not tan enough


Well technically I I did a LawMari thing on the first page >//////< like a short comic T////T but it got messed up cuz i decided to color my new markers right on the back of it x//////////x --BAD MISTAKE–

So anyways– first 5 I drew on it WAS!!!!

– i’m not doing this in order HAHAHAH oh oops my hair’s supposed to be red ewe –

[ me trying so hard to draw his hawtness x////////x;; *sweats* I COULDN’T EVEN DRAW HIS ARMS *SOBS* NEXT TIME BBY, NEXT TIME X/////////X ]

[ Good luck to your studiessss~!! <3 I AM SO SORRY FOR THE ARMS I’M EMBARRASSED WHEN I LOOK AT IT AGAIN ;//////////; THE SHOULDERS TOO OMG… ]

[ OHH HOW I HAD FUN WITH THIS. EVERYONE CAN TELL X//////X It’s always fun drawing Mahiru!! x//////x <3 I messed the colors up on his pants, so i blocked it off, even though i was proud of drawing legs for once ;w; it was too bad </3 –FRICKKK MEE– ]

He finally got his role as a prince! <3 Ever since he was little, he was appointed as a tree. Not that he didn’t mind since his classmates needed a replacements for the role as a tree…. he was glad he could help. Not to mention, Kuro was always watching him cheering him on, so MahiMahi would always get excited to play as the tree waving his tree branches towards Kuro, trying to get his attention even though the only one Kuro looks at is Little Mahiru ;D <3 <3 x/////x <3






Interviewer: You’re in Hawaii, if there gonna be some shirts off actions?

Lucas Till: No no, because I haven’t, uh, I’m not tan enough to

George Eads: And I don’t know too many people who want to see a 50 year old with his shirt off.

Lucas Till and George Eads on-set interview about the Hawaii five-0/MacGyver crossover.

So, unfortunately, we will not be getting another shirtless Mac scene in this next episode.

DA2 Character Hands

Aveline’s hands are not special at a glance. Average, but perhaps broader than you would assume a woman’s to be. At a closer look they are lined, dry, discolored by bruises and calluses that are years old. Her nails are broken, ragged and one is an off colour. The veins show in the back of her hands and when she makes a fist you can see the muscles flex. When the hand is brought up for an arm wrestle you can sense the history and training in the palm stretched challengingly towards you.

Aveline’s hands twist in her lap worriedly, tap against the table impatiently, they soothe over the back of a guard recruit who has just experienced his first loss. They smell of affordable lotions made from elfroot, used to ease the sore skin and muscles, and they smell of armour polish and fresh baked bread. Her hands are generous and loving but shy and awkward, all at once. And yet, her hands seem just as comfortable embraced with her lover’s as they do holding a blade.

Merrill’s hands are small, her fingers thin and long. Bird-like somehow especially when she folds them to her chest or lips, fans her fingers in the air as mana whisps around them. They are soft, touches fluttering and short-lived, her palm closes before you can see the scar that no magic will lift from her skin. She won’t open her hand while you are looking, not ashamed, but unwilling to have misunderstanding looks cast upon it.

There is dirt under her finger nails, her hands smell of earth no matter how long she lives in the alienage. They are marked with ink, with a droplet of dried jam, a finger cut from when she pricked it against something sharp and only sucked on the wound mindlessly as she continued. She touches everything, her own skin, her clothes, her staff, she fidgets with a coin in her hand and folds a piece of found paper over and over again until its soft as cotton. Her fingers transform, rendering things into something new, they never mend. She shies from touching others, worried she will break them too.

Isabella’s hands are generous, friendly, they touch at your shoulder, your back, your arm before you notice her moving. She caresses and squeezes as she talks, her hands expressive in their pressure and how they slip away from you easily. They are not too small or too big, nothing particularly remarkable at a glance, forgettable if it wasn’t for the touching. Her nails are long, clean, suspiciously so, formed into soft points that occasionally tear from her prying at things.

She will give you her hand, palm up with curling fingers inviting. The skin on her palms is rough, callused, even though you can tell from their scent that they are treated with softening creams often, the flowery smell only just covering the copper and sea salt beneath. Dried brown blood is collected in the lines on her hand, caught against the raised scar on the back of her hand and when asked she tilts her gaze at it and wonders aloud who exactly it came from.

Anders’ hands are healers hands, mages hands, but they do not match the descriptions and expectations attached to those labels. His fingers are long, knuckles knobbed awkwardly, his skin is dry, the veins in the back of his hands dark once they are close and bunching under his pale skin. A finger on his left hand seems out of place, out of line somehow, and when asked he explains how it was broken and set wrong. His hands are warm until healing magic glows from his palms, cool and soothing as the mana collects and heals.

His finger nails are chewed, the back of his hand marked with small scratches and small bruises. They fidget and rest on surfaces, walls, objects, as if their touch tells Anders something that you do not know. He stretches his fingers and cracks knuckles and you can see the colour in them shift as the air around Anders changes, static over his skin as the fair hair on the back of his hands stand and they change. Somehow his hands are no longer his, void of the softness and history they held only a moment ago.

Fenris’ hands are long and narrow, as most elves are, but like Fenris they are completely unique. Few people see his hands, and those that do may only have a glimpse before they vanish under a tavern table, fall to his sides, or are tucked back into the gauntlets that armour and hide them. His hands feel vulnerable, too soft and thin for a strong warrior, but when held they reveal their history all too quickly. The lyrium lines running along his fingers are raised, sensitive, they bulge slightly when Fenris closes his hand. The bones underneath the lyrium have slight ridges in places, tell tale signs of magic healing bones that broke and strained.

Fenris’ hands smell like leather, sweat and blood on a bad day. On the better days they smell of fireplaces, red wine and the citrus soaps he prefers. Fenris’ hands are tensed and prepared when outside, slack and unfeeling when he feels safe. They stay on his lap, at his sides, the gestures say I cannot touch.When he speaks they move freely, easier to express with them than with words. When he finally touches he hesitates, then lingers, soft, his hands were once only weapons and now he tries to reclaim them.

Varric’s hands are broad, his palms lined deeply with an untold history, the back of his hands tanned and scarred just enough to catch in low tavern lights. They are never dirty, not really, although they almost always smell of wood polish and iron. His right index finger is calloused from nights of writing and Bianca’s trigger, ink catches in the cracks no matter how much he washes. His nails are blunt, one or two are torn and catch on the silky texture of his shirts.

He is always expressive and affectionate with them, all his friends are familiar with its weight upon their backs or shoulders. Varric drums his fingers on table tops, rubs condensation on his tankard mindlessly, runs them along the familiar planes of Bianca’s frame. He crushes his fingers when he clasps his hands together thoughtfully, makes himself jump when he accidentally cracks a knuckle.

anonymous asked:

I need some advice. My gf desperately wants me to cosplay lance with her, (klance it up man) BUT I'm as white as paper. I've tried to argue with her about it but she insists its fine. I mean I can get tan but not tan enough, yknow? I just don't want to upset someone with my pasty ass cosplaying our bootiful brown boy. Do you have any tips on how to go about cosplaying him, or to be able to get up the courage to not disappoint the fandom? Thank you and ily aaahh qvq

I’m pale as hell and I cosplay him!      I just say go for it!  don’t alter your skin for cosplay though.  If you happen to get tan (because hey man its basically summer now and you can’t help it if you go outside on a sunny day) then that’s fine, but I wouldn’t do its specifically for cosplay. and absolutely do not use makeup to make your skin darker! that ain’t cool. 

honestly, don’t pay attention to the fandom.  do this for yourself. This fandom is really toxic and you shouldn’t look for its approval.   If you love lance then go ahead and cosplay him, show your love for him! because he’s a great character and cosplay is literally for being able to have fun and dress up like your favorite characters, it shouldn’t matter what other people think. 

anonymous asked:

@the pissy hunk anon? Umm okay? I was saying Lance is strong and I'm about 90% sure Keith was standing in that scene where Lance was kneeling in the one I mentioned and would've had a harder time pulling someone back and down than just back. Way to take something that's pretty much as innocent as saying "hey Lance is actually pretty strong guys" offensively though. So :)))))


Vacation, Joe Sugg

-gif not mine-

-No requests, just can’t wait for summer-

-You meet Joe while on vacation-


The wind blew through your hair as you laid out on your towel listening to the ocean waves crashing into the sandy beach.

You were at your regular vacation spot in Hawaii. You came here every summer to get away from your boring life at home.

You could hear the people around you laughing and having fun in the waves, but you wanted to get your tan sooner rather than later. After a few minutes of laying on your back, you decide to flip over and lay on your stomach. You became oblivious to your surroundings and began to daydream of what it would be like back at home right now.

Suddenly you were brought back from your thought when a gigantic beach ball falls and hits you right on your butt. You jump up surprised and see a bunch of young, attractive men crowded around a volley ball net motioning an apology with their hands. You laugh at their apologetic faces and grab their ball to throw it back towards them.

By this time, you figured you had done enough tanning so you got up to go grab yourself an ice cream cone from the trolly near by.  You throw on your flip flops and hop up to begin your journey.  You were in nothing but your red bikini and you could tell all the men around you were checking you out. Including the ones who had accidentally hit you with their beach ball not to long ago.

You walk slowly so you have the chance to enjoy the scenery on the beach. When you arrive you order yourself a two scoop of strawberry ice cream and they grab it for you right away.

“Mmmm, strawberry” you hear a man say from right behind you. You grab your cone and turn around to see one of the guys from earlier. “Oh hey, its my favourite” you say smiling to the stranger. “Mine too, the names Joe” he says moving ahead of you to order the same thing as you. “Hi Joe” you say nicely, “I’m Y/N”. “What a pretty name” he says charmingly. You blush at his compliment and he smiles.

“So, I was wondering if you would like to join me and my friends for a game of beach ball” Joe asks kindly. “I mean, only if you promise the team I’m against wont cry when i beat them” you say competitively. “Woah-ho-ho, you’re very competitive, aren’t you?” Joe says laughing. “I guess you could say that” you say smirking. “Well, i cant promise they wont cry but i promise i won’t" Joe says reassuring you of how tough he is. You both laugh as you finish off your ice creams, slowly arriving to the net where his friends were.

“Guys I’ve got another player” Joe says excitedly to all of his friends. The teams were uneven  so you were the one who helped to even the teams out. “By player he means girlfriend” one of his friends joke. “Oh shut up Mikey” Joe says laughing. He sends you to the opposing team where there was a blonde, a ginger, and a guy with clearly dyed blonde hair. “Y/N” you say smiling at your team. “Jack, Caspar, Josh” they all say their names at the same time.

The game began and you showed off your skills along with your surprisingly good team. Mid way through the game, your team was winning by a lot of points and the other team was frustrated every time they lost. “Come on Joe, you promised you wouldn’t cry” you say winking at Joe. “Oh come on, I’m not crying” Joe says laughing. You laugh and carry on with the game.

When your team won the game they cheered and picked you up to hold you over their heads. You laughed and were clearly having a good time. When they placed you back down you went under the net to greet Joe on the other side, sticking your tongue out at him. “I must say, good game” Joe says smiling at how happy you were. “It was an awesome game” you say lightly punching his shoulder. The rest of the boys began to pack up all of their stuff as the sun was setting quickly.

“Would you like to come get some drinks with us?” Joe asks. You look to his friends as they all nod their heads and you smile. “Yeah sure, let me just grab my stuff.” you say quickly running to your towel to gather your items.

When you return to the group, they take you to a near by bar that they had gone to every night. “You have to try this” Joe says ordering you a weird sounding drink. The bartender hands you a bright red drink and you weren’t sure if you wanted to try it or not. “Come on, try it” Joe says nodding his head. The rest of the boys had gone off talking to random girls and Joe stayed with you.

You take a sip out of the risky drink and are instantly surprised by the strawberry and alcohol mixture. “This is delicious” you say taking an even bigger sip right after. “Told you so” Joe says laughing.

For the rest of the night, the two of you hit it off really well. He showed you some of his dance skills and impressions and everything about them made you smile or laugh.

By the end of the night Joe walked with you back to your beachfront hotel. “I had fun” you say smiling at Joe. “I did too” he responds biting his lip. You lean in and kiss him lightly causing him to kiss back. Joe puts his hand on your hip and pulls you in closer kissing your forehead. “If you hadn’t been drinking, love, i would’ve made sure you didn’t end up alone tonight” Joe says in a romantic voice. “Can we meet somewhere tomorrow?” you ask sounding a bit desperate.

“Lets meet at the beach tomorrow at 4” Joe responds kissing you one last time before walking away from your hotel.

When you enter your hotel, you close your door behind you smiling. You couldn’t wait for the day to come tomorrow.


one-shot for @jilychallenge - february 2017

@gryffindormischief vs @woollfs (previously gxnevras)

prompt: so I’m a greek god and you’re a demigod who I turned up to curse because man you screwed up, but honestly that face is too cute to turn into a minotaur au

A/N: so this goes over 5900 words HA.  Not Greek gods but it’s all about gods/demi gods and whatnot.  Also it’s loosely based on the Epic of Gilgamesh so if you recognize anything that’s why. :)  @petalstofish this is it!!!! :) <3

Also available on FF and Ao3!

A sharp wind licks across the steep rock outcropping that cuts into the emerald landscape below, far enough down that vertigo kicks in for even the bravest.  Aside from James.  He’s traveled these lands enough times that nothing but that initial free-hand slide over the side to whatever makeshift handholds he can find will even bring his pulse above a resting heart rate.

Tucking the remnants of his lunch into his rather Spartan pouch – wouldn’t do to climb on a too full stomach – James tightens his belt, stretches his limbs, and strides toward the precipice with the casual purpose of someone who knows themselves and their task. That is until the scratching of claws – four sets if his ears are to be believed – scrape across the rough hewn stone.

James turns at the last minute, even his highly trained senses too slow to defend beyond raised forearms protecting his chest and head.  His vital organs should be well enough protected by the stiff leather that wraps around his middle, although his legs are vulnerable beneath the soft, worn cotton of his dark green trousers.

All this slips through his mind like a well-worn checklist – a product of years spent fighting and defending and being generally heroic – in the brief moments before the large, dark beast descends on him, the impact of its hulking form nearly knocking him to the ground.

As it is, he stumbles back a few steps which is a few more than he’s surrendered to any opponent since he counted his age in double digits.  Considering the circumstances, he lets the injury to his pride roll off his proverbial back as he flips the beast over his literal one and James quickly grabs his newly sharpened dagger from his boot.

With a few huffs that almost sound like indignant laughter, the dog like monstrosity stalks closer again and the two circle each other warily.

Relying on the adage of fortune favoring the bold, James quickly closes in on his opponent, its back to the sharp cliff as he wields his dagger expertly.  And yet despite his prowess, each swipe and thrust is easily evaded despite the rather heavy appearance of his foe.

Their single combat proceeds in this fashion for a time, neither gaining ground, neither surrendering, until James finally sees his chance and herds the beast toward the edge.

In the split second before he intends to push it over, delivering it a fairly sympathetic death as these things go, the monster shifts before his eyes, thick dark fur melting from its body and revealing taught olive skin, but the silver-grey eyes remain the same.

Momentarily caught off guard, the beast – man – grasps at his forearm desperately.  James narrows his hazel eyes inquisitively, jerking the man back from the sharp drop and shoving him toward his abandoned campsite.

Smirking rather arrogantly for a man who just barely escaped death’s clutches, his companion pushes up onto his hands, legs extended in front casually as if spending a lazy day picnicking by the lake.  “Quite the fighter then.”

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natalie from a different angle, finally. theres so much work im excited to do on her! i plan to wipe her, dye her a light tan, do a new faceup, and get her a new wig and eyes. im thinking rit dye so far, but i definitely want something soft and chocolate milk-ish so we’ll see what colours i can find.

  • What I Say: I'm ok.
  • What I Mean: Star VS the Forces of Evil has some of the best world building I've seen since Adventure Time was in its heyday. There's so many intriguing plot points that the writers are subtly building up to-- Moon's rebellious teenage years, the mystery behind Queen Eclipsa, Miss Heinous, Ludo's creepy family, Toffee?!???!! So much is being set up and yet I haven't seen a single piece of meta for any of it, but I've seen all 525,600 of those St**co comics y'all seem to like so much; wow,,,,,thanks guys,,,,,just what I wanted, a typical het ship,,,,,, between boy best friend and girl best friend, what a novel idea, riveting, beautiful, truly incandescent--
‘And She Was’ (Simon x OC, Part 5)

Title: “And She Was”

Characters: Simon (The Walking Dead), Negan (The Walking Dead)

Tags/Warnings: Explicit language, implied rape (it’s only a short flashback, please don’t worry), eventual smut, slow burn, explicit sexual content (oh yes! You got it!), masturbation, exhibitionism, Eugene

Gif Credit: GIF is not mine, credit goes to the creator!

NOTES: Savannah thinks that masturbating while Simon sleeps on the couch is a wonderful idea. Meanwhile, she can’t shake the feeling that Simon is hiding something from her. (also, god I love writing Eugene - he’s so ostentatious)

Taglist: @simons-thirst-squad @backseat-negan @neganisking @collette04 @isayweallgetdrunk @kuenie (if you’d like to be added, just let me know!)

Part one!

Part two!

Part three!

Part Four!

I wake up screaming in the dark. Hands smothering my mouth, pushing me down into layers upon layers of foliage, swallowing me and shuddering around my body. The stench of wet pine seeping from my rain-soaked hair, dripping into my mouth, past clammy fingers trying to claw my lips closed. His eyes blistering in the gloom.

“No.” The ever-present rage churning in my gut. “You did this – you deserve to die-”

“I was just taking what’s mine.” His fingers squeeze my wrists until I hiss through my teeth, thrashing in the undergrowth, the crickets chirruping happily somewhere far away. Like an audience to his assault. He pushes my face into the dirt and I taste grass in my mouth. “I’m sure she liked it.”

I scream, lashing out underneath him, kicking my legs. But he sinks his body weight on top of me and the ground swallows us both, a living, digesting stomach stinking of the dead.

I kick something soft. Gasp for breath but I find that I cannot draw any air, and I start to panic.

My eyes fly open as I jerk awake, blinking in the pale blue light of dawn.

Fuck. That wasn’t real?

I shudder, my skin beading with sweat under the clothes and the covers. For a moment I lie, prostrate and disorientated, struggling to remember where I am. Why the ceiling fan looks so unfamiliar. Why there’s the sound of calm, steady breathing coming from the couch. I roll over onto my other side, trying to shake the cobwebs of the nightmare from my mind. Patting down the covers, I crane my neck to see Simon, fast asleep.

“Raoul.” I whisper to myself, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and blinking to keep myself awake. I inhale and almost smell the scent of the man from my dream. Prop myself up and simply breath for several minutes, trying to calm the rabbit-fast palpitation of my heart. “But he’s not here. You’re safe. Safe as you can be.”

I watch the man in front of me as my panic dissipates and ebbs into awareness of my situation. The wound, the doctor, the man in the leather jacket. And him. The stranger who made me a Spanish cocktail in the middle of the night. His back is to me, the sheets tangled around his hips and long legs. I was right when I said he was too long for the couch - his feet dangle over the edge and twitch in sleep. Pale beams of morning-light illuminate the long-toed feet and ankles that melt into muscular calves. He has one arm over his face, and his t-shirt has hitched itself up around his middle. I can see a sliver of tanned back, and it’s enough to make all the heat in my body flood between my thighs.

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