cycle that had occurred hundreds of times in the past; on the outside, the newborn Animus dragonet would appear to be having an endless mental breakdown from the moment it hatched. On the inside, however, it was locked in a mental struggle with a fragment of Sorrauul. The struggle could sometimes last up to a week after hatching, but in the end, the dark fragment would always wind up sending the dragnet into a permanent state of shock, leaving both their bodies and their magic in the fragment’s control.
The fragment’s struggle with the new Icewing dragonet, who had been named Snowdrift, started out no different than any other. Little Snow was traumatized, and tried desperately to shield his infantile brain from the suffocating darkness, but it just wasn’t enough. He could feel his body beginning to tense up, his mind was going blank. In a last-ditch attempt to save himself, Snowdrift called upon his freezing breath, an Icewing’s most deadly weapon. But instead of exhaling it out of his mouth, Snowdrift tried directing it inside of himself to attack the invading darkness.
By backfiring his frostbreath into himself, he was able to freeze his body from the inside out. Remarkably, the action didn’t kill Snow, but it did cause him a remarkable amount of pain. But the immense pain was enough to snap the baby dragon back to his senses, and the ice coating his insides stiffened and eventually numbed his body until he simply couldn’t feel himself anymore; it was just his mind and the fragment of Sorrauul’s.
Snowdrift remained in this frozen state for several days, and all the while, his mother was horrified at what had become of her dragonet. She had never seen or heard of an Icewing freezing themselves, so she had no clue what she could do for her son. The other Talon members in her sect feared for the worst, and they tried to offer her condolences, but it wasn’t enough for the distraught mother. She was convinced that, not only had she lost both her mate and her only son, but is was also all her fault, as well.
You can imagine everyone’s surprise when the baby Icewing awoke a few days later, sobbing, screaming and shaking like a leaf, but perfectly alive.
Snow had somehow managed to hold off against the dark fragment, which had caused it to weaken significantly. But unfortunately for Snow, that darkness wasn’t well and truly gone just yet. In order to regain some of it’s strength, it latched onto the part of Snow’s mind that was most exposed to it; his magical reserves. In doing so, it permanently put his magic on lockdown. Despite this, the darkness was incapable of actually using Snow’s magic without having full control of his body, but it also preventing Snow from being able to use his own magic either. It was probably for the better, to be brutally honest.
Snowdrift was none-the-wiser about his Animus qualities, and neither were the rest of the dragons he grew up with. To him, he was just a regular Icewing with a dark side so terrible that he had to take extreme measures to ensure that it never surfaced.
[TO BE FINISHED LATER]


(I’m SO sorry if this is too much text. I’ve had a long time to develop this guy, and I didn’t want to leave any info out.)

(submitted by @tyfye49)

in the South

i.  you wake up under the willow tree, your hands covered in red. must be strawberries. strange, though, how you can’t remember anything. stranger still, strawberries don’t grow this time of year.

ii.  you watch the kudzu vines stretch out over roads, houses, trees. it can grow ten feet a day, they say. yet it always seems unable to cross over the churches’ holy grounds.

iii. there are so many abandoned houses. more unoccupied then lived in. a red x appear on your neighbor’s door. you shudder. they’re next.

iv. “grow up in the South, stay in the South”: the mantra is repeated over and over. no one ever seems to leave. you don’t know who’s guarding the borders or why they keep you here. you don’t ask questions.

v.  smoke and the smell of roasted meat fill the air. someone’s having another bonfire. you ignore the screams.

vi.  don’t take candy from strangers. a man in a red car appears in the street. obediently, you leave your house to visit him. returning his pointy smile and admiring his horns, you take the sweets he offers you. he ain’t no stranger.

vii.  haint blue keeps the spirits away. all the houses are covered in it. the paint’s begun to chip on your house and you hurry to repair it. sun’s going down. the hairs stand up on the back of your neck. paint faster, paint faster, before it’s too late.

viii.  you laugh with the girl who just stopped by the bar. nigh breathless, she speaks again. she slips and her real accent comes through. her face pales. the room goes quiet. all but the humming in your ears. outside, outsider, outsider. you step forward, butcher knife raised.

smowkie  asked:

"#also i am thirsty for some ballerina!Stiles #like secret dancer Stiles that nobody except scott knew he practice twice a week" I mean, I dont think anyone would mind if you wrote a fic or a headcanon about it... just saying. ;) ♥ (ilu and I've missed you, but i hope you had a great time and that you're doing well despite the world being horrible and people like trump & pence existing)

Here my dear :) I tried! This was written really fast during the night, so I’m sorry for the crappy quality. Hope you enjoy this little headcanon anyway :D

Originally posted by englishballetandtea

Originally posted by redfar

(Thank you to the great Sergei Polunin, who will always be the perfect dancer!Stiles to me. You can find one of his video here. Enjoy :p)


There was a black and white picture at his nana’s house, small and slightly crooked, lost in an old frame. Stiles was only a kid when his grandmother took it off the piano to show to him for the first time.  
The girl inside the picture was tiny, thin, with dark hair severely pulled back in a tight bun. Her face was turned to the side, her arms held high over her head in a graceful arch. She was wearing a tutu but the other details of her silhouette were blurred into yellow hues by the years.

Fascinated, Stiles sat near his nana and listened to stories of her youth in Russia. Of cold winters and women with warm blood and laughter. Of the peaceful studio with its dark wood and unending mirrors, and of the beautiful girls and boys that worked there every day to turn their bodies into art.
His nana kept getting more pictures out of old books, clips of newspapers in an unknown language or beautifully lit shots of dancers on stage. In the photographs, she was only a young girl, frail and beautiful and flying with the grace of a bird.

That’s how it all started.

In his nana’s living room, with her standing tall and proud on her old, damaged feet. At seventy years, she still looked tiny and weak, but she spun him around the room without effort, her feet quick and light. Her white hair floated and her smile was the most beautiful thing Stiles had ever seen.
On the sofa, his dad was clumsily trying to hum some classic melody, all eagerness and no rhythm. His mom laughed at them all and clapped, her enthusiasm and happiness intoxicating the room.

At five years old, Stiles bought his first ballet shoes. They were tiny, shiny and pink, and they didn’t make a sound when he walked shyly into Ms Muller’s dance studio. The wood in the room was bright and glossy, and light spilled all over the floor from gigantic windows. They were only seven other kids in the room, and all of them were girls.

Stiles didn’t care.

Ms Muller’s hands were strict and demanding, never treating them like the children they were, but her voice was warm and full of compliments. The weeks passed, and while Stiles started to tame his body into the foundations of grace, his brain stopped trying so hard to pull him in every direction at once.

In the studio, in the middle of the terse French words, the glittering music and the soft sounds of slippers on wood, Stiles discovered for the first time what peace felt like.
 

At seven, he swirled on the playground, arms held high in the air like his nana’s pictures. A kid pushed him hard into the mud with a sneer before calling his other friends to laugh at him.
From there on, Stiles decided to keep his love for ballet and his school life separate.
 
Scott was the only point of intersection. From the first moment they met, Scott was sincerely interested. He came to many of Stiles’ practices, sitting quietly in a corner of the studio and looking at them with big, brilliant eyes. Ms Muller often tried to convince him to join but Scott always refused, blushing and babbling excuses about his asthma.
The girls still got him to dance with them sometimes, dragging him along to join them in silly warming exercises. Scott once received Ms Muller’s congratulations on his fourth position and Scott had beamed at midair for three days straight.
 
Then, Stiles’ mom left them after months of terror and tears.
And Stiles danced.
 
He danced in the studio, in the dirt of the forest, between the suffocating walls of his room.
He danced for hours, pushing, bending his body.
He twirled fast enough to keep the world spinning, jumped high enough to keep breathing, learned to bow low enough to keep from breaking.
At night, his feet bled, his knees screamed in constant pain and his body turned into one big hurt.

But his mind was blank and he was able to sleep.
 
He didn’t dare ask for more.


 Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Your blog is such a great place to be. Loving support, genuine appreciation, awesome fandom/fan culture meta, the most amazing writing I have ever had the pleasure to come across (really, you are my most favorite writer in the whole world), wonderful understanding of mental issues and hot, kinky erotica with no shaming whatsoever. You seem like such a wonderful person and the worlds you build are so awesome!!! Thank you so much for everything!

Naw this is the nicest message I swear. <3 Thank you so much, anon. Glad you enjoy the blog! I like coming here too, you are all so awesome, and very patient with me, given that my mood sometimes drops at the moment with everything going on and I’m not always correctly picking up tone and stuff in people’s messages.

Thank you for the message! I hope you’re having a great week!

anonymous asked:

i guess i definitely am one of those people, I mean, I've lived and felt what Jack is feeling before and well, most authors don't really write those experiences well or accurately so when reading the latest updates I felt myself go 'woah'

I definitely think you’re not alone, anon. I know there’s quite a few of us who read to kind of go through that angst. I know there’s readers who basically can’t wait for the angst to be over, but in a way, I’m not actually one of them. Like I live for those moments of comfort, but only if they come from hurt first. I need to go through both, somehow, to feel like I’ve really been on a journey with the character.

And I’m really glad this stuff resonates with you and gives you something that you don’t often find, it’s one of the reasons I write this stuff in the first place, because I don’t often find it myself. <3