scanned today

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{22.01.17}
05/100 days of productivity!! I scanned my biology notes today!! I absolutely love how they turned out!! the chloroplast which I tried to draw looks like a bittergourd omg🌵 anyways, wish me loads of luck in finishing my general paper essay tonight!!!

Inktober 002: 90s-diet-coke-au!Kuroo Tetsurou

Tools: Copic Multiliner (0.3), Copic Markers (W5, W10, R29, Y19), Sakura Gelly Roll (white), WHSmiths sketchbook

When We Collide (Part 18)

Pairing: Assistant!Y/N/CEO!Luke

Rating: NC-17

Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17

Summary: He is the definition of high class smart ass, swimming in Dom Pierre Pérignon champagne and has never seen the shadow of poverty. She is underprivileged, lives in a messy dorm room on sale and struggles working as an assistant after being thrown out of college. But how will they collide when Luke makes Y/N pregnant after a drunkenly one night stand?

When We Collide on Wattpad

“I heard your date wasn’t even close to a success?”

Looking over your shoulder to see Ashton stand in the door frame to your office you smiled brightly by his presence. He was standing with a bouquet of lilies in his hands and knocked twice on your door frame just for fun.

“You have no idea. Come in.” You giggled and nodded your head in confirm, his contagious giggle filling the room once he walked fully inside.

Keep reading

What Nightmares May Come

A/N: Don’t kill me for this, but I keep getting stuck on what Cassian said to Nesta, you know the moment that was ripping every nessian shipper’s heart out. So I wrote a thing. You know to get it out there and maybe, just maybe, stop obsessing about it.

- - - - - - -

She just needed one additional candidate. If she was honest with herself, she was holding out for the perfect candidate, someone like her. For as long as Nesta could remember she had two dreams just two and really they were more like panic inducing nightmares. Her nightmares were the reason she became a neurologist, specializing in oneirology.

Her nightmares were different from the majority of her patients suffering from PTSD or Schizophrenia. Two -  just two nightmares, never changing, it was like watching the same re-run every night. She often felt like the universe was trying to tell her something, lead her somewhere. In those few moments of her life when she was optimistic she felt the universe and the powers to be were trying to fulfill a promise made in a different time and place.

Oh but this time and place was out of a fantasy novel, full of mythical creatures and powers that defied all physics.

The clinical study she was a running was small, more of a hobby at this point in her career, and she just needed the tenth candidate. Just one more to give her the basis for statistical analysis. The other nine subjects had already completed the study, their data and brain scans already collected.

Today she was meeting who she hoped was the tenth candidate. His pre-screening data was the most hopeful. Like her he reported two nightmares, always the same, never changing, just like her.  Today was the screening interview, today she would read and ask questions about his dream journal.

She is almost bouncing in excitement when she is called down to the reception desk to meet her hopeful tenth candidate. When she sees him, he takes her breath away. In her mind, she was thinking he would be a middle aged, slightly overweight and over-worked man. What she did not expect was a god, if she did not know any better, she would have said Jason Momoa was standing at the reception desk. His lines were softer, but he could pass as a very convincing doppleganger. Gods, in another world, she wonder what it would be like to run her fingers through his hair.

Professional. Yes, she needed to be professional. But she could not help the feeling buried deep within her soul, that this man was familiar to her. He was too much like the warrior in her nightmares.

- - - - - - -

They sat in her tiny, but very comfortable office. She was starting to itch to read his dream journal. So far he was the perfect candidate.

“Why?”

She almost jumped at the unexpected question, no one had ever asked her why.

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you so interested in reoccurring nightmares?  I have been searching over a decade for studies, for help, but no one is interested, so why?”

There was something oddly familiar with,  not only his tone, but his eyes. Normally she would never share her nightmares with anyone, not even those she kept close to her heart. But with him, she knew he was different, she knew she could trust him. So she followed her intuition.

“I have two nightmares, like you, always the same, never changing. It was how I landed in this profession, I was obsessed, or still am, with finding a way to unlock these nightmares.”

“What do you dream of?”

It was a mere curiosity on his part. She understood the feeling, finding someone like yourself. Someone who would not call you crazy.

“Another place and another time, nothing of this world.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

“May I see your dream journals, in order to see if you are a fit for this study I need to review them with you.”

He hesitated and she understood, understood more than anyone. It was an intimacy to share what you dreamed of, the nightmares that kept you awake until your body demanded sleep. It was a vulnerability to let others know that you awoke screaming and  in layers of sweat, trying to determine what was reality and what was imagination. Her other nine subjects were lucky, they truly had recurring dreams, not nightmares.

She had seen many tattered journals over years of being an oneirologist, what she did not expect was an artist’s portfolio. She did not expect for him to have taken care with the thing that caused him so much agony. He must have sensed her shock, “I’m an artist,” he sucked in a breath before he continued, “and although I struggle with the nightmares, I know they are precious to me.”

She unwound the string and viewed the first piece. If she had not been sitting she would have fell to her knees. She wasn’t sure she was breathing. She had dreamt of this room more times than she could count. She had dreamt of that exact hand reaching for her while she screamed, before she drowned. The room that belonged to another place and a different time.

“In each dream, she dies. In each dream she dies with a whisper of a promise I could not keep.”

“What did you promise her?”

In a gaze full of wonder, like he had already unlocked the secret that she had been trying to lock for a little over a decade, “In words, safety and time. In my heart, love.” He took another deep breath, “A promise to love of a soul much like my own.”

Deep in her heart she knew, she knew what she would see when she turned the page. She knew that she would see a clearing with an ordinary but also not so ordinary male with wisps of dark power.  She knew she would see from the perspective of a magnificent warrior with large bat like wings crawling towards her. She knew she would see a woman battling the ordinary man and losing, losing until she released a power that blasted that man back away from her, away from the warrior clad in bloodied black armor. A warrior that she loved, that she was trying to drag to safety.

Before she was further lost in her predictions of what the next page told, a voice, similar to the voice in her dreams, “I will find you in the next world - the next life.  And we will have that time. I promise.”