How about ♠ with Starkquill? Please and thank you.
AN: This was so much fun! I’ve never written Peter Quill before, and honestly this prompt got me to finally watch GOTG. I’ve had it forever, but had never sat down and watched it. D: Terrible of me, I know. But I watched it to write this and OMG. I LOVED IT. Obviously I still have not seen the second movie, so uh… there’s probably wrong stuff in here? But I tried?
Also, this fic turned into a beast, and I maybe didn’t focus on the prompt enough. D: But I hope you like it anyway, @silver-twilight!
Beware of the ‘Read More’ thingy. <3
Peter had noticed Tony’s anxiety almost as soon as they’d met. It maybe wasn’t obvious to the unitiated , but Peter could recognize it easily. There wasn’t a person (or alien or experiment gone AWESOME) in his crew that wasn’t damaged or scarred in some way. They all had moments of panic, times when fear and regret took hold of them hard enough to reduce them to a pile of tears and the shakes. Peter’d had panic attacks before, and regularly found himself coaching his teammates - especially Drax and (strangely enough) Rocket - through their own. And while Tony wasn’t in a full-blown panic when they’d been introduced, Peter could see the warning signs.
He also noticed the way Tony’s eyes kept darting over to a stern faced man holding a brightly colored shield and the people standing behind him, a few looking actively hostile. Okaaaay… so there was probably some bad blood there. Like, maybe sorta like what had existed between him and Yondu. Because Tony was willing to stand with the group (the Vengeance Group or Renegades or something? he’d stopped trying to keep track of every team’s name) in the face of disaster, but it didn’t look like there was a whole lotta love lost between them. He could be wrong and regularly was, but he just got this sense that Tony was desperately looking for the blond leader’s approval even as he wanted that whole group as far away from him as possible.
Man, could he ever relate.
So instead of going on with the introductions, Peter stepped away from his own team, ignoring Gamora’s knowing groan and the way Rocket got his gun ready, and reached out to grab Tony’s hand. “Hey, I’m Peter Quill, better known as Star-Lord in the best, coolest parts of the galaxy. I was part scavenger, part mercenary and part thief before I became a hero - still am all those things sometimes. So I’m gonna steal you now, okay?” He waited just long enough to see Tony’s eyes go wide, but not long enough for anyone to protest. Laughing merrily at the start of this new adventure, Peter turned and pulled Tony after him, going through the members of his team - the team that would form a wall between them and any pursuers. He just hoped the Earth teams wouldn’t turn things violent, because they really kinda needed everyone alive to fight Thanos and his team wasn’t very good at holding back.
HELLO! I decided to draw the Squipsitter for you! I really love this blog and I love this angsty child, so I thought WHY NOT? Anyways, the shading’s really bad, but I hope you like it! <3 (PS I really love this blog so much!)
/// AAA I really like this!!!! The colors look nice dude, and I really like the shading?? Shading can be hard when ur doing traditional art so mad props to you man! Also their expression?? Accurate af. Angsty but happy. Thank you so much!!! I love this ((PS Thank you!! I’m glad you like it!!))
Man, Taylor Swift’s show was awesome. Right, guys?
I’m starting to think that all those guys who say they’re “taking one for the team” by accompanying their daughters or their significant others to Taylor Swift concerts have an ulterior motive.
Stay with me here. As I write this, T-Swizzle’s show at Time Warner Cable Arena Monday night just ended an hour ago, and here’s what’s sticking out in my mind:
▪ To my right, the twentysomething guy who was more proficient at reciting the lyrics to “Blank Space” than his female companion.
▪ The dad, about 15 feet in front of me, who was working on a set of moves during “Out of the Woods” that appeared to be a close cousin of Elaine’s dance from “Seinfeld.”
▪ The middle-aged man in the floor section, with his wife, who spent half the night trying to get a decent selfie in which he could make out Tay Tay shaking it off in the background.
Frankly, the past two times I’ve seen Swift at this same arena – in March 2013 and November 2011 – there seemed to be noticeably fewer male ticketholders, and the ones who were in attendance back then spent a heck of a lot more time with their butts in their seats and their cellphone browsers dialed into ESPN.com.
So what’s changed? The big thing is: She’s 25 now, and with each passing year, it’s gotten slightly less awkward for older men to find her attractive. She struts around her stage with confidence, she has a body that wouldn’t look out of place on a fashion runway and a face that appears not to have a flaw.
She also gets better, with each passing year, at creating earworms. Songs like “Shake It Off” and “Blank Space” are two off her “1989” CD that have burrowed into the brains of women and men alike, waiting to pop into your head when you get up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, then keeping you up for two hours.
But otherwise, Swift is pretty much the same young woman she was when she came here two years ago, aside from the fact that the former country singer has completely abandoned anything resembling a Nashville sound.
Swift is still segueing into songs by telling cute but rambling stories that wind up being mini-pep talks designed to boost her fans’ self-esteem. (Truth be told, all she has to do is talk directly to her audience in a way that doesn’t feel rushed and they’ll squeal as if she’s just announced she’s treating everyone to a free ice cream cone.)
She’s still changing outfits more often than an indecisive teenager shopping for a prom dress at Belk, with most of them baring midriff, showcasing her aggravatingly perfect legs, or blinding you with sequins. Or doing all three at once. (Outfit of the night: the lightbulb-covered dress she wore during “How You Get the Girl,” which blinked, twinkled, changed colors and generally increased the tour’s electric bill.)
She’s still finding a way to thrust herself closer to her fans without ever touching a single one of them, in this case rising a couple dozen feet above the floor via a catwalk on a hydraulic lift system that could achieve 360-degree range of motion, sweeping out over the entire floor. (During finale “Shake It Off,” Swift and her 12 male backup dancers were up there as it spun, she in a shimmery green dress, them in purple tuxes with short-pant bottoms.)
Perhaps most importantly, though, she’s still getting it done. Still grabbing a guitar and whipping her hair around like Dave Grohl during “We Are Never Getting Back Together”; still twisting and remolding well-known hits in daring ways (here turning “I Knew You Were Trouble” into a darker, moodier piece of music); still sitting down at a piano and putting peers to shame by playing it ably while achieving perfectly pitched vocals on “Wildest Dreams.”
All the marks of a big-budget stage show were still present, too: In addition to the massive/fancy catwalk, there were fireworks, confetti, smoke, her backup dancers, four female backup singers, giant paper airplanes, doors on wheels, light-up parasols, streetlamps that doubled as poles for those backup dancers to dance on… whew, hang on, almost done… and a massive video screen showing everything from clips of the pop star with her cats to montages of celebrities like Lena Dunham and Selena Gomez talking about how amazing and adorable Swift is.
To top it all off, the tour distributed 15,000 radio-controlled wristbands that flashed on cue, in various colors, making the place look like it was overrun with rave-ready fireflies.
And though you had to squint through the darkness to tell, if you looked hard enough – past all those girls and young women dominating the arenascape – you would have seen that that twentysomething guy had one on, and so did the dad doing the bad dancing, and so did the selfie-obsessed middle-aged man.
I wasn’t wearing one, though. Yeah. I think I’m sticking with that story.
“Don’t you love me?” Levi demands, his eyes narrowed as he lies over Erwin’s desk and tries to ignore the way Erwin turns back to his paperwork as though they haven’t just had sex in his office, as though Levi still isn’t sprawled spread eagled over the mahogany, creamy limbs over dark wood and the scent of desperation thick in the air. Erwin will have to open the windows later to air it all out, even though it’s twenty degrees out and the clouds in the sky look grey and heavy-bellied, ready to deposit snow all over the sidewalks.
“I do love you,” Erwin murmurs, but he knows it’s a weak statement, especially when he still refuses to do so much as slip Levi’s hand into his when they’re walking home together, just slightly too close so that if one squinted, one could see there was something beyond simple companionship stretching gossamer between the two of them. “I’m just trying to be discreet, Levi. You know how bad it looks.”
Levi sighs in frustration, sweeping his hand across the desk in a show of bitterness and knocking a plastic cup of pencils to the floor. They scatter bright rays of orange across the grey carpet, splashes of color in the drabness of the day.
“You’re an awfully hard man to believe,” Levi informs him, slipping off the desk and bending over to pick up his clothes. He carefully slots his limbs back into the fabric, zips and buttons all the creamy bitten flesh away, and Erwin mourns the loss even as he breathes a sigh of relief.
They steal love in fragments, in fractions, and Levi grows more insistent by the day, anger simmering hot at Erwin’s refusal to acknowledge the situation. Levi is no thief, and impatience runs high until he offers Erwin an ultimatum, love or respect.
The hesitation in Erwin’s answer is all that Levi needs to hear, and he’s out the door before Erwin can speak, carrying himself away.
What? There is a blog to accuse people of copying your dolls now? How stupid is that?
Every time I see someone screaming THEY ARE COPYING ME I can not help but roll my eyes. Generic characters dude, generic characters.
Pretty boys with black/red fur wigs and punky outfits-generic ( Everyone who is into Jrock and shit like that got one)
Pastel goth dolls with million hair clips-hundreds of them ( It’s a big fashion thing in Japan )
Crossdressing boys- lost count
Cute girls in tea stained or all white puffy dresses and cute curls-every third picture in the tag ( hundreds of volks girls on Flickr look identical)
Oh is your minifee wearing off the shoulder top and got dual colored wig? so are the hundreds of others ( and Andrea-esque faceups are common as dirt)
Tan Iplehouse man in a suit or rugged attire- Most of them are like that. (…because it’s fucking hard to find other clothes for them)
Don’t get me started on dolls with black lipstic, in steampunk outfits and every bloody doll that wears Dollheart Fer.
I have a dark haired Dia boy with a neck tattoo and there are four others in BJD tag. It does not mean we have copied each other…It just means Dias look bloody nice as that bad boy archetype.
Wrong way to deal with the issue:
THEY ARE COPYING ME!!! PURPLE HAIR SLUTTY BOYS BELONG TO ME I HAVE INVENTED THEM!! IF I SEE ANYONE’S DOLL THAT LOOKS LIKE MY LAI I WILL SET MY ARMY OF FOLLOWERS ON YOU
Right way to deal with an issue:
Oh you got a purple headed boy, who is a bit of shit and loves showing skin? We probably think alike and enjoy same kind of characters. LETS BE BROS!
Chill people. You can probably do a finger count of dolls that are truly OOAK and yours is not likely to be one of them so just accept that and enjoy your dolls instead of aggressively protecting your originality.