not without work and rest

This is Shigeru Mizuki

He was born March 8 1922 and passed away November 30 2015 at age 93.

Mizuki-san was a manga-ka and historian, most famous for his Kitaro manga, Which he started publishing in 1960.

I could give a textbook account of him and everything he’s done and his influence on Japanese culture and revival of the interest in Yokai in Japan as a whole, but I just want to point out some very small things about him;

The first is, unlike a lot of Manga-ka of the 60s, Mizuki did not learn to draw Manga from Tezuka’s school…. or any school at all. He was one of those weird ‘natural talents’ you always hear about but actual examples of are hard to find. Mizuki was one such person. He just inately knew how to draw. And as a result, despite influences from other manga at the time, his characters generally don’t resemble what we think of when we think of ‘60s manga’

Not to mention that, despite his preferred art style, he was diverse in what he could do with how he drew, easily going from his more cartoony drawings to a more realistic style, sometimes doing both at once.

Mizuki-san was drafted into the Japanese Imperial Army during WWII, and during the war contracted malaria and lost his left arm during an explosion.

He was left-handed.

However, despite disease, losing his drawing-hand, being the only surviving member of his unit and literally being ‘ordered to die’ by his superiors, Mizuki survived the war and taught himself to draw with his right hand and just kept going.

His manga that he’s famous for were all done after he lost his dominant arm.

All his manga have a personal autobiographical touch to them. Whether it’s “Showa” which is literally a historical account of what Japan was like from the 20s to the 80s, to Kitaro, which is about the stories of Yokai told to him by his elderly neighbour, all his manga have something personal about them.

He is a cultural icon in Japan for keeping traditional ghost stories and creatures alive in the modern consciousness, as well as his contributions to Japanese history regarding WWII. He traveled the world, gathering ghost stories and traditional folklore from other countries as well.

He’s been awarded a string of awards I’m not even gonna attempt to list, although personally I feel most noteworthy is the ‘Personal of Cultural Merit’ award in 2010 and the ‘Order of the Rising Sun’ Award.

But again, that is his importance historically and culturally, whereas I find his personal struggles regarding the loss of his arm and just relearning how to draw something more personal to know as an artist.

With this in mind, He is also noteworthy for never really following the idea that most manga-ka of the time had that ‘you only need 3 hours sleep a night’ or to keep working without rest. Mizuki never really followed that belief. He got a full night’s sleep every night, and fully believed in actually LIVING life, and not just spending your entire life behind a desk, drawing.

He later joked offhandedly that at age 90 he was still around whereas everyone else of the same time period making manga had long since died.

I feel this is incredibly important to remember. Tezuka believed in working non-stop and barely sleeping. And he is undoubtedly the most important contributor to what we think of as manga today. But Mizuki-san, who is just as important to Japanese culture, believed in sleeping well, living life, and being happy. And he was ALSO important, created amazing work, and is recognized as a master.

You don’t need to work yourself to death to be an artist.

Mizuki-san had a list of ‘7 rules to happiness’, which I honestly feel is worth remembering. It may be things we’ve heard before, but this coming from a man, who went through active war, lost limbs, nearly died,retaught himself how to draw because he wasn’t able to give up, made an impact on Japanese culture, believed in living life, refused to overwork himself and lived to the age of 93, it feels like you can trust his advice. because he’s someone who’s seen some serious shit, but he was happy, and he’d learned how to be happy. And from what I’ve heard remained happy and content until he died of natural causes.

Number 1

‘Don’t try to win – Success is not the measure of life. Just do what you enjoy. Be happy.’

Number 2

‘Follow your curiosity – Do what you feel drawn towards, almost like a compulsion. What you would do without money or reward.’

Number 3

‘Pursue what you enjoy – Don’t worry if other people find you foolish. Look at all the people in the world who are eccentric—they are so happy! Follow your own path.’

Number 4

‘Believe in the power of love – Doing what you love, being with people you love. Nothing is more important.’

Number 5

‘Talent and income are unrelated – Money is not the reward of talent and hard work. Self-satisfaction is the goal. Your efforts are worthy if you do what you love.’

Number 6

‘Take it easy – Of course you need to work, but don’t overdo it! Without rest, you’ll burn yourself out.’

Number 7

‘Believe in what you cannot see – The things that mean the most are things you cannot hold in your hand.’

[ Tom Hiddleston - Extended imagine ]“Cigarettes and Divorce Forms”.

Based on: Imagine: Filing for divorce from Tom, and him signing the papers even though he still loves you, because he knows you aren’t happy with him and all he wants is to see you smile even if its not him who can make it happen anymore.

Written by: A.Wölf.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tom stared at the clock before lighting his 5th cigarette in the last 67 minutes. The ticking noise seemed to echo in the room.

The lawyer adjusted his cufflinks for the 3rd time and took a deep breath glancing at his impatient client with a worried look.

“How much longer are you going to wait, Mr.Hiddleston?”

Tom glared at him with the cigarette burning between his fingers.

“She’ll be here”, he murmured clenching his jaw.

“It’s been-”

“I’m sorry”, Tom cut him off, “Am I not paying you enough, mate? Because you sure as hell know how to charge”.

The lawyer shifted in his seat awkwardly and interlaced his fingers before him with a softer expression, understanding his client’s bad mood.

Well, what I mean is… that maybe this is a good thing. You know… maybe she doesn’t want the divorce after all. Many people avoid these things because they don’t really want to get divorced”, he stammered.

Tom narrowed his eyes and cocked his head.

“Oh believe me. She wants it”, he said holding smoke in his mouth.

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CLC HAS BEEN PROMOTING HOBGOBLIN FOR MORE THAN ONE MONTH AND THEY STILL DIDNT GET THEIR FIRST WIN THEYVE BEEN SERVING LOOKS N TALENT SINGING LIVE IN EVERY STAGE WORKING HARD WITHOUT RESTING FOR 5 WEEKS STRAIGHT N WHAT DO THEY GET IN RETURN

fandomstrash9  asked:

What if mama kouyou secretly ships soukoku and whenever tachihara tries to make a move on chuuya kouyou just stands behind the poor guy whilst saying,"forgive me child but your efforts are useless because chuuya is already taken."(random thoughts XD)

- Except Kouyou is probably is a scheming fox lady so she probably knows threatening Tachihara is not gonna bring her idiot of an OTP back together.

- So she lets Tachihara does what he does best (”Hi Chuuya-san would you like to go on a da- I mean platonic hang out with me this weekend”) but she snaps a bunch of pictures everytime Chuuya smiles at Tachihara.

- And then she sends them all to Dazai with a really eloquent caption that basically translate to “Lmao look how happy your ex-partner is isn’t he cute he seems to move on already but you wouldn’t care would you he’s your ex (-partner) after all”.

- From 500 miles away, Fukuzawa sneezes and asks Kunikida if the heater in the office is broken again because the room’s temperature seems to suddenly drop can they just budget a new heater for the kittens.

- Kunikida, knowing the actual cause (bless him) and doesn’t want to spend money on a new heater, throws Dazai out of the room and it’s suddenly warm again.

- “Ane-san, I already said I didn’t care about him, stop sending me pictures of the hat rack” Says Dazai, in a cheerful voice, adding new cracks to his cheap ass phone for the 20th time that month.

- “Sure, I’ll go out with you (to the platonic hang out this weekend)” Chuuya’s voice comes from the other lines, because Kouyou might or might not be holding a bug right next to her phone instead of answering. Ane-san that’s just shady stop it.

- That day Atsushi reports that he has never seen Dazai-san run so fast in his entire life (”Are they having a sales on chazuke is that why he was running”) and Akutagawa reports that Chuuya-san is not available for missions for the next 3 days due to hip problems.  

SNL - Harry Styles Imagine

When you’d heard that Harry Styles was going to be on your show, it was all you could do not to scream out loud. You’d been a One Direction fan for years. Now days, however, you were less vocal about it.

You were young, and fond of comedy and writing, so being a comedy writer for SNL seemed perfect for you. You’d only been here for a little longer than four months, but you’d already become a favorite of the cast for your skits. You were by far one of the youngest writers on set.

When Lorne came to you and asked you to write the new “Celebrity Family Feud” episode you were considerably excited. Not only would you get to write an episode of one of your favorite parody skits, but you got to write a part for Harry Styles. It would be an under statement to say that you were excited.

“Wow, you look very nice today,” your coworker Kate McKinnon said with raised eyebrows.

“Thanks,” you said, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Any particular reason?” She asked, nudging you. She was one of your best friends on set so you thought you could trust her with your secret.

“Well, to be honest, I’m a big One Direction fan, I’m excited to see Harry,” You admitted sheepishly.

“Oh really,” Kate said mischievously. “Well he’s here I think.”

“He is!” You said nervously, you hadn’t been able to prepare yourself.

“Yeah, I’ll introduce you,” she was grinning with glee.

“Kate!” You tried to stop her.

“Hey Harry!” Kate called, and seemingly out of no where Harry Edward Styles began to saunter towards her. When Harry reached you, Kate had the grin of the Cheshire Cat.

“This is y/n, she’s a huge fan,” Kate said and simply walked off, leaving you alone with Harry. You felt your stomach lurch with nervousness.

“Hello y/n,” Harry said in his deep sultry voice.

“Hi,” you said, making sure you smiled, and didn’t look like a dying fish or something.

“I really like Sign of the Times,” you blurted. “I mean it’s just amazing, it really speaks to me about the state of the world. It’s so powerful and beautiful, and different from anything anyone else is doing, I just I wanted to let you know….I really like it…” you tapered off, feeling awkward all at once.

“Thanks,” Harry said, and he was genuinely smiling with gratefulness. “I was worried it wouldn’t work without the rest of the boy.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I love the boys, but this song is just monumental!” You said smiling.

“Wow, that’s really kind of you,” Harry smiled. Soon you were talking like you’d been old friends forever. It was wonderful, you couldn’t imagine a nicer person to talk with. He’s was so real, so genuine, there was nothing fake or showy about him.

Eventually, of course, everyone had to get to rehearsal, and you enjoyed watching Harry in the skit you’d written. As he was practicing, he turned to you, and winked. However, this action was not unnoticed by one cast member.

“Harry, stop flirting with Y/N!” Jimmy called jovially, and Harry blushed. You began to blush as well, but felt your heart swell happily. “You can use your Styles charm on her later,” Jimmy laughed.

In a little bit it was time for Harry to practice his song. You stood there in awe, as Harry’s powerful, ground breaking voice rang out. The words seemed to vibrate your heart.

When he finished, everyone applauded. You were so proud of Harry that you began to tear up a bit. You’d been there for his Xfactor days, and for the first album, through all the tours, and to know he’d gotten so far made you so happy.

As Harry sauntered over to you, you wiped your eyes quickly to hide your emotions. However, as he walked closer, seeing him made you well up all over again. Without thinking you threw your arms around him, hugging him tight.

“That was awesome,” you spoke into his shoulder.

“Thanks,” he mumbled back, seeming to be thankful for the hug. He was shaking a bit, he must’ve been nervous. You let him go, and stepped back, embarrassed at your outburst. However, when you looked up his eyes were sparkling, and he was looking at you gently.

“So you wanna get some coffee after this?” He asked abruptly.

You had to hold yourself back from saying, “who me?!” You were amazed to see your dreams coming true before your eyes.

“Yes definitely!” You exclaimed. “Here’s my number, just in case I’m doing something when you finish rehearsal,” you said excitedly, scrawling your number on a piece of paper.

“Awesome, thank you,” Harry said grinning at the paper you handed him.

“Y/n!” one of the other writers was calling you.

“I guess I have to go,” you said drearily.

“Alright, well I’ll see you later,” Harry winked and you smiled brightly at him before running off.

Yo look. After this whole business with Shiro is resolved, I want something to happen to Lance. Like, he gets separated from them all for like, several weeks. Or he decides to quit. Whatever happens, the rest for the team doesn’t know where he is or if he’s okay. And I want them to just. Not function well. Without Lance there, the rest of Team Voltron just doesn’t work together as well as with Lance. It’s not even the fact that they’re down a Lion, since Allura or Coran could technically pilot the Blue Lion, but just that they’re missing Lance. Fighting the Galra is just that much more difficult without Lance and they’re forced to struggle their way through battles in between looking for him. Meanwhile Lance himself is off on his own adventure and maybe starts to think that it doesn’t really matter to the rest of the team that he’s gone or that maybe they don’t really miss him all that much - not because they haven’t found him yet but just because y'know anxiety - and so he doesn’t make super much of an effort to get back to the rest of them or whatever. But then Team Voltron DOES find him because they’ve been looking so hard when they’re not in the middle of fighting the Galra and like everyone is absolutely overjoyed to find Lance again and as soon as he’s back things just start to go right in battles and they win more easily and idk I just really want a big important arc where the focus is on Lance and his character development and the end of the arc is Lance realizing that he’s actually really important to Team Voltron even if he maybe doesn’t have some skill as obvious as the others because there’s a reason he was chosen to be a Paladin and by gosh he’s gonna be a good one

two, three, leave.

Originally posted by baekhyunstolemyeyeliner

o boy, get ready for some angst my dudes. and hey look at this, sehun is the first babe to get two full fics on my blog! hope you enjoy~

Pairing: Sehun x Reader

Genre / Rating: Angst / G

Word Count: 1.924k

Warnings: None 

masterlist~

Dating an idol wasn’t easy.

You knew it wouldn’t be from the beginning. All the stories and articles you’d heard and read about the subject beforehand were almost enough to scare you away. But it was Sehun who convinced you to stay.

He had been sweet and kind and grounding, all the good things a boyfriend should be. You talked often and laughed tons. He took you out when you were feeling fancy and stayed in with you when you felt down. Everything felt so right. You felt so happy.

Three dates turned into two months turned into a steady year of loving him. You’d dealt with your hardships well, so well that the worries you had beforehand were almost forgotten. But now, here you were, alone and shaking and anxious as hell. Two years. You’d almost been together for two whole years and that was exciting to you. You really wished that right now you were brainstorming anniversary gifts instead of ways to tell your boyfriend you weren’t happy.

Curling tighter into yourself on the couch, you thought through what was going on. This year had been a little shaky to say the least. This comeback seemed to be really hard on Sehun and the rest of EXO. You’d vowed to stand by him and do anything you could to make it easier for him, but it seemed the more devotion you gave to him, the less he had to give to you. You were proud of him, of course you were. You were happy for him, absolutely. But were you happy? Not really, no.

It was a gentle shift. Over the course of a few weeks, you stopped texting every day. His weekends were spent without you for the sake of his rest or his work, whatever was apparently more important than you that week. Your calls stopped going through and he stopped making them. You were nervous before you tried to contact him, always questioning if you were a bother, if this was a good time, if he even wanted to talk to you anymore. Then all of a sudden, three missed calls turned into two weeks not talking at all turned into one big fight last month.

You were confident then, so sure that you would be able to talk it out and things would go back to normal. Sehun would come back and start loving you like he used to. You would start smiling again. So you’d gone to visit him. You walked into SM, bento lunch in hand, ready to make things better. When you found Sehun, he asked you to wait until he was done (which turned out to be two hours later) without greeting you with any warmth, or at all in fact. You entertained yourself on your phone, holding your breath, trying not to cry in the corner of a practice room. When Sehun was finally done, he took his time packing up and ushered you into the empty practice room nextdoor.

“So what’s wrong?” Sehun said, leaning against the wall.

“Is that all you have to say?” You were incredulous.

“Yes?” He states, slightly unsure of what he’s missing.

“Why haven’t you been talking to me?”

“I’ve been busy, I thought you understood.”

You pause. “I do.”

“Well then what’s wrong?”

You take a deep breath, trying to ready yourself to speak but instead, you start crying. “What’s wrong, Sehun, is that I haven’t seen you in three weeks. What’s wrong is that I’m scared you hate me and never want to speak to me again because you don’t answer my texts or calls. What’s wrong is that you don’t seem to care. I love you Sehun, I promise that I do but I don’t think you love me anymore and that’s terrifying. I hate feeling anxious all the time and it needs to stop so if you don’t love me anymore, just say it so I can stop feeling this way all the time.”

You spend about a minute, trying to suppress your heavy sniffling, waiting for an answer. When you feel tentative arms around you, you’re back to crying, chest heaving, letting out everything you’ve been holding in.

You can’t remember too much after that, you’re pretty sure you cried yourself out. But you do remember waking up the next morning, pressed up to Sehun’s side, more rested than you had felt in the last four months. And for the next week, he was good. You were back to talking and you even managed to slip a date in somewhere. You were hopeful. But the week after, it started again. This time you weren’t confident. You were back to anxious and unsure.

You’d been talking to your friend about everything that happened and she had said that it was time to let him go. He obviously wasn’t putting in the effort to show you he cared, so why put up with him? It took you a bit to get used to the idea but it didn’t take longer than a week for you to realize you had to do it. Your friend had offered to let you crash at their place until you found somewhere new to live. You were thankful for their support.

After a whole day’s worth of working up all the courage you had, you texted Sehun. The message read ‘I’m moving out’ and as simple as it sounds, it took you hours to come up with it. You waited to see if he’d respond but after ten minutes, you gave up and started packing. You decided that for now, you were taking only the essentials. One suitcase and whatever you could fit in a backpack. With both bags all zipped up, you sat on your bed, waiting for your friend to come pick you up. Your phone vibrated, letting you know they were here. You heard the door open and you assumed it was your friend coming in to help you with your bag so it was quite a surprise when Sehun came barging into the room. There was a moment of intense eye contact before he finally spoke.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m leaving.” You look away and shrug on the back pack

“You’re leaving?”

“Yes.” You pick up your suitcase and turn towards the door. “Move please.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I won’t let you.”

“Again, why not?”

“Because I love you.”

You shake your head slowly and unsure. “Move please.”

“I do, you know I do!”

“No, Sehun. I don’t. Forgive me but you’ve been an awful boyfriend lately. I texted you I was leaving two hours ago and you’re only here now. When was the last time you answered one of my texts or calls? When was the last time we went on a date?” Your tone is hard and you avoid eye contact.

He stutters slightly. “I’ve been busy! I’m sorry, I know it’s been hard-”

“No you don’t.”

“What?” He’s taken aback.

“You don’t know it’s been hard. You’ve been content with ignoring me and assuming I’m okay. You haven’t asked me how I felt once in the past six months and I don’t think you care.

“Well, I- How do you feel…?”

You scoff. “Move.”

“But I can fix it!”

You huff and push past him with your hag, headed towards the front door. You can hear following behind you, calling your name. Shutting your eyes, you steel yourself before whirling around to face him.

“I’m sick and tired of you not being here for me, Sehun! I feel alone and sad and uncomfortable and anxious and like I’m not worth anything to you! And it’s not just right now, I’ve been feeling like this for six months, Sehun, can you imagine that? Can you fix that Sehun?” You can see him open his mouth to answer. “No. The answer is no, Sehun. That’s the worst part. You’ve done this for too long for it to be okay anymore. I tried to be here for you. I was okay with every missed date and unanswered text but I can’t be anymore. I tried to be okay with you not being here when I needed you because I understood that you were busy and that this is your life but I don’t want this to be mine. This can’t be my life because I can’t stand being alone all the time, feeling alone all the time. Don’t tell me you tried to be better because if this is what your better is, it’s pathetic. Sehun, I think we-”

“No. No, don’t say it. I won’t let you say it.” Sehun cut you off, eyes now glimmering with tears.

“Sehun. We can’t do this anymore. I’m not doing this anymore. I refuse.” Your voice lowers, reflecting the amount of energy you had left.

“No!” Sehun nearly shouted. He turned his back to you, covering his ears.

You pushed a puff of air from your chest designed to be a laugh but you lacked the emotion to make it sound like one. This was ridiculous. It was childish. And you weren’t going to put up with it any longer. Licking your lips, you whispered your final goodbye to the boy in front of you.

“Goodbye, Sehun.”

You hadn’t meant for your words to be so loud but any noise was startling against the stifling silence settled between you, including the catch in Sehun’s breathing. The boy turned around to face you once more and if you had been any ounce of the person you were a year ago, your heart would’ve seized at his expression. But you weren’t. The despair on his face mirrored the way you had been and were still feeling. You supposed it was mean but it was almost satisfying to know that he finally understood. He took two half steps in your direction and faltered. You adjust your grip on your bag and go to leave. You take one step before you feel two arms holding you back and it took three seconds for you to come to your senses and brush him off.

“Let go, Sehun.”

“I won’t.”

“Sehun.”

“Please. Please please please, (y/n). Please.”

His voice was thick with regret and you felt a tear hit your shoulder. It took all of your resolve not to crumble right then and there but you were stronger than that. You knew you were.

“Sehun.” Your voice was weaker now, heavy with tears. “You can’t fix this. You can’t make it better. All you can do is be sorry and let me go.”

You can feel Sehun sob against your back and for a moment, you cry together in the dark quiet of your apartment. Then, you pry his arms off and leave the room.


One night without Sehun turned into two weeks turned into three months. You found it funny how hard Sehun was trying to talk to you now that you were done talking to him. Your phone buzzes again, the second time this week already and you turn it over, not bothering to look at the number. You curl into yourself on your couch, calmly this time, warm and not yet happy, but working on it.

Some Like it Hot

Submitted by @aqua-harry! Thank you, love. x

It was hot. It was so hot, he would’ve welcomed death. It was the kind of hot that dripped down his back, stuck to his thighs, and seeped into his veins, making it impossible to remember a time when he wasn’t so goddamn hot.

He climbed up the stairs to his apartment on the fifteenth floor, dragging his feet up the steps, the weight of his legs too much to bear under the thick heat. With each conquered flight, he allowed himself a few seconds of respite while he pumped himself up to take on the rest of the stairs - one more flight to go.

When he makes it, he slumps against the doorframe and breathes heavily, pulling a heavy hand through his sweaty hair. He groans slightly, but then thinks against it, as complaining about the heat required more energy than he was willing to emit.

Unlocking the door, he drops his belongings at his feet, whining at how hot his fifteenth-floor, one-bedroom loft is. Moving to New York City had never been in the plans, but when the opportunity to establish a homebase for his own record label came about, he knew he’d be stupid to pass it up. He’d always loved New York, always inspired by the industrial feel, never lonely in the city that never sleeps. He’d gotten used to the hustle and bustle of the city, and he enjoyed watching the seasons change throughout the year. He figured nothing could get much hotter than Los Angeles in July, but he didn’t account for what the center of New York City had to offer. At least LA had a breeze - at least LA had open spaces - at least LA had swimming pools. The heat in New York City nearly made him feel trapped, unable to escape the skyscrapers and concrete, closed in on all four sides.

He’d always liked the heat. It meant that he could cool off in a large body of water, the relief of silky waves something to write home about during the hot summer months. He’d felt at home in the water, never fearful of the ocean or diving into the deep end of a pool. He relished in how it made him feel weightless, how the water calmed his nerves and relaxed every muscle in his body. He’d always loved the heat, but he’d never experienced this. A heat that he couldn’t escape, a heat that he couldn’t find solace from.

He slowly makes his way to the windows - large, streak-free glass rectangles - and opens them up. The relief is minimal, but at least it provided a slight breeze that provided a relief lasting all of two seconds. Yellow taxi cabs honk below him, the flow of traffic at the intersection outside of his building coming to a halt. Without the traffic lights working, everyone forgot how to drive. He rests the heels of his hand against the windowsill, looking down on the street while his forearms glisten with sweat in the sun. He shakes his head knowingly and wonders if he had ever seen a more chaotic sight. He’d performed for screaming fans in stadiums that sat a hundred thousand people, but it was an experience to see the entirety of New York City shut down. The last city-wide power outage had been in 2003, but back then, he was still a young boy in Holmes Chapel, never thinking that he’d find himself here, with his own apartment worlds away from the small town he loved so much.

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johnlockedatbakerst  asked:

Headcannon/prompt: Sherlock is mid case at NSY & John has to pick up toddler Rosie. When he brings her in, there's a few incredulous questions about Sherlock helping raise her from Greg and snide remarks about it from Donovan. Rosie is a bit tired and fussy. However, as soon as Sherlock walks in, Rosie lights up and reaches for him and he settles her on his hip without blinking and carries on working, while she rests her head under his chin and settles down. The others are surprised- John is not

@johnlockedatbakerst This has been sitting in my inbox for awhile now but I hope it’s worth the wait!


Sherlock was mid rant about footprints in “his” crime scene, mocking Anderson’s ability to handle a scene when an alarm rung out from John’s phone.

“And that’ll be John’s cue to go pick Rosie up from daycare,” Sherlock’s said, punctuating the end of his rant.

“Yeah,” John agreed, switching off the alarm. “Where are we in this? Do you still need me? Should we go home?” John never really wanted to go home while Sherlock was on a case. Being stuck at home going stir crazy when there was adventure going on was never good for his state of mind. But NSY wasn’t exactly the most inviting place for a two year old. With the phones and criminals and the office workers cooing at her, distracted detectives splitting their attention between the baby and the investigation, and Sherlock’s manic energy a trip to the office was a cocktail ensured to create a tantrum. But he always left the option to come back open, just in case.

“I’m not sure yet. I’ll text in twenty. Go get Rosie, I’ll be just fine without you for now.”

John nodded. “Right.”

On his way to the lifts, John placed an order for an Uber and it had arrived by the time he exited the lobby of the building. He was walked through the doors of Rosie’s daycare to find the blonde sniffling and rubbing her eyes. Seeing her obvious malcontent, he bent down to scoop her into his arms and comfort her.

“Hey there, little bee. What’s the matter, love?”

One of her caretakers appeared beside them and said, “someone’s a little crabby today. We had a little trouble napping today.”

“That’s not on at all, is it,” John asked Rosie whose only reply was to whine and mash her head into John’s neck. Well, home it is, then, John told himself. He didn’t deny the small pang of disappointment but his daughter needed some rest and Sherlock hadn’t texted so it wasn’t likely he was needed.

*ping*

John flinched, Sherlock’s text alert summoning part of his attention. One handed, he dug into his pocket to read the incoming text.

-There were lacerations found on the victim’s feet. Definitely not self-inflicted. Need your opinion.

John clicked the talk to text feature, a godsend that Sherlock installed to help him with what his partner called “deplorable use of opposable digits”. The microphone icon glowed blue and John talked into the phone, “Rosie is fussy. Send a picture?” He pressed the send button and walked outside, bouncing Rosie on his hip as he went.

The reply was immediate.

-Bring her. Lestrade won’t let me take the pictures home. Says they’re evidence.

-Terribly inconvenient.

-Shouldn’t be too long. We can go home once you’ve gotten a good look.

-You can make the thing with the peas for dinner.

John replied, “are you sure?”

-Of course. See you soon.

John kissed Rosie’s forehead and asked her, “papa needs some help. Want to go see him?” Rosie nodded her head, her curls tickling his skin as she moved. “Well then, let’s get a ride then.”

Fifteen minutes later, John and Rosie were walking through the doors of NSY. It had been quite awhile since they had brought Rosie to NSY. Even then, only a handful of times before daycare started. Back then she mostly slept in the carrier or was passed around the office like a bag of chips, watched over by a couple of friendly officers. It hadn’t escaped John’s notice that people had intensely watched Sherlock interacting with Rosie without trying to look like it. They muttered under their breath about Sherlock’s apparent lack of attention and wondered why John was “allowing” Sherlock to dictate where “his” daughter was taken.

John had bit his tongue. Of course he was irritated that, even after all this time and everything Sherlock had done to prove his was human, that he did care, there were still people who saw him as he was before John. Unyielding, cold, distant. That just wasn’t the case anymore.

John had been given the gift of Sherlock’s unflinching devotion and that devotion naturally extended to Rosie. It didn’t take too long after Mary’s death for them to finally pull their heads out of their arses and admit what had been glaringly obvious from the moment they met; they were impossibly in love with each other and always had been. And once that fact was embraced, there was no turning back. They were both in with both feet in both love and work. But that didn’t mean much had changed.

They still shared 221B. The only real difference is that John had folded his clothes in alongside Sherlock’s in their drawers and Rosie had a room to herself. They still fought over silly things like whose turn was it to get the milk; it was perpetually Sherlock’s because John always broke down and bought it because the Great Detective couldn’t be arsed to actually get it. Only now, those fights ended in kissing and maybe a tussle in the sheets. They still worked together, as effective a team as there ever was. Only now they were sure not to take unnecessary risks with their lives to avoid making an orphan of their daughter. Still, they took out life insurance policies and updated their wills to provide a future for Rosie.

From the outside, John did admit, it didn’t look like much had changed in Sherlock. He still snapped at his colleagues, he still called everyone idiots, he still dashed off without much warning, and he still ran intellectual circles around everyone he came in contact with. But if one was inclined to look, they would see that little things had changed.

Sherlock never failed to check in on John while he poured over documents. When Rosie was with them, he made sure that someone checked Rosie’s nappies, even if it wasn’t him. He even tried to scarf down a few nibbles of food at John’s insistence when he was feeding Rosie and himself. Granted, he didn’t pick her up or fawn over her while he was working. But he didn’t pay close attention to John or himself when he was working. His partner was more than affectionate enough for the three of them when he wasn’t swimming in a case and John clung to those moments when The Work took precedence. Sherlock’s emotional distance while working was an accepted and predictable pattern, anticipated by all those who knew and worked with him. He had known and prepared for it and it bothered him that no one else could see the softer Sherlock. The one who read bedtime stories in funny voices, loved bathtime because he could play pirates, and learned lullabies on the violin. But that Sherlock wasn’t the one who saved people, so John tried to push his irritation aside. John knew that having a child wouldn’t change much about how Sherlock went about The Work. But John wasn’t about to get into a long drawn conversation to defend Sherlock against people who refused to see him.

There were more important things.

Stepping out of the lift, he was greeted by Lestrade. “Hey there, John. And Miss Rosie, how are you darling?”

Rosie turned her head away from him, hiding her face in John’s neck. John smiled at the movement and cupped her head, lightly massaging the back of her head. “We’re a little fussy today.”

“Gotcha, no stranger to that,” Lestrade said, giving them a little space. “His Majesty call for you, then?”

“Yeah, where is he?”

Lestrade gestured to a bank of empty interrogation rooms. “We’ve got him set up in one of the rooms over here. But if Rosie’s needing to go home, I’m sure he’ll be fine without you.”

John shook his head. “He said he needed some input on the lacerations you all found. It won’t take long, a half hour won’t make much difference in her mood to be honest. Then I’ll be taking them all home and out of your hair.”

“Don’t mention hair, mate,” Lestrade joked deprecatingly, running a hand through his thinning hair.

Donovan met them outside the room and said, “are you serious? He’s calling for you when you have her?”

John’s brow furrowed. “I always have Rosie. That’s part of the “parent package”, Sally.”

Donovan rolled her eyes. “Anyone can see she’s in no state to be out. Sherlock’s just being selfish, calling for you when you should be at home.”

John frowned, knowing that in a way she was right. Rosie did need to go home. But if Sherlock needed him, he wasn’t going to ignore him. That’s not how they worked. Not anymore.

He opened his mouth to speak when Rosie started whining and squirming in his arms, clearly restless and her patience wearing thin. John struggled to hold her and Donovan said, “see? Just take her home. Even Sherlock has to see that she shouldn’t be here.”

As if on cue, Sherlock poked his head out of the door, requesting post-its. “Oh, John! Wonderful, come here, I think I found something.”

At Sherlock’s voice, Rosie went still and whipped her head around to see Sherlock. Her eyes, watering and nearing Impending Tantrum territory, she shoved her little arms out to him and called out, “papa! Want you!”

Sherlock, without pausing, said, “of course. You can help your daddy and I figure out this little puzzle, come here.” He took her from John’s arms and settled her on his hip and in three seconds flat, she was quiet and still.

Lestrade and Donovan’s jaws hit the floor.

Without giving his colleagues the time of day, he refocused his attention on John. “Now that that’s settled, come, I have pictures to show you. Molly won’t let me see the body until tomorrow, most inconvenient.” He swanned into his temporary office, gesturing wildly with his one free hand as he went. “Now, this is going to sound highly improbably, but just hear me out.”

John grinned, tucking away his beam of pride deep in his chest and followed his madman into the room, bypassing Lestrade and Donovan. “Of course, love.”

Sherlock, with Rosie along for the ride, began to pace around the room spouting off his theories. John leaned against the metal table in the middle of the room and looked at the pictures Molly had sent them. Eventually, the even, if quick, pacing of Sherlock’s feet soon had Rosie snoring in his arms. At a particularly loud snuffle, Sherlock stopped mid sentence. He glanced down at the girl tucked into his body and curled his other arm around her to hug her closer. He smiled down at her and kissed her forehead before making eye contact with John.

Sherlock whispered, “naptime a lost cause at daycare, then?”

John nodded. “She probably won’t sleep long. But if we’re lucky she’ll make it home and be ready to eat something when we get back.”

“The thing with the peas,” Sherlock asked hopefully.

John smiled fondly and nodded. “Yeah, I can do that.”

Sherlock nodded slowly, smoothing Rosie’s curls with his palm. John couldn’t help himself, he straightened and closed the small distance between them to kiss his daughter and then Sherlock’s lips. The kiss was chaste and sweet and when it ended they pressed their foreheads together, eyes closed.

John whispered, “you know Donovan and Lestrade are watching.”

Sherlock huffed. “Let them look.” Sherlock extricated his arm from between John and Rosie and wrapped it around John’s waist to pull him close. “You were angry when you came in. It made Rosie more irritable. What happened?”

John chuckled lightly. “What? You can’t deduce it?”

“Of course I can. You just want to talk. So talk.”

“Git,” John whispered under his breath. “They still think you’re a machine, that you don’t care about us.”

“They’re idiots,” Sherlock said simply. As if there was no need for further explanation.

“I’m an idiot,” John pointed out. “Said so yourself.”

“Yes, well,” Sherlock said, amusement in his voice. He pulled back slightly and they opened their eyes to look at each other. “You’ve always been quicker on the uptake than the rest.”

“Took me long enough,” John mumbled.

“But you got there. That’s all that counts. Now,” Sherlock said, leaning in to kiss him softly once before straightening himself up and holding Rosie more securely. “I think it’s time we get our little bee home. We’re all hungry and I need my violin. Don’t bother putting anything away, Lestrade can do that.”

Lestrade’s voice over the intercom came through, “oi! I am not your nursemaid!”

“That’s what you get for A. spying, and B. not letting me take things home with me.”

“It’s evidence you berk,” Lestrade complained.

“Tsk, tsk, detective,” Sherlock chided, walking towards the door. “Such language. And around little innocent ears.”

“Bite me,” Lestrade barked back before silencing the intercom.

John chuckled and shook his head. He quickly scooped the papers on the table into a stack and stuck them in an empty folder. Lestrade met him in the doorway, looking somewhat sheepish. He had never seen Sherlock so demonstrative before and John supposed it could be considered a shock.

John just gave him a knowing smile. “We’ll let you know what he comes up with. Night, Greg.” Without another word, he followed in his partner’s footsteps to find him waiting at the lift doors. John placed a hand on the small of Sherlock’s back and pressed the call button. “Ready for home?”

“God yes,” Sherlock replied.

“From my earliest years, the first thing that I saw was suffering. And if I couldn’t rebel when I was a child, it was only because I was an unaware being then. But the sorrows of my grandparents and parents were recorded in my memory during those years of unawareness. How many times did I see our mother cry because she couldn’t give us the bread that we asked for! And yet our father worked without resting for a minute. Why couldn’t we eat the bread that we needed if our father worked so hard? That was the first question whose answer I found in social injustice. And, since that same injustice exists today, thirty years later, I don’t see why, now that I’m conscious of this, that I should stop fighting to abolish it.”
— Buenaventura Durruti

Sugar Daddies and where to find them

Chapter 1
All it takes is an opportunity

One of Newt’s biggest problems is that when he feels safe in a place, he becomes less and less alert of his surroundings, especially if there are no creatures around.

Tina’s office is one of those. Despite it's​ only his second week working at MACUSA, Newt is very used to the room. He spends so much time with her and she’s so nice Newt feels calm whenever she’s around. And he might not be the most focused man in the world (in the social environment that is as the Goldsteins like to point out) but he's​ at least aware of the people in the same room as him, unless he’s distracted which, sadly, happens often if he’s worried and right now, he’s very much so.

That’s why he walks in Tina’s office without knocking first nor looking up from the letter he has just received from Theseus.

“Clara’s not feeling well,” he starts, sitting on the couch, his eyes almost glued to the piece of paper in his hands. He’s so used to talk to Tina about his problems he doesn’t feel the need to make eye contact, he knows she listens, she always does. “I know the wounds​ she has are going to take a while to recover, but I think she also has an infection. I think I might need the potion I told you about, the one with the silver steam… the blue one. I could do it myself, but it takes months to make it and I don’t think Clara has that time left… So I have to buy it, which leads me to ask my brother for money… again. And I know he likes to help me and it’s not like I won’t ask him, because he’s the only that could help and I wouldn’t risk Clara’s life, but sometimes I wonder if I’m asking too much of him. What do you think, Tina?”

“Well…” Newt freezes the moment he hears the deep voice, because that’s definitely not Tina’s, it’s not even a woman’s voice. “First of all, I’m sorry to disappoint you, Mr Scamander, but I’m not who you thought you were talking to. Second, I think I need more context to give an opinion. Who’s Clara? Is she your girlfriend?”

The wizard with red curls blushes and after looking at the letter in his hands for so long, he feels with the courage to lift his head and meet Graves’ dark eyes. It doesn’t help at all that the man is standing right in front of him and staring back like he wants to study Newt. There’s also something close to amusement dancing in his gaze.

He doesn’t answer right away; it’s so weird to be talking to the Director, because since Newt arrived there has never been a chance for the two of them to talk, Graves is usually very much busy and Newt… well he's​ always with Tina, also he’s not very good at being… social. They have been introduced, but Newt honestly got the impression the Director didn’t like him because when they shook hands, the wizard stared at him for too long.

Like he’s doing right now and like he does when Tina and he are in the cafeteria or in the hallway talking about something.

Actually, Newt doesn’t find Graves’ dislike odd, he thinks it’s somehow logical, because they’re so different from each other; Director Graves is calm, loves order and discipline and Newt… he is, as his brother said once, a little chaos, a not contained storm. There’s also the laws problem, that he knows Graves is well aware, because Newt has broken many of them in the years he has as magizoologist.

He realizes he got lost in his own thoughts. The pressure of his own teeth on his lower lip is enough to make him bleed, but he doesn’t stop himself from biting because he’s too flustered to care​. Graves doesn’t seem angry his question hasn’t been answered yet.

The director takes a step forward and it’s enough to make Newt jump from the couch. He’s more than ready to flee; he looks around, alarmed. It’s so rare to see Director Graves outside of his own office that for a brief moment Newt considers he has made a mistake.

“This is auror Goldstein’s office, if that’s what you are thinking. I was waiting here to talk to her,” Graves explains with a very amused grin on his face.

He doesn’t know if the auror is very good at his job or Newt happens to be so easy to read.

“Well, maybe I should leave. I can talk to Tina any other-”

He’s cut off by another step forward. Newt can help but to look at the door; he has the weird impression he’s suddenly acting like a pray trying to escape from its predator.

“I can help you,” it looks like Graves is blocking his only escape route, but that’s so ridiculous Newt dismisses the thought right away. “But I’d like to know who Clara is first.”

The smirk on the auror’s face fades away as soon as the name gets out from his lips.

“She’s the hippogriff I rescued in the case I worked with Tina. We found the traffickers were-”

“I know,” Graves cuts him off. He looks more relaxed. Newt looks a little surprised at first, but then reminds himself it’s actually Graves’ job to know everything his aurors do even though he’s not directly involved in the case. “I’m also aware you took the hippogriff, thought I didn’t know you had named it- her, I mean.”

“I name all my creatures.”

Graves chuckles and rolls his eyes.

“Of course you do.”

It seems he cut himself after all, because he feels blood coming from his lips and licks them out of instinct. Graves follows the movement and takes that final step to close the distance between them.

“You hurt yourself,” he comments, taking Newt's​ chin with one hand and placing the other on the back of his head to prevent the magizoologist from moving away. “You must be more careful.”

Before Newt can say anything, the hand on his chin moves to his lips; the auror starts​ to whisper healing spells.

“Thanks,” he tells Graves. The man caresses his lower lip with his thumb before releasing him.

Newt feels his cheeks like they’re burning.

“It was a pleasure.” The smirk grows wide and the spark on the dark eyes becomes even brighter. “So… Mr Scamander, how much do you need?”

“What?” Newt doesn’t squeak, except that maybe he just did.

“How many galleons do you need to buy anything you need to save Clara? Just tell me, I’ll give them to you.”

Newt gasps; he’s glad the second ‘what’ doesn’t get out of his mouth. But he’s mentally screaming in shock. He recovers quickly though.

“Would you lend me some money? You’re so generous, Mr Graves!” He beams. “I promise I’ll pay you back as soon as-”

“You misunderstood, Mr Scamander. I’m gonna give you the money, there’s no need for you to pay me back.”

Newt blinks, confused. It doesn’t help that Graves pushes his curls away from his forehead with an unexpected tenderness.

“I… I can’t accept it.”

“Why not? I thought you needed it.”

“I do!” He’s desperate. “But you shouldn’t, I’ll feel bad if I can’t return the money, like I’m taking advantage of you.”

Graves chuckles, actually he’s shaking with laughter and it’s so weird because he has the reputation of being a composed, deadly serious man.

“You’re something else, aren’t you?” He breathes and there’s something like fondness in his voice, but it may be due to the fact that his eyes are still warm because of the laughter. “Newt, I’m wealthy, so much I can live the rest of my life without having to work again. A few galleons less in my pocket will not affect me. Besides, I told you I wanted to help.”

It takes a few moments for Newt to react because he’s still very much distracted by the fact that Graves called him by his given name.

He’s not convinced.

“Mr Graves, I appreciate your-”

The man is stubborn it seems, because with a wave of his hand a bag with coins appears out of nowhere and Graves hands it to Newt.

“I think this'll​ be enough.”

Enough? The magizoologist blinks at him in disbelief, that’s much more that he wanted! And the auror knows, he must because the grin reappears on his features.

“I can’t accept it!” He protests.

There’s the sound of footsteps outside of Tina’s office. Her voice rises when someone greets her in the hallway. It must be Weiss or Fontaine.

“We’ll discuss this over dinner,” Graves whispers while stroking Newt’s curls.

Tina walks in and stops cold when she sees them. Newt blushes, but Graves seems unaffected. He takes a step back.

And Newt’s so flustered he doesn’t get Graves’ word until is too late.

Dinner?

“What?”

“I’ll pick you up at 7.” The Director doesn’t give him the chance to reply, he turns to Tina instead and nods in her direction. “I need the report about the no-maj’s house tomorrow on my desk.”

“Of course, Sir.” She says immediately, even though her like look shocked and confused.

“Wait…” Newt tries to argue, but the Director walks away before he can say something else.

Tina’s shoulder relax and she suddenly looks more like herself.

“What was that, Newt?”

“I’m still trying to figure it out myself.”

Pent-Up (Ruby/Cinder)

A/N: A Cinder/Ruby commission for @faeron-the-wanderer, set in some ambiguous modern AU. Pretty NSFW near the end, 700 words long. Enjoy!



Vanilla and cinnamon permeated the air. Warm, like melted butter trailing down her skin as Cinder stepped into her apartment. To see Ruby bustling about in the kitchen wasn’t too much of a surprise, especially since they swapped dinner duty every other night. But it made Cinder a little wary, since the girl usually only delved into the comfort of sweets and baking when she was stressed.

“I’m home,” she said under her breath, more for the ritual of it than anything else because there was no way Ruby didn’t see her walk in. The wall between the living room and the kitchen had a vast open space with lots of countertop, good for storing the normal bric-a-brac acquired after years of cohabitation and also Ruby’s general disdain for putting things where they belong.

She waved through the opening before turning her back on Cinder, focusing on whisking a bowl of sugar and eggs.

Setting aside her purse, Cinder went over to the little dividing wall, spotting a tray of cooling cookies. They were still soft and scorching hot, the way she liked them. In the next moment a glass of cold milk was resting next to her, and Ruby took her free hand, kissing the back of her palm.

“Welcome home.”

Keep reading

What Do YOU Want? Pt. 4

A Kwon Jiyong series ft. Kim Jiwon

Genre: Angst/Fluff

Word count: 2,700+

Summary: The most important person in the world to you can appear most often when you least expect it. But through everything, you can’t forget about you and your own happiness. Who are you happy with? Who is the best for you?

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 … Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Originally posted by gdtopdream

You were frozen, listening to the grown men shout at each other. Their voices were muffled and your conscience could not make itself loud enough for you to know whether you should lean an ear directly to the door, walk in and interrupt their yelling, or just walk away altogether.

Reluctantly, you decided on the first option and steadied your breathing enough to gently rest your face against the large double doors leading to Yang’s office. Jiyong was just on the other side of those doors; his body was closer to you than it had been in nearly four months and your heart couldn’t begin to process it. It was difficult to control its rate as you listened to his voice clearly for the first time in so long. There was also no controlling your eyes as they widened upon realizing what they were talking about.

You.

Keep reading

Simple Healing Bath Spell

Okay, so lately I’ve been trying to get back into shape, so I started exercising again. Well, I worked out a few days in a row, without a rest day, which was stupid because I was completely out of shape (still am, but you know what I mean). Well, last night I was getting some bad back pain, and took a bath. Was fine in the bath, but once I got out it continued to hurt for about 15 minutes or so. Anyways, that’s what inspired me to make this spell… again, magick is not a substitution for medication/health visits.

You’ll need-

~Warm bath

~Epsom Salt

~White candle (healing)

~Red candle (health)

~Fresh mint

~Lemon slices

~Orange slices

~rose petals (I would use white)


–Anyways, hope this helps you guys ☻. 

Love and Light, Amaryllis~♥

Visions to Toast Perfect Looks

Love is a ghost hiding in the rafter,
Winking behind the post, mocking any laughter
Taunting each meeting and every day greeting
Haunting and fleeting even while eating.

Even still, together still, better still to breathe as two
One day will arrive with deep sighs like a dawn dew
Faults laid in a bucket, no need for their wells
Enjoying​ silent words, spilled misspelled spells.

Resting without work, working without rest
Too much of a good thing is a daring test
Of endurance without that special perk
Like a centrifuge magnifying the spin of each quirk.

Pedaling hard and feeling blue
In an igloo without special glue
Puzzling days roll from a guillotine
Fingers alight on a mysterious screen.

In a gilded birdcage on a trapeze
Letter by letter flying with ease,
For a Happy Ending down the road
Her mind radiantly tap dances in Morse code.

Searching for a taboo Forest of Gold
What he only knows is a force of cold
Purloined mind flying through the trees
Bringing on a pontifical wheeze.

Until it wrings in the most, love is a ghost
Sure to beckon visions to toast
Garish recollections that disturb monster lies
Until imperfections bring perfect looks from your eyes.

@sameseem
4/11/17

anonymous asked:

Hi! I hope i'm doing this correctly, i love your blog and your writing and i'd feel terrible if i did something silly ;_; but if you're up to it, could I request headcannons about junkrat and/or symmetra where they're on a mission with their s/o and the s/o takes a shot for them? (s/o doesn't die, just gets injured protecting them) and how they would react? thanks so much, I appreciate it :)

You’re doing fine, I’m pretty chill about stuff so honestly you probably couldn’t offend me if you wanted to. 

Junkrat


Jamison’s piercing laugh spread through the air as he lobbed frag grenades at a group of Talon grunts. A few went flying and you shot the ones that survived through the head. 

“And they said I would never amount to anything,” he gives a lopsided grin to you and you return with a much softer one.

“C’mon darl,” he posed with his grenade launcher over his shoulder, “Let’s get the data they want.”

Noticing something move behind Junkrat you grabbed him by the straps trailing across his chest and threw him behind you. A gun fired and the world froze around you. Blood splattered to the ground like blossoming petals and you fell to your knees. You touched your chest and when your hand pulled away it was coated with red. 

It doesn’t even hurt, you thought as the world went dark and cold. Junkrat screamed and fired his launcher continuously, tearing the enemies apart. Everything went by in a daze until he seemingly appeared in the drop ship, desperately pressing his hands to your wounds. It seemed like no time had passed until Mercy shooed him away from the surgery room before going into her doctor mode.

Junkrat stared blankly forward before hobbling towards his workshop. Slamming the door shut he grabbed the nearest unfinished project and started working. He worked for three days without rest until Roadhog grabbed him by the scruff of the next and threw him out. He just wandered around, the world in a daze, until he found himself standing outside of the med-bay. Raising his hand in defense at Mercy’s suspicious glance, he saw you laying there on the bed.

“I promise I ain’t got nothing with me doc,” he said while he hobbled to you. 

“If I smell the slightest hint of gunpowder,” she warned before leaving.

As he sat in the chair next to your bed, your eyes opened and you smiled at the junker. 

“You look awful.”

“Why doncha look in a mirror, darl,” he retorted as your hand wrapped around his own, “You look as bad as me.”

Giving a hum you squeezed your hand, “I’m going to be fine.”

“Ah,” he said, resting his head on your thigh and his eyes closing.

“That’s good.”

Symmetra 


“Everything is in order,” Satya leaned back, admiring the gleam of her sentry turrets placed in a neat lines.

“That looks nice,” you looked over the turrets also eye kept for enemies behind her, knowing that she can miss things when she’s focused on something.

“Doesn’t it,” Symmetra cooed, “Marvelous.”

You noticed something move behind her and you grabbed her shoulder, throwing her behind you. A hook wrapped around your waist and pulled you towards the large Junker. He shot his gun and shrapnel filled your chest. Dropping to the ground you saw a light blue ball float above you and hit Roadhog in the chest. 

Giving a shuddering breath he quickly retreated and Satya filled your sight. Her face was cold as lifted you, eyes staring at your shoulder. The world swum around you as you found yourself back at the drop ship, body moving slightly as it took off. You heard Symmetra humming and could picture the ways her hands move rhythmically with the song. Knowing that it was her way to calm down you gave a shallow breath.

You slipped into unconsciousness and woke again a few days later, laying in the med bay. You looked to the side to see Satya reading a book, she flickering her eyes to you when you shift slightly. 

“You woke up,” her voice was passive, almost like you just woke up from a nap.

“I did,” you confirmed, “How is your book?”

“It is uninteresting,” she closed it and laid it on your night stand, “You will be fine.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” you rested your head on the pillow before reaching your hand out.

“I would like to hold your hand,” you said while Symmetra slid her hands in yours.

Smiling you murmured out a word before falling asleep.

“Exquisite.”

2

It’s just something - something Verrocchio said to me once. He said, 

anonymous asked:

UT/US/UF skelebros, Ink, Reaper, and Error suddenly finds themselves in a dark world without time. No winds blow, day never comes, nor does spring or summer. Everything is in grayscale. Many of the inhabitants have become twisted by darkness. It would no exaggeration to say that world is in complete ruin. What is their reaction? (If you ever played Pokémon Mystery Dungeon Explorers, you'll get the reference)

Dude, this is practically word-for-word how it’s described by Dusknoir in the game. I see I’m not the only one who memorized the game’s dialogue. ~Mod Feral


UT Sans

It’s odd to say the least. Some of this makes sense without time, but everything being grayscale and in ruins is a little off. He decides he want a better look at the area, so he tries to teleport. Nothing. That’s right. His teleportation has some space-time elements to it. No time, no teleportation. Guess he’s gotta try hiding and such to prevent getting killed.


UT Papyrus

He’s scared. He’s really, really scared. This whole situation’s wrong. He can’t see as much as usual. Other’s keep trying to attack him. He’s just so scared. How’d this happen?


US Sans

Pretty much the same as UT Papyrus.


US Papyrus

He’s not too phased at first, but then he realizes the lack of time is giving him a lack of teleportation. He’s real quick to get nervous then. He’s not sure how he’s gonna survive without it. The rest of his magic works, though, but how good will that be for him?


UF Sans

It’s like hard-mode home. He can’t teleport, and everything’s grayscale, but that’s all that’s really different. He’s used to fighting for his life, he’s used to darker areas, he’s used to a lack of seasons. It’s just the inability to teleport that’s affecting him, really.


UF Papyrus

What’s different, again? Oh, yeah. Colors and lack of environmental movement. Oh well. Ultimately, he’s unfazed.


Ink Sans

The lack of things going on concerns him at first, but when he sees signs of any type of life, even if said signs are trying to attack him, he’s relieved. It’s just a weird world choice, that’s all.


Reaper Sans

Honestly? He’s seen weirder, crueler, and darker areas. He’ll just go about his business like nothing’s up.


Error Sans

He has loads of fun here. A world with no time flow? It’s interesting. He’s here for quite some time making small adjustments to the world’s code before he gets bored and decides to destroy it completely.