it's long and slow but it's beautiful

watching the run mv is such.. a nostalgic feeling… it just has this beautiful effect on you that makes you long for something (a feeling?? a memory???) and you just see them having fun yet theres such a negative story behind it all and then it ends and butterly plays and u see all these bloopers where theyre just having fun nd laughing n its just.. its literally like watching a coming-of-age movie but its jst bangtan’s slow rise to success

So I’m thinking about Root and Shaw’s relationship development (when am I not lbr) and I just really appreciate how slow burn it was. Has to be one of the best developments I’ve seen for a f/f pairing so far, well for my view. We meet Root in s1 and Shaw in s2, by s3 they’re both regulars now buuuut they’re nowhere near to the point of falling for each other. In fact, most of s3 Shaw hates Root with a passion and Root loves flirting with Shaw because she knows it annoys the mess outta her and she’s a little shit. Then a little further on in s3 they become friends with benefits or maybe enemies with benefits lol; just casual sleeping together that for the most part meant nothing. Shaw is adamant about not doing relationships and one night stands only (three nights if you’re lucky).

Then by the end of s3/early s4, that’s when feelings start getting involved especially on Root’s end. By s4 you can tell Root is falling in love day by day and them sleeping together is no longer just a no strings attached situation for her. She can’t even handle seeing Shaw ‘date’ other people even if it’s just for a mission and she’s very clearly on the verge of bursting from all these intense feelings that she has for Shaw. Shaw on the other hand isn’t quite where Root is feelings wise, she cares for Root a huge deal so much so that she prefers to stay with the team and Root rather than run off with an attractive thief, but because of her personality disorder she knows she’ll never be able to be enough for Root not knowing that Root was aware of this but really didn’t care.

Then 4x11 happens and they finally have 'the talk’ about what this is they have between them. Root drops hints that she really wants to attempt a relationship with Shaw but Shaw thinks they’d be too much and too lethal together, of course Root doesn’t mind, she just wants Shaw. Then they kiss for the first time on screen (this showed that the feelings were pretty much mutual between them now or at least Shaw wanted Root to know that she cares more for her than anyone else romantically) and then Samaritan captures Shaw and Root goes on a warpath to find her in the following months. You can tell pretty much all of the back half of s4 that she’s dying inside and is pretty much a hollow shell without Shaw.

Then comes s5 and we have no idea how Shaw’s feeling or how she’s doing etc. Then 5x04 airs and we literally see everything Shaw feels for Root in that one episode. Anyone that thought she didn’t care as deeply for Root as Root did for her was so very wrong. Shaw considered Root her safe place/her home, the only person she thought about when Samaritan’s torture got too bad for her. The thought of Root made her feel comfortable and like everything would be okay eventually. And in simulations she killed herself over and over instead of Root because she just couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to her.

After 11 months of separation, they reunite and this is where their relationship started really moving forward. Absence makes the heart grow fonder rung true in their case. Root admits she can’t live without Shaw and Shaw admits she’d rather die than have Root in any sort of danger. They take milestones with each other, the main one being Shaw letting Root hold her hand. From the outside looking in that seems like such a small non important gesture but for them?! It was everything and it said so much about how far they had come. And even their playful banter, Root’s flirting use to annoy Shaw to no end (so she says) but now? Shaw welcomes it with open arms.

They were meant for each other, Root always knew but Shaw needed time to figure it out and she did.

It took 3 full seasons (plus the last eps of s2) but their journey (what we got of it) was beautiful and I’ll always be emo af over it. Definitely a noteworthy slow burn imo.

8 Facts About Nebulae

1. Nebulae are a mixture of the gases hydrogen and helium, as well as dust and plasma.

2. The beautiful pictures of nebulae that the Hubble telescope beams down are actually three different channels of black and white, which are mixed and painted by scientists to produce the vibrant colors we see in magazines and on television. (The layers are painted according to the composition of the different gasses within the specific nebula.)

3. The word nebula means “cloud” in Latin; indeed, nebulae are space. Variously, the meaning has also been given to mean “mist”; it’s fitting, because their varying appearances sometimes do look like a cloud of mist.

4. The galaxy Andromeda was initially believed to be a nebula before Edwin Hubble proved that Andromeda was actually a galaxy all its own in the 1920’s. Before then, it was believed that other galaxies were merely nebulas and that the universe only consisted of the Milky Way.

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NOTHING NATURAL by Diana Hurlburt

They call him Prosper, a measure of mockery for each measure of awe.


You know the road to the laboratory blind, could walk it in your sleep—have, because sleepwalking is telltale of the godborn, so your mother says and touches your ankle in rare affection where it rests on the porch rail, one foot on the earth and one in the realm of spirits.

“Spirits,” she repeats, gesturing to the road below, the spindly pine woods and the yellow haze of heat and pollution that makes up your horizon. “He controls the spirits.”

There are no spirits, only neighbors: Men and women and half-made machines given to rust, the detritus of civilization. A plot of bloodless jackdaws, midway between flophouse and refugee camp. You know that part of her statement, at least, is true. The weak and weak-willed, the dying, the once-dead, the discarded and useless, the flagrant all require direction. Seek strength. Are used by those stronger.

Sicaria laughs and makes her crooked cross, murmurs her oblique prayer.

“Get out,” she tells you in sudden rage, “go to your master. Get out of my sight, you unworthy and unclean thing, you who have forsaken the ways of God, you who cleave to the machines. Your eyes see only falsehood.”


It is fifteen years since your mother was cast out. It is your lifetime that has been spent in wasteland, the between-place, the unplace beyond the pale. It is a pine island that shelters you, a fanatic who raises you, a scientist who uses your hands and your back and his daughter who considers your mind.

Your mind. You know you have one. All creatures do, born or made. It is the First Law of Being.

Your name. If Sicaria gave you one it has been lost. It was only after Prosper’s carelessness that anyone else tried—his accident in the lab, though he would never call it that, surely you were at fault, your clumsy hands too broad for fine work and your elbows always in the way. Acid scattered from a flask, droplets caught in sun. You did not scream; it wasn’t the worst pain you had felt. In the washroom Miranda’s hands were gentle, washing, salving. They slowed after the initial motions and your pulse followed. You examine your two faces in the mirror. If you had ever displayed beauty it was gone now, Miranda’s heightened by your face now scarred. Her luminosity beyond the human and your coarseness, a sun and its shadow.

Her hand stayed on your cheek after its necessity had lapsed. She traced the remnants of acid, specks and splotches, long fingers black and velvet like the touch of night. You believe her grasp could shift moons from their orbit.

“Calvaluna,” she said, a cantrip reshaping your vision of yourself. “I read it somewhere—where? I have never read a book. I don’t need to, Father put his knowledge into my head before he activated me. But I hear it.” She tapped her forehead, then yours. “I hear it. It means you. It suits you. Calvaluna.”

It was prettier than you, you knew that, a beautiful name. Prettier than most things. Not prettier than her.


When Prosper leaves the laboratory it is less a retirement for the evening and more retreat. He would never call it that but you believe him fearful, after all. The powerful always are. He swings himself like a cudgel upon exit, he shouts for Miranda to attend him and cuffs you, a passing blow, thoughtless. Brutality is his lever, rarely compassion.

You know his laboratory better than he does, you think, wiping down counters. You know his daughter, made in his own image but ultimately fathomless. There’s a phrase in Sicaria’s Bible that makes you quiver when you apply it to Miranda.

It is full dark when Miranda comes for you. Your laboratory is Prosper’s in miniature, piecemeal and theft-built, squirreled away in a shed in the woods south of the pine island on which the best of the unplace’s hovels are built.

“It was a citrus packing house,” Miranda says as she always does. Touches the frame of the door right and then left, stretches to her full height to brush its top. It’s a ritual the way your mother’s prayers are, her prostrations, her rages. “Before the Laws took effect there was an industry here. Fruit. Citrus fruit.” She looks at you, a delight on her face that would fire the darkness. “Can you imagine it, Calvaluna? Whole stands of trees with fruit on them. Wild fruit, just growing. Imagine taking fruit off a tree and eating it.”

Your imagination is not that good.

She goes to the single table in the laboratory and stands before it in a manner you’ve thought must be like that of the Israelites in the Holy of Holies. You are not supposed to know what that means. You are not supposed to have holiness in your life. She looks at you briefly, with mischief, and draws down the shroud you have used to protect the R.E.L.’s shell from rain.

“I think we’re close,” she says. Her eyes are fascinated, distracted; her hand reaches for you. “Come here, Calvaluna, tell me if this is calibrated properly.”

“You have your father’s knowledge,” you say. But you go and look at the R.E.L. with her. You’re proud of the effort, the work of your joined hands. You are not supposed to have pride, either. There is no pride in being raised beyond the pale. In being the offspring of a hanged woman, a witch they would have called her in days past, a lawbreaker too iconoclastic to be allowed in the city and too ineffectual to be executed, spared for her belly to the tune of mockery. Certainly there is no pride in your form or your face.

“I think he’s almost ready to revive,” Miranda says. Her joy is the only light in these woods. The sun exists, you know, in theory. Miranda’s face is your only evidence thus far, fifteen years alive and far from those spaces left which thrive in natural sunlight. She links her fingers in yours, her thumb rubs the calluses on your palm; she points with your hands to the R.E.L.’s blank and staring eyes, his half-human head, his chest with its missing heart and its new core of wires. “Oh, Calvaluna! I’m nervous. Are you nervous?”

Nervous is not the right word for what you are.


“Calvaluna,” Sicaria repeated the day you told her of Miranda’s gift. She scraped the tip of her ritual knife between her teeth, grinning. “An appropriate name for you, my aborted dream. I should have exposed you as a sacrifice to God.”

There is no god but human will. This is the Second Law of Being.


Your fellow-spirits are all will-bound to Prosper’s caprice. He makes the cogs of the community turn, greases the paths of food and potable water and herbs plucked at the witching hour that make life slightly less… life-like. Thus he is obeyed.

“Daughter,” Sicaria echoes. She spits at the trash heap beside the back gate. “Blasphemy. Blasphemy. Such words I hear from your lips, my burden. Who was it gave you speech, that you fling curses in my face? I think maybe you’re the worse for your time spent in that man’s house. I see you confuse craft for birth.” She broods, her fingers twitching at the strand of beads beneath her wrapper. “But there’s no more to be done. How else are we to live?”

Once, and only once, you suggested that perhaps her god might see to living arrangements, if she did not like how you were turning out under Prosper’s tutelage.

“Go.” She waves to the wood path. “I heard tell there was meat today.”

If there was meat to be had, you suspect it’s long gone now. Your fellow-spirits are avaricious. What have they but base pleasures?

“He’s in a gloom,” Miranda says, her face round and open as a poinciana pod. “He’s made me clean the laboratory twice over, and asked me to cook… something. I didn’t recognize it, Calvaluna. Lentil soup? What is a lentil, do you know?”

You know of lentils.

“You can’t make lentil soup,” you tell her. “He shouldn’t ask you to do things he knows are impossible.”

“He believes anything is possible,” she says. You love and hate to see her countenance. You remember a time when she would have spoken the same words in hope and affection. You know it is your fault, the way she is changing, her will a canker on the face of beauty. You wonder what Prosper will do when he realizes it. You ponder in the night, sometimes, this scholar whose eyes perceive all but the truth.

Perhaps you will be gone before he awakens.

“Race me,” Miranda says, but she takes your hand.

“How am I to race if you keep me beside you?”

“A race doesn’t have to have a winner,” she says, and begins to run.

She times these things impeccably. She runs so that you can almost believe the light follows her footsteps, that she leaves no mark on the earth. Dusk springs up behind you. You prefer night, its honesty; you prefer the real dark that would cover most of your world if not for artificial day. The unplace is a hive of night creatures. Your fellow-spirits are easiest perceived in dimness, their proclivities hidden and their countenances smoothed.

Miranda keeps your hand in hers and runs, runs, fearless and laughing. She runs like a dart flung toward the center of the south woods, the pine cloven by lightning looming over your laboratory. The pine grows despite the wound at its heart. It is where you found the R.E.L.—one of Prosper’s cast-offs, what he termed a failed experiment—half-dead and crumbling piecemeal to rust in dank rainfall.

She drops to the base of the pine and pulls you down and points up.

“I know of stars,” she says, her eyes searching as though Heaven might reveal itself. “The Southern Cross, the Swan. The Pleiades. Many more names my father gave me.” She touches her forehead, as she does when she speaks of Prosper’s knowledge, planted in her like seed corn. She is godborn more surely than you can ever be, gleaming divinity. She touches your forehead, your cheeks, the tip of your nose. “I think they must look like you. The stars beyond our sky.”

She traces the scars and specks and splotches. She draws new constellations and names them, her fingers a warm trail on your skin, her breath a promise.


Just once you asked your mother if you would ever leave the unplace. You did not then understand that no one came to the salt-strewn plots of land on the city’s outskirts by choice—no one laid eyes on the pine island and thought, I am home. It is far more difficult to leave a place you have not happened upon by choice.

“He’ll be a protector,” you say, pliers in one hand and cording in the other. “His new code will require defense. Otherwise…”

You look at Miranda and think of what might happen to her if the R.E.L.’s defensive code does not run as planned. You picture yourself and remember Sicaria’s dark jibes, her reminiscences of city life. You rub your upper arm where the contraceptive block had been implanted. It only prevents some things, can halt neither the heady mix of desire and aspiration nor flat violence.

“Defense,” Miranda says, her face solemn in its thinking pose, unaware of your thoughts. “Defense, financials, new birth records and identification…”

Her voice skips along, almost merry, a fertile stream in which to seed possibility.


The Third Law of Being is the inviolability of life. No one has ever explained to you whether the Law covers all life.


Light explodes behind your eyes when Prosper’s hand meets your skull. Or, you realize a little belatedly, it is the fault of the lab table, the edge of it kissing your temple. Air rushes from your lungs. You stare at the vault above the shed in the woods, its ceiling gaping in sections to reveal leaves, the white sky of noon.

Miranda flies at him, her face dressed in horror. You have never kissed her, you think. You would prefer not to die unkissed; you’d prefer not to die at all.

“Ungrateful wretch,” Prosper says. “Twisted ape-child, spawn of—how thought you?” He smashes his hand across the table. “How thought you to betray my kindness? To turn my own blood against me?” He lifts one of the R.E.L.’s arms, almost delicately. “Whore and daughter of whores. Thief.”

Small comfort to think his rage stems from fear, but it’s enough. Prosper would not be angry if he didn’t believe the R.E.L. was sound.

“You.” He points to Sicaria in the doorway. One of your fellow-spirits has fetched her at his command and she is in a state, white-eyed and gagging on anger. “Take your mooncalf in hand, I never want to see her again. Corruptor.”

He catches Miranda and snares her arms, wrenches her close, covers her head with his hands as though she is innocent. As though healing and reviving the R.E.L. were not her idea. As though a child can be born of only one parent. The R.E.L. is your inheritance, legacy of unnatural issue, a being greater than the sum of its creators.

“This abomination will be destroyed,” Prosper says. Sicaria prays in the doorway, her eyes not on you nor on the R.E.L. but searching, seeking. She hates the sight of machines. Had the city not cast her out for improper worship she would have repudiated them anyway.

“He is an R.E.L.,” Miranda says. You stare despite the throb in your head, the blood in your eyes. Her voice remains soft, wondering, a caress on the cyborg’s clinical name. Aerial, a creature of movement and possibility. “Robotically Enhanced Lifeform. Give him his name, Father, lend some pity, even if you thought nothing of flinging him into the trash when he failed to serve you.”

“Abomination,” he repeats. “Homunculus, deformity—daughter. Listen. Calvaluna has done wrong in her ignorance but you… you are not ignorant, Miranda.”

You marvel at the blindness of the learned man, the man cast out for his learned ways, the man who has made the wilderness blossom in decay. Lord of chaos, king of the misruled.

“God be with me in this hour,” Sicaria prays, her hands on either side of the doorframe. “God be with me in my pain, God give me strength for the task before me, God grant me…”

Me, you mouth. God be with Sicaria, and science with Prosper, and neither passionate belief nor dispassionate prowess sustain them. Miranda looks at you from beneath her father’s hands. Her smile is your signpost, her trust your life raft. Your fellow-spirits are like unto you only in substance: Crude matter, blunt usefulness. Miranda is your true equal, beloved of your soul. Her eyes remain open.

Your eyes must remain open. You must get up. There are but two steps between you and the table, one step in the scientific process, a bare nudge of your fingers at the master switch. Miranda’s being is in your hands.

On the table, the R.E.L. casts off slumber and rattles to life.

im 3600 words into this cinderella au fic and kuroko is just reaching the castle doors. and i can’t just give up bc i already made two fanarts based off of This Specific Fic. it was just supposed to be a short oneshot ahhhhhhh T_T

Ok so here is the crazy plot twist! Murder mystery/thriller, two queer women, season finale, neither dies, they end up together, happy, with kids… It’s revolutionary 😭

Happy Birthday.

Since it’s best boy™ Birthday, I’ve decided to write a little reader x Ryuji thing, I hope you all enjoy it!

This is my first fan-fiction ever, so bear with me ;A; any feedback is appreciated, criticism is also wanted!



Surrounded by the darkness of your eyelids, you could faintly hear the sound of an alarm in the distance. Faint sunlight peeking through uncurtained window caressed your soft skin, a messy blanket half-covered your body as the mattress wrapped you in comfort. but slowly, the sound of the alarm was getting louder; like it was pulling you from the unconscious state you’re in and into the waking life.

You could finally feel your eyes open internally, greeted by the red of your eyelids meeting against the sunshine, you slowly opened your eyes.

The ceiling was a bit cracked, you remember it leaking water whenever it rained. the trees outside reflected their shadows onto the room, giving a peaceful and gentle atmosphere in the room.

You reach out to your phone under the pillow and turn the alarm off. surprisingly, this is the first time in years you haven’t pressed snooze. you slowly turn and sit on the edge of the bed, the creaking can be heard by the people outside. looking around you can spot a bookshelf in the distance filled with informative books you barely read, the owner of the apartment was happy enough to hand them to you. either that or he wanted to get rid of them. next to it lied a calendar and you could see the huge, red circle you outlined on today’s date. a smile shined on your face as you stood up. stretching and yawning in the process.

You grabbed the Phone and opened the messenger; writing a short message and pressing send.

You: Up for a run in the early morning?

You lock the phone and throw it onto the bed next to you. to the room’s left lied a blue door leading into a reasonably sized bathroom, the bathtub still had that red stain in it. it was faint, but you have no Idea where it came from. It didn’t bother you much as much as it bothered other people.

Turning the hot and cold water at the same time; reaching an average temperature level. you took off your clothes and crossed your arms, waiting for the bathtub to fill up. anxiety and fear built inside you, the thought of his birthday sent a shiver down your spine. Grabbing one of the unused lush bombs in the worn-out basket, you threw it in the tub and jumped straight in.

The warm water surrounding your body, the soap touching your skin and the shampoo cleaning your hair wasn’t enough to get you relaxed. Could the others prepare this well enough? Will Ryuji know? What would happen if he declined your offer? After realizing how long you’ve been in the shower, you quickly get up and drain the water.

grabbing the blue towel hanging on the edge of the sink, you wrapped your body with it as you dried your hair with a hair dryer. Making sure you look absolutely wonderful for the day ahead. Your closet was filled with unused clothes, but you’ve specifically saved one of them for this occasion.

Getting out of the shower, you saw no new notifications on the phone. You decided to go and check up on him directly. grabbing the apartment’s key and locking it as you went outside.

Taking the train to his house, your phone vibrated. Informing you of the message you received from Ryuji.

Ryuji: It’s not like you to ask for a run in the early morning.

You: You’re coming or not?

Ryuji: Did I say I’m not?

Ryuji: I can’t miss out on a run with my partner, can I?

Ryuji: Where you at right now?

You: Taking the train to your home.

Ryuji: For real?! Shit!

You: I’m almost there so get ready fast.

You give a faint smile and Lock the Phone, you arrive at the station; Getting off the train and taking a short walk to reach Ryuji’s house. You knock at the door and he almost instantly opens the door up. Hair’s a mess and the clothes are unadjusted like he just threw them on.

“Did I keep ya waiting?” He flashes his smirk.

“No, but you need some adjusting” You say teasingly, pinching the edge of his nose.

“So, where we runnin’ today?”

“I was thinking Tama River.” You propose the Idea.

“T-Tama River? Isn’t that a bit far?”

“We’ve got nothing else to do, plus the scenery is nice there.” You start moving and he tags along, you sigh in relief. he doesn’t even realize today’s his birthday.

After a long walk, you finally reach the starting point for the run. Tama River lies west of central Tokyo, Tama River Trail is a long and winding trail, roughly 50KM long. It was the perfect running place for enduring runners wanting a long course. You and Ryuji took a quick rest and drank a bottle of water to quench the thirst for the upcoming run.

You had begun your run, and Ryuju following after. The long and bumpy trail made it easy for the both of you to trip. The trees swayed in the wind and the river was far off in the distance.

Midway through the run, your ears were greeted by the rushing and gently overlapping sounds of the water. You spied a gem-blue stream It was seeping and dribbling as it swerved under the bridges of Tokyo. Chords of light shined from above, bathing its surface in gold. It was a sight to truly behold.

The scenery slowed you down, and once you realized it Ryuji was far ahead. catching up to him, you saw the shining golden hair under the bright sun; sweat dripping down his forehead and a frowny expression made its way towards his face. Regardless of the sweaty clothes that stuck to his body and highlighted his features, you couldn’t help but smile and admire the beauty next to you. You felt grateful for the intimate relationship you two had shared and is still sharing.

After a long run, It was almost evening. You had worried the others didn’t contact you. checking your phone regularly which also made Ryuji worry.

“Hey, you ok?” Ryuji said, lifting an eyebrow in question.

“Yeah, I’m fine, I’m ju-” your phone vibrates and cuts you off. you quickly check to see and it’s the rest of the Phantom Thieves. You felt your heart drop in the moment when you read the message.

We’re ready, take him to Leblanc.

You Locked the phone and hid it away, glaring at Ryuji as you said: “The others want us at Leblanc, They’re saying it’s urgent.”

You grabbed Ryuji’s sweaty hand and dragged him, not giving him the chance to speak.


After a train ride to Yongen-Jaya and some distasteful looks from the adults, Leblanc was just a few steps away. You could feel your heart throbbing in against your chest, your body sweat like it never did before, a faint headache made it way into your head. The streets were dark, your eyes couldn’t see anything except the possible outcomes for this reveal.

You slowed down, letting Ryuji enter before you. your breathing got heavy and your body turned hot.

When Ryuji opened the door, he heard it.

The sound of confetti poppers going off, the sounds of the lights turning on. and the sounds of his shouting friends.

You pushed the frozen Ryuji inside and followed after. The whole café was covered in birthday party decorations, the confetti hanged around the tables, the ceiling has been filled with balloons and a cake that says “Happy 17th Birthday Ryuji!” with four candles on top sat silently on the table.

The others pushed Ryuji into sitting, he was still shocked from the sudden event.

You sat right next to him, gesturing for him to make a wish and blow the candles. he silently closed his eyes, and after a few moments he blew the candles off. Sojiro handed the knife to Ryuji, a smile swept across everyone’s faces as they watched him try and slice the cake.

When he finally sliced the first piece, everyone shouted and started clapping. He quickly dug into the slice of cake fiercely, leaving a lot of frosting all over his mouth.

You wrapped your arm around his head and gently brought him closer, you dropped your lips on his for a kiss, licking the frosting off his curvy lips and licking yours after.

He quickly snaked his hand around your waist and brought you closer, resting you on his lap as he went for another kiss, but this time it was deep.

The others were watching the moment of intimacy and affection. after you two broke free from each other, Makoto quickly mentioned the group picture.

The group practically jumped all around you two, as Makoto adjusted the Camera accordingly and sat the timer.

She quickly ran before the camera snapped, and immediately before the snap, Ryuji wrapped his arms around you and had you in a headlock position. The others shouted “Happy Birthday” as the camera snapped.

Creating one of the most beautiful memories he ever had in his life.

dogpantry  asked:

Super just curious, 100% not judging, not trying to debate, really just wanna here your thoughts bc RoyAi thoughts are Good Thoughts and I too don’t think Roy and Riza were Best Friends before Ishval was over: how do you see their relationship having developed in canon??? It’s fun to imagine them being Young and Into Each Other but at the same time they were v formal at the funeral and in Ishval sooooo I often wonder how they *fell* in love (that seems too simple a term for them but anyway...).

MUAHAHA im excited to answer this [and i wanna say someday ill write it out, but lets be real, im mostly a oneshot kinda gal]. and ok it got longer than i intended but i have so much fun writing about them:

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anonymous asked:

songs that remind you of your otp?

Ahh this is a tough one anon. But I have a few. Hmm let’s see.

To me, Kaisoo is a perfect combination of romance, angst and sexual tension. So something sensual and very sexy always tends to remind me of them.

Love in the sky – The Weeknd. Favorite. I can listen to this song on repeat and never tire it. It was actually some of the inspiration behind the dialogue in Delirium. (If anyone could figure that out) xD

There are too many sensual songs, so I’m just going to list one and let that be it. We’d be here all day. I’m a smut writer and yes, I have a long playlist. (dm me if you want the playlist)

When I’m in a romantic mood, there are a few songs that remind me of kaisoo:

You – Jesse Powell. Love this song, its so beautiful. Its a nice slow jam that I feel resonates with them and I can also relate to the song personally.

Nothing In This World – Keke Wyatt and Avant. I adore this song. I love everything about it. It’s nice to listen to and reminds me of kaisoo.

Don’t Let Go – En Vogue. This reminds me of Kaisoo so much. The lyrics. omg. Here is the opening:

What’s it gonna be
‘Cause I can’t pretend
Don’t you want to be more than friends
Hold me tight and don’t let go

Now the angst part of kaisoo is just so heart wrenching. I have a few songs that remind me of kaisoo for this too:

Climax – Usher. Ugh, there is so much I could say about this song. I mean its Usher and I love him, and this song gets me emotional.

Emotional – Carl Thomas. Speaking of emotional. lol. I really love this song since I was younger and kaisoo reminds me of this.

Pretty Wings – Maxwell. I will admit, this song has made me cry being in a similar situation. And for some reason, it just reminds me of kaisoo.

This post is getting pretty long, so I’ll stop here. But there are so many songs that remind me of kaisoo. Since I listen as I write, I typically end up associating a song to the fic I’m writing, and in turn, it reminds me of kaisoo. It always happens. But there are times when I hear a song, and instantly, kaisoo pops into my head…then again, when am I not thinking about kaisoo? Lol. Thank you for the question anon!

anonymous asked:

Hey! Can you recommend me some fics in which Lexa and Clarke have a family or end up building one at some point?

hi lovely! 💓of course, here are three of my favourites but note that these are rlly angsty b/c y’all know me, i’m angst trash. so if you want some fluffy clexa family fics… i’m prob not the best person to ask 

there’ll be no clear skies (if i lose you baby) - clarke and lexa are divorced and share a daughter together but there is still so much love and pain between them i just love this kind of angst. its a slow burn fic about rebuilding their family. the way the writer writes reveals the story and their history in a beautiful, captivating way. a true masterpiece, this is one of my all time favourites!! 

and we grow - clarke finds out she’s pregnant and lexa is her best friend and helps her raise her child. its such a beautiful and angsty story and its also torturous b/c they’re so perfect together yet they don’t realize it 

if love’s so easy, why is it hard? - clarke and lexa have four children and they suddenly lose one of their children. its a slow long fic but oh so good, i love to put on some music and just read this fic to escape. its painful but i am so engrossed in their journey,, i hate myself why do i love pain so much

I have to admit that I like almost everything about modern sonic games except the gameplay style

I just truly honestly cannot get used to it even after playing for hours and it’s not really fun for me :(

I really want to like it but I just can’t get into it. I understand why other people like it though. It’s just not for me I guess.


The Nighteyes Reagent Archive: Writer’s Notes

The Frost Flower has long been considered one of the most rare and beautiful plants in the Spiral. This delicate-looking plant is unique in that it thrives in extremely cold climates and permafrost soils, but strong enough to withstand the gusts of mountain blizzard wind. Because of its icy nature, its petals are ideal for use as cold storage of other reagents to slow down the decomposition process.

aries - you are an anchor trying to swim and the fish are tearing their castle down around you but please hold your breath for a few seconds longer i promise you’ll breathe again

taurus - your theories about two a.m. texts and green hoodies could be true but you won’t get the answers you want by locking the questions up in that pretty little head of yours

gemini - i know your eyes are focused on that blinding future just ahead, but do you miss it? the wind in your hair and her hand in yours and adventure calling our names? do you miss feeling like you could live tomorrow and die yesterday and still be okay?

cancer - big and loud is how you’ve been playing it lately, and you’re about to burst from the stress of it all. just let yourself dance for a second and regain balance. all will be well.

leo - buckling down is hard and that tantalizing distraction on your arm isn’t making it any easier to smooth the wrinkles out of the papers lying on your desk so wave him away to a cloudy day and focus. you can do it.

virgo - to-do list: 1. slow down. darling, you’ve been running for so long that nothing is chasing you anymore. 2. watch the sunset. let its lavender rays pull you into its lukewarm hands. i’ve always thought that’s where you belong. 3. call me. i miss you.

libra - find the balance between tumbling through grass and cartwheeling across stages because if you don’t steady yourself soon you’ll pull this movie set down around you

scorpio - you’re not a part of a horrible beautiful crazy mess right now and you miss it terribly but don’t let that punching curiosity get the best of you and fall into an old sadness you can’t explain

sagittarius - you must be sick of hearing your own voice by now but you need to keep unraveling the stories she hasn’t heard yet to keep her sane. we’ve all known for some time now and you may not want to admit it but she is flickering from the harsh winds of teenage tragedy so keep talking until you are background noise yet again

capricorn - the unavoidable truth is that you can’t solve all your problems in one night and i know that all you want to do is dig your hands deep in the dirt and solve everyone else’s instead but steep that tea a little while longer and breathe in the words i’ve left for you

aquarius - break out of the fort of emails and letters and broken hearts that you’ve built around yourself and go on a quest to clear your mind. take a magnifying glass and butterfly net and chase a bug that isn’t buzzing around your head. don’t come back until you catch one.

pisces - the taste on your tongue is sugar sweet and the butterflies have shed their cocoons and learning to feel like this again is like tripping over your feet at a middle school dance but you’ll pick yourself up again to the beat of drums

—  horoscopes, 10/5 - 10/11
New story: The Night Garden

 I don’t know where its going, or how its going to pan out, or how long or short it will be… not much to go on, sorry! If anyone read the short Beauty and Beast I posted, this kind of spun off from there, in a very abstract convoluted kind of way.

I do know it will be a relatively slow burn Klaroline, in fact, they may not meet for a few chapters in this one initially as it has a much richer background story and character building (hopefully). It is also a dark and angsty fic, so don’t read if that isn’t your thing.

Caroline Forbes has a secret. She is an extraordinary girl in an ordinary world. But when her brother goes missing, and she discovers his hidden quest to reach the mysterious Night Garden, she begins to question everything she thought she knew about her world and the things that go bump in the night.

Read the chapter here

misteruniverse-deactivated20170  asked:

ok but diet coke and mentos in the sans ectotum

Warnings: #Fast Weight Gain #Belly Expansion #Implied Stomach Popping #Soda Inflation #Mentos and Soda Experiment #Giant Gut #Belching

“…hlp… hic!” A burp. “ hhff… hic! ughh…”

Sans lay prone on his backside, feeling dizzy, hazy and utterly foolish. He was silently thankful he was within the safety of his bedroom. This ridiculous “experiment” he’d concocted would have been disastrous if performed in public.

One fizzy candy and one bottle of diet cola, that was all he needed to test his theory. He could have gone with the MTT ™ Cola from the Hotland Hotel snack bar. 

But no. He had to go digging in places he shouldn’t have. Like the dump, where he found a case full of discarded but otherwise untouched human brand soda pop. A thick, enticing two liter bottle of chocolate-colored fizzy delight, still vacuum packed and cold thanks to the chilly depths of the dump. Probably lost during a wayward camping trip. 

He’d never tried human food before, so who was to say it wouldn’t do for a cool set of variables. 

He’d been dying to test the limits of his monstrous appetite. That whole “diet cola and popping candy” challenge seemed safe enough– at least as a good precursor to the later, more daring banana and lemon cola challenge. It didn’t even involve that much food! Just a simple chemical reaction with measured results. Like a dumb old science fair volcano. What harm could it do?

Apparently plenty. 

a-all for– hic! s-science i said– hic! hlp– hiccup- hic!” A groan. Another burp, interrupted but an untimely onslaught of hiccups. “ulp… it’ll b-be hIC! f-fun i said– hicCUP!! hic! hIC!!”

He weakly reached up massage his bloated middle, but barely so much as touching it would send the bubbles burbling around within him. They combined, increased in size, multiplied, and pushed his already distended gut out an extra inch. Sans whimpered and hiccuped, the jolts from his spasming ghostly diaphragm jostling the steadily expanding magical sac even further. Oh god, he hoped he didn’t pop. He’d be out of commission for days if that happened. 

And yet, at first this sensation had felt incredible

The act of filling up was pleasant enough on its own, but the fact that this required one tenth the usual effort eating usually took made it somehow even more wonderful. Any way to make things the lazy way was a-ok by Sans (at least at first).

As much as he enjoyed the whole eating process, especially when it came to Grillby’s fantastically unhealthy cooking, the fact that all he had to do was lie there on his creaking mattress and watch in fascination as his magical blue sac filled in all the gaps on its own was both fascinating and satisfying. 

One long gulp of the whole human beverage and one whole packet of candy– no sense in beating around the bush (…yeesh, maybe papyrus was starting to rub off on him). The reaction of the acidic material combining with basic was almost beautiful to watch, the dark foamy compound swirling and bubbling and quickly dissolving into a gassy, oddly less sparkly, more opaque magical solution. He heard the mixture pop and fizzle, almost as if it were alive of its own accord. Simple, yet so brilliant. 

It had been slow at first, inching little by little of the flabby membrane up and outward. What was once a flabby deflated stomach (he’d skipped lunch in lieu of curiosity) was now slowly creeping outward, bubble by bubble, burble by grumble. The millions of bubbles from the fizzy drink tickled as his tummy stretched further, prompting burps and hiccups as it expanded at a steady pace. It felt heavier earlier than he’d expected, most likely thanks to the thicker, more solid human world cola alongside the sparkly, magical monster candy. 

Sans watched on blissfully drunk, giggling giddy as his stomach expanded outward from the front and the sides, slowly pressing him down onto his mattress. First one foot out, then two, then three– then four! It just kept on going. It felt so exciting, even when the edges started to pinch against his pelvis and ribs. 

But then it started to hurt. 

And it wouldn’t stop growing. 

“ohhh– hlp hff– hIC! hic! i-i gotta– hic! l-let some of this– hic! g-gas out!”

He searched, phalanges fumbling at first, but soon became desperate to find relief as the bubbles of fizzy human beverage foamed and expanded further, bloating his gut almost two more feet at once. 

It took some work– ohh he hated working– but Sans pushed through his dizzy fog and fits of hiccups, catching some troublesome bubbles along his generous love handles, then up and long his sides– wherever he could reach most easily. 

BRUUUAAAAAaaaghmphhh! hic! hiCUP! b-BRAAAAAAUUUUMP!” He huffed, finding more slack near his pelvis and pinching the bubbles as quickly as he could in his sluggish state. 

Oh god– he was so big now he couldn’t even reach his arms all the way around. His belly was so engorged and wobbly, it kept him prisoner on his own bed. He would’ve been proud if he weren’t in so much pain. He almost felt betrayed that something so beautiful to look at was causing him such distress… but then again, this whole mess was his fault to begin with. But he could worry about blame later!


Even more slack, and yet somehow his stomach continued growing. If he didn’t act soon, he’d paint his whole room (and medical bill) in fluorescent blue. 

“hff hufffff– hic! alright buddy, you wanna pla–hicCUP! hic! h-hardball?” Sans gulped, summoning every inch of magic he had in his left eye, focusing on an extra dark spot at the very center of it all. He grabbed it– it held!– and flicked it to his right side. With a wince, he gave the thick, dark bubble a hearty pinch. 


It felt like a 9 on the Richter scale at least. sans was certain he heard the window rattle, and was quietly thankful that Papyrus was out training with Undyne. 

And just like that, it was all over. Apparently he’d hit the center of where the reaction was going wrong. His belly continued to make fizzy, popping noises mingled with the usual gurgles and burbles of a full tummy, but the bloating had been stifled. 

And not a moment too soon, Sans realized. He marveled upward at the results of the experiment gone wrong, panting and moaning, the hiccups not yielding. His belly towered over him a good length away, his clothes long since pushed away by the sheer force of the bloat. He looked… (he couldn’t believe it) he looked at least as wide as he was tall. That wasn’t much, but it was the furthest he’d ever gotten in his binges. 

Sans couldn’t deny that the results were astounding. Human food combining with monster food was not a good variable to start with, but boy did they bring in the results. 

As he stared, catching his breath, he figured a change of clothes would be a good way to start the damage control. He was still fairly tired, but if he was going to pass out he was not going to pass out in his sweat and spit drenched sweater. He was going to pass out in a shirt he’d drenched in sweat yesterday. 

As he pulled it off and slipped on a six XXXL MTT Concert tee (it still didn’t fit him past his ribs, but it as something), he noticed that his magical sack had compensated for the lacking space between his ribs and pelvis all on its own, forcing the membrane to grow upwards along his ribs and form extra pockets closer to his sternum that almost resembled… well, moobs for lack of a better word. Hopefully Papyrus wouldn’t notice. Well… if he did, he could always fall back onto boob jokes. 

In spite of his discomfort and exhaustion, he patted the magical belly in thanks for potentially saving him– pleasantly surprised that it held a lot of give thanks to the pesky trouble bubble popping away. He tried to push himself upright to get an even better view, but the weight of the encased magic stubbornly pressed back down. After a few false starts, he propped himself up against the far wall, wincing as gravity acted accordingly on his gut, pressing it painfully on top of his femurs. He spread his legs out (fairly far out), and adjusted the waistband of his shorts, causing even more of his unseen gut to spill forth and jiggle onto his lap. 

“ulf… hic!” he let out a small burp, looked down, then did a double-take. “hic! w-whoa… hicCUP!” 

Sans had been right. He was as wide as he was tall, if not more. 

He wrapped his legs around his front in an attempt to sit cross legged, but his toes did not even come close to touching. He could barely see the mattress beyond his bulging middle. This was, without a doubt, the biggest he’d ever been (well, at least as far as he could remember in this timeline). 

Hesitant at first, he tested the side of his gut, pushing it and prodding it in certain places to see where the give came and went. He was stunned, but gladly so, to feel it was starting to change from taught and firm to plush already– maybe it was because most of the mass was caused by trapped air and foam rather than solid magical foodstuffs. He pressed it, caressed it, marveled at it, thankful to finally come down from his panic as he watched in hazy wonder. It wobbled back and forth, rippling like an enormous vat of blueberry jello. Sans snorted, the giddiness returning. 

“hic! talk about- hic! talk ‘bout -hic! hicCUP! t-talllllk ‘bout …empty calories…” 

He giggled at his own joke, causing his belly to wobble more. Which only made him giggle harder. It was a vicious cycle only interrupted by squeaky little hiccups. Soon he was a mess of jiggly giddiness, and could only fall to his side and slowly laugh himself to sleep, staring fondly at his experiment-gone-wrong-gone-very-right. 

Maybe, in the future, he should experiment with human food more often. 

Body language analysis of 2x14

Lexa has contemplated Clarke’s words from earlier and came to the decision that Clarke is a smart, capable leader and knows her people better than she does, so she will heed Clarke’s words, and leave Octavia alone. Clarke’s feathers are still ruffled from earler. When Clarke comes to a stop to the side of Lexa, she rest her weight to one side of her body, her hip sticking out, her chin up. This is a defiant pose. Her face and her body says, “what the hell do you want?” When Lexa tells Clarke of her decision, Clarke’s eyebrow twitches, she’s wondering how Lexa has done a complete 180° since she saw her last. She blinks twice rapidly, indicating she’s shocked Lexa has decided this. Lexa looks away from Clarke, “I do trust you, Clarke.” This is a difficult admission for Lexa. Clarke quickly looks down and to the left, thinking (as always) of the right thing to say. She steps into Lexa’s space, her face reads sincere. She wants Lexa to know she appreciates her trust. Lexa turns to look at Clarke, reading her eyes. She seems to have also contemplated everything Clarke has ever said to her because her next words of, “you think our ways are harsh…” are completely unprompted. She deeply cares what Clarke thinks of her and she doesn’t want her to continue thinking that she and her people are “savages.” Lexa says this and nods her head slightly,  acknowledging that she knows exactly what Clarke thinks about her and her people. She wants Clarke to understand instead of judge.

“Maybe life should be about more than just surviving.” Clarke looks away, contemplating her own words, undoubtedly reliving everything she and her people have been through since coming to earth. Lexa’s brow furrows a tiny bit, Clarke’s words hits her pretty hard. Lexa’s eyes widen slightly, she scans Clarke’s face, she examines her throughly as Clarke continues to looks away. She mulls over Clarke’s words briefly. She stares at Clarke’s mouth like she’s starving. Her bottom lip quivers slightly. She’s going through a plethora of varying emotions in this moment. This is a prime example of her internal struggle with Heda v. Lexa.

She takes a very deep, long, audible breath but it’s far closer to a gasp than anything else before she responds with, “maybe we do.” She’s still staring at Clarke’s lips, a tell tell sign of the desire to kiss someone. It takes every once of courage in Lexa to reach for Clarke, she moves swiftly as to not lose the courage she’s managed to muster up.

Clarke looks taken aback and stunned, she blinks rapidly twice before closing her eyes and opening her mouth. She more than welcomes this kiss although she’s more than shocked by it. Once they begin to kiss Lexa is no longer brazen. She’s timid, reserved, and gental with Clarke. They fall into the kiss more and more and Clarke brings her hand around Lexa’s back to pull their bodies closer. She’s wholly lost in this embrace. The longer they kiss the more confident Lexa becomes. She sweetly runs her nose along Clarke’s, switching sides to deepen the kiss further.

This brief moment of their lips parting snaps Clarke back into reality. Her face, with her eyes still closed says, “wait, Clarke, no.” She shakes her head a bit, her eyes still closed and softly apologizes to Lexa. She doesn’t want to hurt her feelings and she knows she needs to handle this delicately. The second Clarke stops the kiss, Lexa’s hand snaps away lighting fast. She jumps, startled out of the moment as well and takes a step back,  away from Clarke. She respects Clarke’s boundaries. Before Clarke speaks again, Lexa examines her face. Her lips tighten slightly. She does not know what Clarke is about to say next and she fears the worse.

“I’m not ready to be with anyone,” is said with sincerity and a shake of her head indicates as much. Lexa’s mask is back on. She’s put her walls back up to prevent or pretend this isn’t painful… to be denied by Clarke. She tilts her chin up too, this is this is a power move, this says, “you can’t hurt me.” It’s more so reassurance for herself. She searches Clarke’s eyes. Idk what she’s looking for exactly, maybe hope. Which is given to her when Clarke says, “not yet.” Clarke means “someday, maybe, I could see myself with you.” Her brow quirks and her head shakes. Her face says, “can you understand this? I don’t mean to hurt you but I can’t do this right now.” Lexa’s mask immediately slips right back off. Her eyes aren’t hard anymore but they are open and bright. She’s staring at Clarke with reverence. She searches her eyes once more looking for the truth behind Clarke’s words. She finds it quickly and gives a slight nod in understanding. But then she looks down, a cloud over her eyes. She’s very, very disappointed. But she does understand. Clarke looks at Lexa with regret and apologies in her eyes.

Rating: ★★★★

Genre: Poetry

Medium: Paperback

Synopsis: Faudet discusses his previous relationships and lovers with tantalizing prose and poetry.  He allows the readers an insight to his life, and to the various situations he and his lovers have been in–whether it’s watching hentai, having sex out in the open, or watching his lover deteriorate from a harrowing drug addiction.

Review: I bought this book at Barnes and Noble simply because it looked pretty, and because the few poems I flipped to were so well written.  When I entered it on my Goodreads, I was pleased to find out that this was a book on my To-Read list!  So, over the course of the next two nights, I curled up in bed and let myself be taken in by such beautiful poetry.

After reading this in its entirety, I realized two things: his short poems and longer poems are spaced out in a way that ensures you don’t read it too quickly or too slow, and that this was one of the most erotic things I’ve read in a long while.  His writing is beautiful and sensual–a type of writing that immerses you in it, that you need to bask in.  In all honesty, I don’t read a whole lot of poetry, but let me tell y’all that this book will easily find its way to my ‘favorites’ bookshelf.


The white Elven-tree alone [Tar-Aldarion] spared; and when the woodcutters were gone he looked at it, standing amid the desolation, and he saw for the first time that it was in itself beautiful. In its slow Elven growth it was yet but twelve feet high, straight, slender, youthful, now budded with its winter flowers upon upheld branches pointing to the sky. It recalled to him his daughter, and he said: “I will call you also Ancalimë. May you and she stand so in long life, unbent by wind or will, and unclipped!" 

– Tar-Ancalimë (Huda Naccache), Tar-Telperiën (Ajuma Nasenyana), Tar-Vanimeldë (Noor Bhatti), and Tar-Míriel (Leila Nda)

Hetalia Fanfiction Rec (FrUK Edition)

Slightly longer than the other one, so I’ll try to keep the blurbs short :)

For other ships, I read every pairing, so I have plenty of recommendations for USUK and AmeCan and the like, not to worry. If I ever get to them is all!

  • Trip the Light Fantastic, by cowbellgalore: France/England: They’ve spent their whole lives dancing. Now there’s time for one last dance. -human names- AU

A wonderful story–beautiful in its simplicity. Slightly sad ending, but lots of happy memories to make up for it. The author also writes adorable FACE family, too cute to put into words.

  • The Art of Being Emotionally Detached, by Save the Rave: It took being boxed on the ear and getting his hand sliced open by a teacup for Francis Bonnefoy to realize he was in love. AU; FrUK oneshot.

Perhaps the most strangely outstanding take on France and England’s relationship. The style of writing is one that is difficult to come by nowadays, but it’s oh so fitting for this story.

  • Fish Paste Sandwiches, by Gentleman Crow: Retired Wing Commander Arthur Kirkland of the Royal Air Force had no time or patience for strays and vagabonds, of the four-legged variety or otherwise.

Not a ship-centric fanfiction, but comforting and well worth the read. There’s nothing like two lonely souls in a heated war, even if they do come from separate species. Will fulfill all Neko!France needs for at least a week.

  • Lysander, by Zalia Chimera: A bar after curfew in occupied France; three German soldiers, an unexpected encounter and maybe the renewal of France’s hope. England/France

A WWII story, but quite different from any of the others I’ve read. Very descriptive, a peek into the realities of German occupation in France.

  • The Voltaire Correspondence, by The Goliath Beetle: Historical!Hetalia: It starts off as a petulant demand from France to England - smuggle the writer, Voltaire, back to Paris. It ends up as an irregular but meaningful correspondence between two long-standing rivals, as they go through the ups and downs of revolutions, wars, and Shakespeare plays. -Friendship fic, sort of France-centric- ONESHOT.

Less romantic than the others. Characterization and historical accuracy is spot-on, with a dash of humor and comfort.

  • Deals with Death, by Nationless: How far will someone go to save themselves? Arthur has been asking himself that question ever since he died ten years ago. After working under Death for nearly a decade, his freedom is now in sight. But, the latest addition to his Kill List will make him question if it’s really worth it. Warnings: Character death of questionable permanency.

While all of the others are oneshots (I’m sorry, I don’t have much patience for long-winded stories), this is a multi-chapter. The intriguing, albeit slightly slow beginning leads to a very dramatic finale. There is a sequel in the process, though not completed.

  • What Lies Beneath, by woodbyne: “I wish I didn’t have to know the longing of unrequited love.” France muses about England. One-sided FrUK. One-sided USUK.

If you’ve read my other fic rec, you would know that I love angst, and this is no different. Perfect in its phrasing, beautiful in its heartbreak. A wonderful story.

First things first: this is my candidate best fanfiction ever, and that’s saying something. The words flow together impeccably; the metaphors and symbolism are flawless. The ending leaves you with something indescribable: part wistful, part longing, part hopeful. I am completely in awe of this. 10/10, thumbs up, would highly recommend, oh my god I can’t even…

  • Dancer Dearest, by JeSuisUnePomme: FrUk Oneshot. “I dragged my eyes up your form before meeting your smiling gaze and my heart did a double cabriolé from my chest into my throat…I will never understand why you had come to stand in front of me the first time we met, I insist I’m quite plain, hiding behind papers and pencils, sketching the world as I see it.” Dancer AU prompt.

One of my favorites. A simply and beautifully woven tale of young love, one I’ve read and reread countless times. Something I save especially for rainy days.

Check out my account (Andante Cavatina) for more recommendations! Nothing’s changed: writing’s still crap, but I promise the recs are good!

I’m also looking for quality Hetalia fanfictions! Any pairing, any website (preferably, but as long as I can read without an account it’s fine).