maybe top three

It’s honestly so weird to me the reasons people give for disliking blupjeans? Because the most common response is ‘it was so rushed’ but like? Taakitz was rushed too? I mean, from the listeners perspective they had maybe a handful of interactions and only one actual date and we KNOW they didn’t see each other again after that date, ‘cause Taako went to Wonderland and then Kravitz was trapped.

But with blupjeans there was a lot of buildup to their relationship? From the end of The Suffering Game (i don’t recall any moments before that?), we know that Lup means a lot to Barry. Then we get into The Stolen Century arc, and yes we only see a few interactions, but there are A LOT more than there were for Taako and Kravitz. We see them go from Lup teasing Barry cause he’s a nerd to them being friends, to Barry’s massive crush and then that duet??? Like they got a lot more of a backstory, a slow burn romance backstory, and Taakitz had like? Barely anything?

I don’t mean any insult by this, everyone is allowed to have their own opinion, it was just always so weird to me? And I have LITERALLY nothing against Taakitz, like ‘reckless flip wizard and nerdy bounty hunter of Death’ is very much the best, but? Blupjeans is just as important. Trans people in hella straight relationships are just as important. (and if she’s also got a poly thing going with Lucretia that’s super super cool? Who knows)

Every LGBT character is as important as the next. Unbury your gays, but don’t bury the trans characters in the aftermath, my dudes.

EDIT: someone pointed out in the tags that it’s totally possible that Taakitz had more dates than just that one and I completely forgot about that in ttazz! Yeah, they defo had more dates, each just as cute, but it all still happened within the span of a couple months versus the century of blupjeans buildup. Blupjeans probably seemed rushed since it all, to us the listeners, took place over a few episodes, but please keep in mind that from our perspective Taakitz was only in maybe three episodes tops!

all for love || stiles stilinski

word count: 4174

warnings: none

prompt: collab with @sarcasticallystilinski

author’s note: happy lacrosse week everyone! this is my first part of lacrosse week with hay! we are very proud of this one and we hope you have as much fun reading as we did writing!

masterlist

coming soon

Keep reading

My Favorite Color Is You

Ronan/Adam, 2.3K words, Rated Mature (here on AO3)

Well, folks, I finally caved. I read The Raven Cycle (thanks @exhuastedpigeon), fell in love with Ronan/Adam (as one does), and just had to write some fic. I had a couple ideas that just wouldn’t leave my brain, so there’s this one and then another one that I hope to have posted soon. ❤️


“So…why are we here?”

Ronan frowns harder, if that’s possible, and stares down at his menu. Glares down at it, actually, as if the descriptions of sustainably-raised pork shoulder and thoughtfully-prepared duck breast are offensive to him. Which they probably are.

“Appetizer?” he asks, in lieu of answering the question, and the sheer incredulity of it—Ronan Lynch in a fancy restaurant, asking him about appetizers—makes Adam want to laugh. “We can split the calamari.”

“Sure,” Adam says slowly. He’s evidently in some kind of alternate universe. “We can split the calamari.”


Driving up to the Barns is Adam’s all-time favorite view.

It’s true all the time, but it’s even more true when Adam is coming back after being away at school. (Exponentially more true when it’s been seven weeks, not that he’s counting.) The colors are more saturated here, closer to what colors are supposed to be, and it seems to always be sunny when he comes home—he’s not sure if that’s a coincidence or not.

He hastily parks the car and hops up the stairs, but the door whips open before he even crosses the porch. His face automatically relaxes into a smile at the sight of Ronan, lounging and taking up all the space in the doorway, then his gaze drifts down. Ronan’s wearing nice gray slacks, a blue button-down, and a tie. He looks good, obviously, but it’s unusual enough that Adam pauses.

They have an unspoken tradition for nights that Adam comes home, and Ronan wearing nice clothes usually isn’t a part of it. Ronan wearing clothes at all usually isn’t a part of it.

“Hi,” he says anyway, ignoring the clothes for the moment as he steps forward. Ronan wraps him up in a hug, blessedly familiar even after 51 days apart. His arms are tight, and Adam feels all his pieces snap together again, here on this porch. It doesn’t seem that Ronan will be letting go anytime soon, so Adam twists in his grip to press their lips together. It’s fierce but short, and Adam chases Ronan’s mouth when he pulls back. His eyes catch on the tie around Ronan’s neck, and he touches his collar. “So what’s going on with the whole…”

“We’re going out,” Ronan says abruptly. “You should change.”

“Going out,” Adam repeats. Going out isn’t usually a thing that they do, especially dressed like that. Did he forget about some kind of event with Declan or something?

Ronan nods and releases Adam enough to usher him inside the house. “And hurry. We have a reservation.”

A reservation, Adam mouths as he climbs the stairs. His nicest shirt is in his dorm room, he thinks, but he’s able to scrounge up a decent enough outfit out of the closet in the bedroom, in which his clothes are thoroughly mixed with Ronan’s.

The drive is a little awkward, awkward like it hasn’t been since they first started dating, back when they weren’t really sure how to interact with each other under the guise of their redefined relationship. But Adam asks about Opal, and about the farm, as if they don’t talk at least twice a day already, and Ronan perks up a little.

They arrive at a restaurant that Adam’s never been to before, one at the edge of town that looks fancy and vaguely Italian. Ronan strides toward the front door of the restaurant, but Adam’s pace falters behind him as something occurs to him.

Ronan’s not…he can’t be proposing, right? Sure, Adam loves Ronan practically more than life itself, and they do a mostly-successful job co-parenting a mostly-human child. He’s always assumed that some kind of official partnership thing was in their future—and based on the secret conversations they have in bed with the lights off, the ones they don’t repeat anywhere else, he knows Ronan feels the same—but he expected that future to be a little more…in the future. After Adam’s graduated from college, at least.

He tries to shove that thought from his mind and catches up to Ronan in the front waiting area, where he’s hissing Lynch, 8:30 at the poor hostess. She leads them to a table for two in the corner, complete with a white tablecloth and a goddamn candle. At least Ronan doesn’t try to pull his chair out or anything.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

May I ask for some YOI fic rec blogs, too? The ones you like/follow? Thank you for your time!

okay, this one is easy to do! these are the first ones that came to my mind!

@victuurificrec aka THE fic rec blog. a ton of recs. the reason my chrome has frozen from the amount of open tabs.

@daily-yoificrec i’m kind of happy this one isn’t updated daily atm, i never got anything done ahaha

@yurionficrecs a brand new blog! only a week old. seems great so far!

@victuurispecificrecs 100% victuuri recs and fanart of those fics!

@smallyoificrecs recs only less known fics! go find those hidden gems here

@nsf-ice nsfw victuuri recs, plus sometimes other nsfw victuuri content!

and then, of course, i have to mention my ao3 bookmarks that i’ve marked as recs. you can see them here!

Submission time :) (Had to repost)

Okay guys, here’s my fun assignment. Many of you know my friend gainerboynick, who has been the subject of two of my stories so far. Well he wants a third one written, and boy do I love writing for this cute ball of fat.

Here’s where you come in: I want to know what you, the readers, want to see happen to Nick in my next story. Go read my two other stories and try to think of the next piece in his fattening life.

All you have to do is comment on this post what scenario you want, and I’ll pick the best one.

I will be on vacation for a few days, so this gives you plenty of time to voice your opinions.

Hell, maybe I’ll do the top three stories ;)

Get to thinking ❤️❤️

Alec: Ok, so you know how Magnus almost died?

Jace: Yeah, sorry abou…

Alec:  And that I told him that I love him for the first time rigth?

Jace: Yes…?

Alec: …HUm…You told me you need to talk to Clary right?

Jace: Yes, but Alec what are…

Alec:… YEAH! you know… you should… maybe you should stay here you know… don’t go to the loft, try to talk to Clary here, stay here in the institute to talk to her… here in the institute… with her… here because she lives here in the insitute, so you should stay here…

Jace:

Alec: …for an hour, maybe two… three tops.

Jace: Alec… Are you and Magnus going to …

Alec: ok bye!…

anonymous asked:

Darcy and Bucky. 60: Before you decide to murder me, let me explain...

“Damn neat freak. Why can’t he just leave things out where I need them?” Darcy muttered as she shuffled through Steve’s desk as carefully as possible. If she’d had more time to take photo evidence and ensure she put everything back where it was, she would have. But she’d only been able to convince Nat to kick Steve’s ass for two bouts in the ring, maybe three tops. She didn’t want to encourage too much saltiness between teammates, after all.

“I don’t know if it’s the army or your own tight-assed nature Steve, but why the hell do you have to hide your stuff?”

He’d let her go through his sketches a week earlier and she’d found it. The perfect image she needed for her next attack on Sam. Steve had doodled him as a pin-up model, flirty posture, heels and everything. And it was the exact logo she needed to brand her new assault. Literally. If only Steve hadn’t taken away the notebook as soon as he heard her mildly evil chuckle. Spoilsport. 

If she could just find the damn sketchbook.

She had just started gently rifling through the sock drawer when there was a soft click and the door swung open behind her. Her hands clenched and she plastered a placating smile on as she turned her head. But her teasing cajole died in her throat. That wasn’t Stevie Wonder Boy at the door.

It was Bucky.

Shit.

“Before you decide to murder me, let me explain…”

Keep reading

Keith works out, Lance ogles happily, Pidge tries to analyze the nature of their PDA ... she swiftly regrets all the things.

Some very kind people have sent me some very kind asks and made me feel better about being sick lately — and suddenly, my fingers were doing a thing on the keyboard? This thing, specifically? Just, everyone is so very nice, and I hope you like this silly little one-shot about silly space boys :) (Special shout-out to the anonymous person that called out this idea before I posted! Such amazing psychic powers! :D)

******

“But seriously, if my calculations are correct — shut your mouth, Lance, they are always correct — then Keith is initiating fifty two point seven percent of the times you make me want to invent brain bleach.” Pidge pauses to push her glasses up her nose. “Keith, care to offer some insight into this?”

“No.” Keith resumes lifting weights. Really, discovering the Castle’s weight room was one of the worst things that could have happened to Lance — now his boyfriend split his free time between training simulations and tossing around heavy things/running on treadmills. 

The Red Paladin had become a gym rat. The Blue Paladin was not surprised.

Also, Keith didn’t need more muscles, as Lance didn’t need that kind of heart attack. Even if watching those biceps strain was … nice.

“My boo is just too hot to trot for my banging bod,” Lance says proudly, flexing his own (not quite as big but still very impressive) biceps.

Keith stops lifting weights so he can face palm. Pidge stares up towards the heavens in supplication.

“That’s going in my notes as one of the top five worst things you’ve ever said. Maybe top three.” Pidge actually takes out her computer to write it down.

Keith, with his face still buried in one hand, points with his other and says, “I don’t know if I can kiss that mouth at all today. That was horrifying.”

“Fifty two point seven percent, querido,” Lance cheerfully reminds him. “Ain’t nobody buying what you’re selling.”

Keith shoots Pidge a despairing glance. “I mean, was the pining that bad, really? Would it be so terrible to go back to that?”

Lance has taken a seat directly across from Keith, lifting a set of weights (they were barbells with rocks on either end — Coran had said something about how one could alter the density, thereby making them heavier/lighter, but Lance had immediately gotten distracted by challenging everyone to a weight lifting competition and somehow it ended with Hunk bench-pressing Lance and Pidge, and Shiro trying to throw Keith over their heads? Lance still doesn’t quite understand what happened there).

“I feel like the reason Keith is macking on me in public more is because he’s kinda into the fact that he can,” Lance explains, grunting a little as he tries to mimic Keith’s moves. “I mean, the pining was so real — he had been staring lingeringly at me from afar for so long, and now it’s like, free pass to grope all the time.” Lance winks at Keith, who is venturing to peek at him from between his fingers. “Because you do. Have a free pass. To grope. Put your hands any —”

“I know.” Keith lifts his weights with relative ease, a small smile pulling on his lips. “And yeah, Pidge. Maybe that’s part of it.”

“Part of it?” Lance asks, somewhat breathlessly as he switches arms since his right one was starting to ache from the effort. “Dude. All of it. Your thirstiness is not to be denied.”

Pidge rolls her eyes, jotting down a few more notes from her perch on the jungle gym (like, with actual vines for swinging and bouncy giant lily pads — Lance could not get over how cool Alteans were). “Believe it or not, I actually came to that conclusion on my own — Keith is now thirty six point four percent more affectionate with everyone, not just you, Lance.”

“That’s … really sweet,” Lance says, feeling vaguely proud of both himself and Keith. The idea that he’s making Keith more willing to show his love to the rest of their space family … It’s a little humbling, and a lot of awesome. He can feel his cheeks heating up.

The weights Keith had been lifting are now on the floor as he walks over to Lance, lifting his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face. Lance is grinning at the flash of a still slightly soft tummy (Keith has muscle definition, but there’s a small bit of cushiness around his middle that Lance really loves). Lance stops grinning when Keith suddenly drops into his lap, straddling him on the bench without any warning.

“You’re forgetting something key, Pidge,” Keith is saying, glancing over his shoulder at the Green Paladin, who is looking annoyed and amused in equal parts.

“All right, enlighten me.” Pidge grimaces. “With as little trauma as possible, if you please.”

“I think I’m gonna expire in a minute here, Pidge, mi hermanita querida, would you please spare me the humiliation and not witness this? Keith, whatever it is that you’re thinking —”

Keith covers his mouth with one hand, and Lance tries to speak past it, yelling his objections into the palm of a fingerless glove.

“See, notice how he can still talk?” Keith tilts his head in Lance’s direction, speaking with infuriating calm. “It’s a bit of a problem sometimes. But —”

The hand is gone. Lance is pissed off enough to start shouting, “Hey, you jackass, wail till I —”

Keith’s lips are on his. His mouth falls open automatically, and Lance sort of loses the thread of … reality. Pidge whips them both in the head with a towel, which is when his wondrous boyfriend pulls away, leaving Lance gaping, licking his lips, and contemplating if he should still be irritated.

“Efficient, no?” Keith asks, his dark eyes glinting.

Pidge is glaring at him. “Except for the brain bleach aspect. Which I am going to go work on now. With Hunk’s help, he is one hundred percent behind me on this. There are cameras in here, by the way, not that that’s ever stopped you …” She gets up and walks out, though not before ruffling Lance’s hair and saying, “You’re such a goner, hermano.”

When she’s gone, and Lance is left with nothing but a smug Red Paladin sitting on his thighs, he huffs, jabbing at Keith’s chest. “So you’re kissing me to shut me up most of the time?”

“Not most of the time,” Keith admits, his smirk easing back into a smile. “But Pidge would have probably gagged if I told her the main reason.”

“It’s not the ‘can’t resist my stellar good looks’?” Lance pouts. “That’s a little disappointing.”

Keith presses a quick kiss to his mouth. He’s flushed from exercise, but Lance swears his cheeks get a little bit darker as he speaks, “It’s because half the time I think I’ve made up this whole stupid thing, okay? We got together at a freaking ball. There was a duel involved. And dancing in fancy suits.” Keith waves his hands around for emphasis before crossing his arms. “And we still argue like … It’s fine, but it feels like before sometimes, so I just … need to make sure it’s not. Like before.”

Lance follows these words until he understands where they’re leading and then … He’s blushing, and smiling, and pulling Keith in closer. “You … you need to make sure this is real. That you didn’t … dream it. Because … I’m that good of a dream, huh?”

Keith groans, burying his face in Lance’s shoulder. “Crap. Okay, backtrack, I never said anything, especially not that stupid, sugary pile of —”

“No, no take backs!” Lance sings. “I … sometimes have the same problem. So, uh, a good chunk of my forty seven point three percent contribution is exactly that.” He smiles up at Keith once the Red Paladin pulls back and sits up straighter in Lance’s lap.

“Yeah?” Keith leans down, his eyes fluttering shut.

“Yeah,” Lance whispers against his mouth … which is when a painfully loud alarm goes off, and they are simultaneously soaked in freezing water as sprinklers kick in. Lance shrieks. Keith falls backward off his lap to the now slippery floor.

“You have rooms. Go get in one!” Pidge yells over the Castle comm.

“Please!” That sounded like Shiro’s voice, a little distant from the microphone.

Lance is laughing and shivering, and Keith is back to being mortified, but they adhere to Pidge’s wishes (who knew what she might pull next? Lance wouldn’t put it past her to space them at this point), and take off running. Keith yanks Lance into the gym’s showers.

“No cameras in here,” Keith says, raising an eyebrow. “And I need a shower anyway.”

Lance is rendered speechless. He wonders if this counts as part of Keith’s fifty two point seven percent of PDA. He wonders if Pidge is all-knowing. And then there’s a shirt coming off, and warm water pouring from a shower head, Keith kicking off his shoes from inside the cubicle. Lance can’t think as Keith’s hands reach for his shorts … and then pause.

“Yeah, so you just wait right here — you can take your turn when I’m done.” Keith grins and slams the shower door in his face.

Lance wonders if there’s a way to flush a toilet on a space castle to turn the water into a frigid torture. He says as much out loud, kicking lightly at the door.

Keith is laughing, and Lance may or may not adore that sound more than any other in the universe, except for his mom’s affectionate scolding … So, he decides to wait until the Red Paladin is done and then do his best to up his percentage. Forty seven point three percent simply will not do, Lance thinks to himself with a goofy smile.

******

Random one-shot after Objects in Motion? I think so :) If y’all wanna read about the ball, duel, and dancing, head over there. Thank you to all the wondrous people who have been so awesome to me! You’re all way too amazing for words, but I hope you guys enjoy these above words as a random “thank you!” :D

After All These Years

-

Rating: Teen and Up Audience

Relationship: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Pretend Relationship, Reunion, Fluff, Single Dad Dean, Crushes, Falling in Love

Publishing Date: September 24

Summary:


“Please, Dean!! Please!”

“Are you kidding me?”

Jo’s eyes are suddenly very big and wide and a serious competition for Sam’s puppy dog look. “It’s just for a weekend …”

“You want me to pretend to be your freaking boyfriend?”

“Maybe three days tops …”

Jo!”

“Okay, closer to four days. I promised I’d help with the preparations for the wedding …”

While she keeps rambling about flower arrangements and seating plans Dean rolls his eyes, wondering once again why he didn’t bother to look for some better friends when he still got the chance.


*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *


(In which Dean finds himself at a wedding as Jo’s fake boyfriend against his will, groaning and complaining the whole time, but still trying to appear all handsome and perfect and utterly in love since he’s an awesome friend like that (and since Jo would make his life a living hell otherwise). And just when he begins to think that it won’t be so bad to eat tons of free food and let his daughter Emma enjoy the festivity his gaze suddenly meets the two bluest eyes in existence and the world stops to move for a moment.

Because of course the groom’s brother turns out to be his old high school crush Castiel – the only person Dean was never able to forget – and things start to become really freaking complicated all of a sudden.)


The first chapter will be posted on September 24, followed by weekly updates!

If you want to be added to my tag list, just tell me ^^

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Could you maybe (if you have nothing to do) rank every hug in Season 3 so far? Not just Starco hugs but Jarco hugs, Buff Frog hugs, group hugs and all that stuff.

Those are a lot of hugs, and I suck at making rankings, especially when they’re based on something this subjective! Let’s try to make it a top three, maybe?

1 - Toffee I’m biased, obviously, but I think this was an important hug (Daron ranked her as one of her favorites [as of July 2017] during the SDCC panel!), immediately telling the viewers that nothing changed between Star and Marco, despite everything that happened, and at the same time encompassing all the development their relationship went through the seasons, a mutual, deep hug, with Marco’s initial reticence (due to the horns on a literal level, sure) soon melting into a hug that lasted even more than Star’s. Sounds a bit like the current crush/love situation, Marco needing more time to let himself go, but then finding great solace in it…

2- Sophomore Slump An important hug, the first one between Marco and Jackie, with the former possibly having the biggest smile he ever had during a date… but a bittersweet one, since it was a parting hug, the first and last one in their relationship.
If we reeeeeeeeally want to read too much into it we could say that the moment Jackie and Marco truly tried to “connect”, after several dates were they always kept some kind of distance from eachother (and this is to blame mostly on Marco) despite the kissing, they understood (mostly Jackie, took Marco four more episodes to fully get it…) that they weren’t made for eachother.

Interestingly Marco looks the happiest during the hug, despite being the one who was way less involved in the relationship.

3 - Toffee An important mother daughter/midget kappa monster hug, showing a Moon who understandably doesn’t care about looking proper, a fitting “climax” (not really though, since this was before the last act of the episode) for a series of episodes that focused a lot on her relationships with Star, and viceversa. 

anonymous asked:

What is your favorite BBC Sherlock episode and why? (Hard question I know, but if you really can't choose maybe list your top three in no order &a why you like each)

Erm okay. Top 3 then. And I will give Johnlock preference in the reasons. :D

TRF :Because Sherlock and John’s relationship reached at the peak intimacy and if Sherlock did not jump there would be something. And I am a sucker for angst. 

Originally posted by violincameos

So like top angsty episode. Also the rooftop scene and Martin Freeman’s acting. Deadly stuff. I lov.

TSoT : All the pining . God the pining. Pining and pining. Best man speech. Stag night!! 

Originally posted by love-in-mind-palace

I DON’T MIND. ANYTIME. Leaving the wedding early. Oh what a night. Just name it. God the angst. 

TAB : Victorian gay fever dream. Sherlock imagining about John flirting with him.“Then correct me doctor.” 

Originally posted by ooooodrakon

Sherlock imagining about John asking him about impulses. Gay and gay. So gay.

Bonus:

Unaired gay pilot : Not an official episode but one of the gayest thing to ever exist. Scandalously gay. They didn’t even make it to the flat after the case.

Originally posted by silent-fun

Had to have a quick shag in the alleyway or even if they did make it, they literally had sex over sweet and sour chicken and fortune cookies. The hunger was real.

I hope this answers your question ^_^ Have a lovely day.

anonymous asked:

Can you tell us something about a current writing project of yours? *makes big puppy eyes*

Hey, dear anon :)

Well, of course I’d love to share some stuff! Here’s a summary of a fic I’m currently writing:


“Please, Dean!! Please!”

“Are you kidding me, Jo?”

Jo’s eyes are big and wide and a serious competition for Sam’s puppy dog look. “It’s just for a weekend …”

“You want me to pretend to be your freaking boyfriend?”

“Maybe three days tops …”

Jo!”

“Okay, closer to four days. I promised I’d help with the preparations for the wedding …”

While she keeps rambling about flower arrangements and seating plans Dean rolls his eyes, wondering once again why he didn’t bother to look for some better friends when he still got the chance.


(In which Dean finds himself at a wedding as Jo’s fake boyfriend, eating overpriced (and thankfully free) food and smiling at strangers the whole time, trying to appear all handsome and perfect and utterly in love … until the moment his gaze meets the two bluest eyes on planet earth and he realizes with a shock that the groom’s brother is actually his old high school crush Castiel – the only person Dean was never able to forget.)

Yes hello why did I dream that James Badge Dale plays for the White Sox and only works on movies during the offseason? Either I’ve been watching WAY too many movies or I really miss baseball.

Originally posted by wirralriddlers

anonymous asked:

what exactly is menhera?

It’s basically a casual street fashion that originated in japan as a reaction to kawaii culture. It basically subverts kawaii and embraces ‘vent’ art that expresses the darker workings on the human mind. It’s basically like what would happen if the japanese invented goth. tbh I find it very similar to goth in that it’s not afraid to embrace dark themes. it’s also a bit morbid like goth. the main ‘theme’ of menhera, is illness, mental health, and looking ill. Most of the clothes are oversized tshirts with dark artwork on them, paired with matching socks, and sometimes medical accessories like pill earrings or a small syringe as a necklace.

 It also shares a name w/ the popular “menhera-chan” manga, and you see a lot of menhera outfits and themes both in official menhera-chan artwork and merch. Other popular artists are Kuua Oyasumi, and in the USA, cherrycheezy. There’s also blablahospital, listen flavor (they do a lot of stuff but they collab somewhat regularly w/ the creator of menherachan), and a large range od other indie japanese artists who sell their shirt on sites like tt-trinnity (its like japanese red bubble. i’d provide links but they blocked foreign ip addresses)

Here are some street snaps of actual menhera outfits:

Note: relaxed solliquete Casual shoes. Casual makeup. A necklace, or bracelet. Not a lot of accessories. Maybe one of each? Maybe three pins tops? 

Now let’s look at some cosplay:

Note: raver kandi accessories, makeup that looks like halloween time, a bazillion pins. Decora-kei hairclips everywhere. I mean it’s cute, but it looks like a costume. Street fashion is not a costume. 


This is a lolita-styled nurse costume. It’s not menhera. I don’t care what the designers said it was. Also- the halloween pink tears clown makeup. I love Lor’s channel and she can style a lolita coord like it’s nobody’s business, but her menhera looks really don’t capture the actual style you see actual people wearing. 


Again… the makeup. The lolita outline. Costumey accessories like needless casts, and a face mask. The pastel wig. 

And it’s like…. did you even bother to look at a single street snap in your damn life? Or is it just an outfit you took a selfie in for youtube/instagram? Is it a costume you wore to an anime convention? I’m not against over the top fashion. Goodness knows, I’ll throw on a bustle skirt and a top hat to go to the danged grocery store. I’ll go to michaels in lolita.

 But menhera isn’t supposed to be over the top. It’s supposed to be casual. You can wear menhera just to hang around. It’s comfy and easy. It looks effortless. The casual and comfy style of clothing only helps accentuate the theme of general malaise. Would a sick person bother putting on a petticoat, blouse, JSK, apron, hat, and 10000r885 accessories? Come on. 

Also don’t call it “Menhera kei” in stead of menhera because the term “menhera kei” is actually considered an insult to mentally ill women in japanese culture and probably not a word you wanna throw around. Kind of like “otaku”. 

Title: Bury the Sun
Words: About 27k
Summary: Sam Holt has been a captive of the Galra for more than a year. He has lost all hope of escape or rescue. But when a new prisoner arrives in his underground cell, a boy who seems to carry the sun in his smile, everything begins to change. 

Notes: Welcome, welcome, welcome to my OTHER big bang! I’ve been waiting even longer to post this one than I had been waiting for Little Boy Blue, and I’m so very, very pleased to get to share it with you. My artist for this fic is @fascher, and the art is absolutely awesome. Please like and reblog the art here. The event on tumblr is @voltronbang.

Warning: This fic has a lot of offscreen torture. A lot. This is definitely one of the top five darkest things I’ve ever written. Maybe top three. None of it is graphically described, but the effects are. When I say heavy angst in the tags, I mean HEAVY. There is a point where someone expresses a wish to die, though calling it suicidal is not quite right. The fic is just really dark and heavy, okay. If this kind of content might trigger you psychologically, I strongly suggest skipping this fic, since probably seventy-five percent of it references or describes the horrible things that sentient creatures do to other sentient creatures.

That said, the focus is not on the hurt itself, but on the comfort and support that the prisoners are able to offer each other, because that’s how I roll. When I write dark fic, it’s because I want to highlight the good that still exists, not revel in the evil. Thus the title, Bury the Sun. The sun is still there. It just gets hidden for a while.

Hope you enjoy! I plan to post chapters of this fic throughout the day until it’s all up, starting now. It’s 1:30 AM in my timezone, so I’m gonna go sleep, and when I wake chapter two will go up, and then chapter three in a couple hours, and so on. If I counted right, there are eight chapters total. Thank you for reading!

PTSD and learning problems

I’ve been trying to research things on PTSD and how it can affect the brain.

I need to disclose that I’ve always been a good student, pushing myself to learn things and to achieve. But I always felt like I wasn’t using my intellect, all of the brainpower I had at my disposal to the max.

And recently I found out why, why my brain works hours and hours extra. At night, during the day.

PTSD in any form causes it to not give the brain a rest. It tries to process an image, a feeling, a sensation, but whenever it does, or tries to do so, the brain shuts it down, and it causes stress. Or so I’ve been told.

And now I am just thinking. What if I had the full potential of my brain at my disposal? What if I wasn’t so forgetful, and actually able to remember where I put my glasses, or where I had seen my keys?

What if my brain could rest at night?

And then I imagine the possibilities.

All the things I could learn.

The brain has a certain plasticity to it, making it able to reroute its neurones if necessary. Meaning that I could maybe never get back the things I lost, but meaning that there could be room for new stuff.

And that gives me so much hope, but it also makes me so incredibly jealous.

Of neurotypicals that get nights of sleep. That feel tired, but only due to a lack of sleep, that do not feel like they never went to sleep after an 18h+ night. That do not worry if they will remember the classes they had the previous years. That don’t learn stuff for weeks, trying to get things into their head whilst all of it is a fucking giant cotton ball, or just some general mist showing you some words every now and then.

It makes me jealous, because it’s all I ever wanted. To have knowledge, to just know things that aren’t even useful but that are good to know. To have the energy to invest myself in student groups, in social relationships, in more studying.

And on the other hand, it doesn’t make me jealous. Because I know that I have come further than a lot of the people I know around me, dealing with 4+MIs and a large baggage of guilt-tripping myself and perfectionism, as well as large gaps of memories, and bad short and long term memory.

The thing is, it’s there. The material is up in my brain, somewhere, but I find myself unable to access it. I’ve always been able to read things and remember them, almost like seeing the page right in front of me, especially when I was younger. But it stopped, and it hasn’t been back for a really long time.

And I do not mean to brag, but I belonged in the top 40 of my bachelor promotion last year. Even this year, I aim to be in the top 30, knowing that I probably will not be.

But I will not take anything else.

Average doesn’t cut it. Never has, never will. And I know that is unhealthy.

But I know I can do better than what I give right now. And I will do better, I don’t care if that means I trigger another bad phase. I need this, I need to get into this master, even though I don’t even know if that is what I want to do.

I just know that whenever my therapy starts helping I’ll be unstoppable, even on the bad days. Because no matter how low I get, I now realise I’ve got a net of people that care for me, and most of all, I have a friend in myself.

I’m not giving up. I didn’t give up before and I sure won’t give up now during my recovery. So take that, bitch @ ptsd

So, I have an idea.... 🎃

So every year I love carving pumpkins, and for the most part I am the only one who gets to see them (yea I generally do two for fun), but I don’t care.

What if we did a tumblr pumpkin carving contest!!?? 

Like what if I create a side blog where in October people can submit there pumpkin carving, and at the week before Halloween a handful of tumplr peeps who volunteered to judge and not submit would rate the pumpkins.

Mind you this is all for fun, but the highest rated pumpkin or maybe the top three would win a prize (by me of course).

Just something fun to bring the Halloween spirit even more alive on tumblr.

What do you guys think?

EDIT: I was thinking there could be two competitions…..stencil users and by hand cutting.

Ace

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9 (you are here), based on @skygemspeaks‘s prompt


While he wouldn’t say they’re the worst things that he has to deal with, Kenma would definitely say that training camps rank within the top three. Maybe five, now that he’s finally aware of how they work. But they’re still up there with concerts (too loud, to many people, too many lights) and class presentations (too many eyes, all on him, watching his every move) with his worst experiences. Still, he goes because he has to go for the team, and he has to be on the team for Kuro.

And… maybe he wants to play against Shouyou again.

He sleeps through most of the bus ride to the camp, with Kuro’s arm around his shoulders and his headphones in to drown out the noise. When the bus stops and he’s forced to wake up, he takes a mental note. Yellow. Not bad, the best he could ask for, all things considered. He doubts, as he drops off his bag and heads to the gym, that he’ll be green all week. He goes with the team to warm up in the gym, still thinking.

I wonder when Karasuno and Fukurodani are going to–

“Bro!”

“Bro!”

Well, there’s one, he thinks, shaking his head fondly. Kuro and Bokuto are idiots, but at least they’re loveable idiots. While they do their dumb (they know it’s dumb) “bro ritual” hello, he heads over to Taketora to start warming up.

About a half an hour later, Karasuno arrives… quietly. Kenma only even looks up because he catches a glimpse of their senior setter’s unmistakable hair.

“Where’s Shouyou?” he wonders quietly, not meaning to be heard.

Taketora apparently heard some kind of news about him and the scary setter needing to take supplementary exams, and Kenma lets out a quiet “oh” in response because apparently, even monsters like Shouyou and his setter are human.

It’s only after they’ve started drills that Kenma notices Lev sitting on the bench, staring intensely at the Karasuno third years, who look mildly uncomfortable.

That’s right, they haven’t met him yet.

“Lev,” he says, only raising his voice enough to get the boy’s attention.

Lev’s eyes snap over to him instantly and Kenma holds out a volleyball with both hands in a silent offer to toss to him. He almost winces at the brightness of Lev’s answering smile.

About an hour later, the door slams open and then people are yelling. Kenma can only be grateful that the ball is in his hands now, and that his flinch doesn’t cause him to mess up a toss. Once he gets over his initial shock though, he glances at the door. Sure enough, there’s Shouyou, right next to his terrifying setter.

Everything after that is a bit of a blur for a while. They play a few practice games, and Kenma curses the fact that he and the first years are still a bit off in their timing, because it costs them the second set in one game, which means more diving drills. They’re nothing they aren’t used to; after all, Nekoma is only famous for its receiving. That doesn’t mean that Kenma likes expending energy to throw himself onto the ground a hundred times.

Still, he supposes he doesn’t have it as bad as Karasuno, who seems to be losing every single one of their games.

They make it to dinner without incident, Kenma sticking close to Kuro’s side the way he always does during these camps. Kuro is a lot of things, but charismatic isn’t one of them; people tend to avoid him. And if the price of avoiding strangers is having to deal with Bokuto and, surprisingly, Lev, then it’s a price that Kenma is more than willing to pay. Besides, where Bokuto goes, Akaashi tends to follow, and he’s not bad company at all.

Around his third or fourth plate of food (Kenma would wonder where he puts it all, but with people that size he never really can tell), Lev gets up to go to the bathroom. As soon as he’s out of sight, Kuro looks at Kenma, an oddly intent look on his face.

“Have you noticed him acting… weird?”

And… oh. So he wasn’t the only one noticing. Kenma nods, glad that it wasn’t all in his head this time. Lev has been himself for most of the day, but even on the court there were a few instances when his enthusiasm waned today. It threw off their rhythm, but only slightly; Kenma thought he’d been the only one to notice, but he should have known. Kuro is a pretty observant guy.

Now that he thinks about it, though… Lev was at his worst today when they were up against Shinzen. He wrote it off originally as not knowing how to deal with their famous combo attacks, but that can’t be all it is.

A quick glance around their immediate area confirms his suspicions. Shinzen seems to have finished their diving drills for the moment, and is sitting down as a group at the table next to them. For once in his life, Kenma stares, combatting his unease with his PSP.

They’re nothing special. At least, not that he can tell.

But then the captain– Shouyou had called him… Broccoli Head? It’s fitting, Kenma admits –catches him staring, and grins back. As it happens, he’s sitting closest to Bokuto, which puts him right within Kenma’s field of vision.

And, apparently, within earshot. “You’re a hell of a setter, you know.”

Something about him really doesn’t sit right. Kenma averts his eyes to his game again, hoping the guy will take the hint.

He doesn’t. “You’ve gotta be, to use that freak’s height so well.”

It’s not the first time Lev has been called a freak. Hell, the team’s called him that more than a few times, because he really is freakishly tall for a first year. But this guy’s voice is completely devoid of the affection their teammates have.

Kenma pauses his game and looks up at the guy again, blinking in a way that conveys his confusion. He doesn’t really want to talk to him any more than he has to. Doesn’t think he really can.

“He’s always been weirdly tall, you know, even in middle school. Just never knew what to do with it because no one wanted to be around him.” Luckily or unluckily, this guy seems to be doing enough talking for the both of them. For all of them, actually; Bokuto, Akaashi, and Kuro have all stopped to listen. “I’m amazed you can actually put up with him, you’re such a quiet dude.”

Oh, wow. He’s disliking this guy more and more, and he’s not the only one. Bokuto looks uncharacteristically somber, and Kuro has tensed up beside him. Out the corner of his eye, he sees a flash of silver hair hovering by the door (and he knows Karasuno is still doing drills so there’s only one person it could be).

“He’s so loud, you know? Can’t take a hint to save his life, and add that to the thing with his dads–” He spits the word out like venom and keeps talking, but Kenma’s done listening. He won’t allow it to continue.

Kenma can hear his own pulse and he knows he’s going to have to have a proper freakout about this later, but he ignores it in favor of pulling Kuro down to eye level with him and planting a firm kiss on his lips. Kenma is 99% sure that Bokuto wasn’t aware that was a cue, but he takes it anyway, wolf whistling and whoop-ing loudly enough to get the entire room’s attention and start a chain reaction of cheers that don’t die down for a long moment.

He’s trembling when he pulls away, but the shaking doesn’t reach his voice when he speaks. “I don’t put up with him. All of my friends are loud and can’t take a hint. But none of them are you, so I think I’m doing pretty well for myself.”

Kenma thinks that maybe the shaking is worth the utterly floored look on the guy’s face and the quiet, approving grin he’s getting from the rest of the table as Lev sits back down, looking grateful and infinitely more comfortable.