stars delicate

diego luna & felicity jones + 90s rom com

Lonely transit worker Lucy Eleanor Moderatz (Felicity Jones) pulls her longtime crush, Peter (Gael García Bernal), from the path of an oncoming train. At the hospital, doctors report that he’s in a coma, and a misplaced comment from Lucy causes Peter’s family to assume that she is his fiancée. When Lucy doesn’t correct them, they take her into their home and confidence. Things get even more complicated when she finds herself falling for Peter’s sheepish brother, Jack (Diego Luna).

Bungou Stray dogs, as you all know, is one of my favorite series and the promotional/official art is no different. They are some of the most beautiful pieces of art for an anime series I’ve ever seen. One of my favorites is the one with the flowers, which are featured here:

I actually tried to guess the flowers they are holding, even going so far as to look up examples and their meanings.
Because I am a sad 23 year old who has no life. <|…D;;;;;;

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ok, so I’m feeling very vulnerable bc I NEVER SHARE MY ART WITH ANYONE, let alone the entire internet… but here goes. I don’t even know if anyone will see this, or like… care? But I’ve been drawing digitally for about a month and a half or so now and I wanna share some of the works I’m doing?

This is sill a **work in progress** (I GUESS HENCE THE WIP WRITTEN AT THE BOTTOM, HELLO U CAN CALL ME CAPTAIN OBVIOUS nice to meet you) and I am still figuring out like, how do I even digital art? right now but… here ya go, world. Here is my unfinished piece of roughly polished garbage lol

Also, I don’t have a title yet because I am not clever enough to come up with good titles.

Honestly not sure why I’m worried, I have like 2.5 followers rn and this post will likely disappear into the dark abyss of internet Bermuda Triangle

birthday ficlet, for @reserve

@reserve is my dearest buddy, my singularly amazing partner in crime, my most talented collaborator extraordinare, and today is her birthday!!!!!!!! i love her very much, so i wrote her this dumb benarmie/young kylux ficlet that I hope you also will all enjoy. featuring: classic confused sullen teen ben solo, gratuitous hux descriptions, rae sloane cameo (!!!!!), and the city of coruscant. 

it’s pretty long so i’ve put it under a clickthru!


up on top (benarmie, 2k, rated teen i guess idk)

Ben sees him first when he is fourteen, while taking two weeks of the Yanvin summer with his mother on Coruscant. It is the third morning: Leia treats him to a breakfast in their rooms (he ruins it by being purposefully sullen and grunting at her questions, squashing delicate star-shaped cuts of fruit into pulp with the tines of his fork and refusing to look her in the eyes), and then sighs and sets off to her meetings, leaving Ben to his own devices.

In the empty suite, he flips through the holonews channels, picks at the mess of fruit drying on his breakfast plate, suns himself on the balcony, jerks off half-guiltily in the sonic, takes a dozy and indulgent nap in the crisp sheets of his bed that leaves his mind pleasantly fuzzy on the edges and seems to momentarily quiet the humming grey flurry of ash in the back of his skull.

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Isak and Even are sitting on the top of the world, their fingers intertwined and their knees bumping as they look down on the vibrant life coursing through the heart of Marrakech. Even at this late hour, the center of the city is bubbling with sleepless activity; and from where they’re sitting up high, the boys let the echoes of the noise and commotion below envelop them. You’re not alone, Marrakech seems to tell them. You’re part of something bigger, you’re part of this world.

‘Isak, I thought of something,’ Even suddenly blurts out after they’ve been sitting in silence for many minutes, his voice barely above a whisper. 

Isak’s hold on his boyfriend’s fingers tightens slightly and he starts rubbing his thumb across the soft skin he can reach, turning to Even with a sweet smile playing on his lips.

‘What’s that, baby?’ Isak asks patiently. There’s a hint of uncertainty in Even’s quiet words, in the way his gaze drifts downwards like he’s trying to collect his thoughts — but Isak doesn’t push it. He breathes in the suffocatingly warm summer air and waits, waits for Even to be ready to say whatever he needs to say. Until… 

‘I thought—’


‘I thought that maybe we should marry?’


(A beat)

‘What?’ Isak croaks in a strangled voice which sounds like someone else’s. Surely Even-Even can’t just have asked Isak-Isak that question, right?

‘Um, baby,’ Even starts again, his fingers starting to tremble a bit against his boyfriend’s. He’s now looking into the distance, as though reaching out to pluck courage from the delicate stars twinkling on the horizon. ‘Do you— would you maybe consider marrying me? When we’re a bit older, I mean?’ Still barely a murmur, soft and hopeful and (Isak realises) apprehensive.

The hushed words seep into Isak, bright and unmistakable as the morning sun, and there’s suddenly no more room for doubt. This is happening. This is happening right now, in this very universe.

Before Isak can think of a proper answer, his hand instinctively curls some more around Even’s, cradling it lovingly until it’s impossible to say where one ends and the other begins. He never wants to let it go again, he thinks. He never wants to let Even go.

Then Isak finally finds his voice back.


‘No, Even.’


(A beat, two beats)

‘I’m not going to consider marrying you. I want to marry you, period.’

The radiant smile spontaneously blossoming on Even’s face at those words holds all the shimmering glory of the evening sky stretched everywhere around them. Even becomes the sky, the sky becomes Even, and the light sinks into every corner of Isak until he’s bathing in it. Oh, how he loves his Even.

When their eyes meet at last and enter a silent dance together, Isak can see it: the promise of Even and Isak, Isak and Even, merging into one like the pink and the orange embracing on the horizon and cradling thousands of starry smiles in their arms.


“All men have the stars, but they are not the same things for different people. For some, who are travelers, the stars are guides. For others they are no more than little lights in the sky[…]”

Ig: micolsinn


We’re such delicate little things 

Skin broken with just a touch 

Like mewling kittens, still blind

We reach for something we can never comprehend 

We wish on dandelion seeds and stars

Such ephemeral things that blow away and wink out one by one 

A race of naive children pretending to be cynics 

We let others remove our rib bones with long fingers and take our hearts in their hands 

So trusting so unaware how easily hearts are broken 

Mouths are guns and words bullets

And we don’t seem to understand 

Pointing muzzles at each other trembling, eyes closed as we pull the trigger 

Not wanting to see the consequence 

Oh how easily scars are made

On the brain most of all

How fragile we truly are 

Yet still, we reach for the stars

Fragile//Azrael Fíernen

Newt Scamander X Reader- Drawn Together

Newt Scamander x reader-Drawn Together

A/N: This is my first Newt Scamander Imagine type of thing. I don’t know how good it will be or if anyone will read it. But if you do happen to stumble upon this, hope you enjoy. I had fun writing this. There are no warnings, just a bit of fluffiness from a famous Hufflepuff. Enjoy!

You and the Newt had been close friends ever since your strange first encounter during your shift at a dress shop. You were sitting behind the counters, lost in your own world. The notebook you always carried was spread open on the polished counter, as the dresses in the shop always gave you inspiration to create and sketch. It had been one of your favorite pastimes, especially when business was rather downtempo. Lines and colors all connected to make your image in your mind spring into reality. A ringing bell stole you out of your thoughts, signaling that there was a customer. In the doorway stood a panic-stricken man in a deep peacock colored coat.

Newt was in a bit of a frenzy. He had neglected to get his case locks fixed before traveling again. Once again he was back in New York after finishing the publication of his book, however, it turns out that he had once again lost his thief of a Niffler. He was supposed to be heading over to the Goldstein residence with Jacob, but he would have to push that back. After chasing him down several streets, he came to a stop as he noticed the Niffler scurry inside your shop to get ahold of the crystals on the dresses. With a groan of disbelief, he stumbled into the dress shop, earning a questioning look from you. At first you thought he was trying to steal something since he just kept rummaging through the intricate skirts and sleeves, tossing them randomly all over, but you soon cleared up the misunderstandings. Apparently he was looking for his creature, which you two found of course, but there was a problem. You were what he called a Muggle, or No-Maj in America, so you had to be obliviated.

After making sure the Niffler was back in his case, Newt pulled out his wand, looked into your eyes, and felt slightly guilty. He couldn’t just get rid of your memories, regardless of the rules. He knew he had slightly exposed the wizarding world with the Niffler chase, but he couldn’t knowing you were kind enough to help him. A man who probably sounds completely mad walks into a store you’re working at and instead of calling the police, you assist him. You provided him help, even if you did think he was some criminal on the run at the start. And in all honesty, Newt didn’t want to lose someone who acted so kind to him.

He tucked his wand away. You stared at him again and asked, “Aren’t you going to do the obli-whatever that thing is?”

“No. It’s against the rules, but for some reason, I feel like I shouldn’t,” he was putting too much trust in you, “But I can’t have you telling people about this…”
“I won’t,” you said, not paying attention to the smile on your face, “Besides, people think I’m weird enough already.” You gave a slight laugh and Newt smiled back with his cheeks turning crimson.

“Alright, um…”

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N), and your name is what exactly?”

“Right, (Y/N), and it’s Newt, Newt Scamander.”
But that was some time ago. You two learned a lot about one another, and learned to trust one another rather quickly. He told you all about the wizard world and past adventures, he even introduced you to Tina, Queenie, and Jacob, who you formerly knew as the baker down the street. You two also frequently met after your work ended for a cup of tea or coffee. Newt was quite the fascinating man.

You found him even more fascinating when he told you about the interior of his case. All sorts of creatures large and small resided in there. Except for Pickett the Bowtruckle, he usually hid in Newt’s pocket or behind your hair. Newt found this a bit odd since Pickett typically stayed with him. He did feel a smidge jealous, but he was also overwhelmed with a source of joy, the type that made your heart swell.

Today was one of those days where you both found one another inside his case. Newt was tending to the mooncalves while you were greeted by Dougal.
“Hello to you again Dougal,” you giggled. The Demiguise looked up at you before hopping onto your lap. Once again, your notebook was open, and currently being filled with your interpretive sketches of Newt’s case. You became immersed in your own world again, surrounded by the calls of magical beasts with Dougal peacefully resting on you still.

Newt brushed his hands after setting down the pail of mooncalf food and looked at your concentrated form. Your (H/C) hair was pushed slightly back and your hands carefully worked in your notebook. You paused to stroke Dougal and give him attention, breaking your concentration. A smile crept onto your face again as your eyes filled with adoration for the miraculous creature. Newt sighed in contentment. It began to get increasingly hot even though he wasn’t wearing his thick coat anymore. He could only lie to himself for so long, for he was completely infatuated with everything you did. You were beyond beautiful, of course, but you were also intelligent, kind-hearted, and by far the most incredible human he has ever met. He didn’t care if you weren’t like him. If anything, that only made him more attracted to you. He was madly blushing by this point, and also feeling a bit like a stalker as he admired you from afar. He couldn’t look away though. You were different and he was different, both in each of your own individual ways.

He didn’t want to just be friends anymore, he had known this for a while. He loved the way you didn’t run away screaming in terror from his creatures, but instead, opened your golden heart to them. When he first brought you down into the case, you bombarded him with questions he was thrilled to answer. You were curious, lovely and curious, and he couldn’t understand where you had been for all his life. You beamed with excitement and radiated acceptance. You accepted them. You accepted him.

He picked up the bucket and walked closer to you, accidently awaking Dougal.
“How were the mooncalves?” you questioned.

“They were well (Y/N). I see Dougal has found a new place to nap,” he laughed.
You laughed along with him, igniting his cheeks once more as your melodious laugh filled his ears.


Newt looked over your shoulder and took notice of a set of new sketches you had added to your book. One of them was the sleeping Demiguise, and a few along the bottom were of the young Occamy babies, but the larger one caught his attention. It was a hand drawn sketch of himself. His hair swept over his face slightly as his form was drawn rather attractively. He didn’t realize you could draw so well, he knew you were good, but you managed to make him like a man you would see in photos on display. His muscles were outlined under his shirt, and he suddenly felt ten times stronger than what he actually was. Even his freckles were placed so delicately, like stars in the night sky. He kept staring but was interrupted when he heard you gasp. He instantly became nervous.
“(Y/N) what’s wrong?” he asked, concern coursing through his veins.

You started to tuck the notebook away. “You, you weren’t supposed to see that one.”

He knew right away which one. “It’s okay (Y/N), there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. It was rather amazing and lovely.” By now he was kneeling beside you.

“But you weren’t supposed to see it Newt.”

“But it was beautiful, intricate and amazingly beautiful,” he trailed off before speaking again, you were still cringing at your own embarrassment and rosy cheeks. “Just like you.”

Your eyes went wide, before you spoke put a soft, “N-Newt.”

He hadn’t registered exactly what he said until moments later. His heartbeat was thumping and escalating, like a raging thunderstorm. He debated as to whether he should speak again, hoping he wouldn’t appear too daft.

“I-I yes you are, (Y/N). You are quite remarkable. You-you have been my end, I mean friend and I, well um,” he stuttered as the butterflies inside him took over. He was running out of things to say. His words were stuck and weren’t coming out. Your mouth was slightly hanging open and your face was still beet red. You were about to ask something, but you were cut off. You were cut off by Newt leaning in, and kissing you right on your lips.

It wasn’t rough, but instead smooth. Newt thought you would pull away in horror at his abrupt actions, but he couldn’t confine his feelings anymore. There was no way of sugar coating it. He was in love with you. You were just as strange and nervous as he was, just as understanding. You kept kissing him, pulling yourself closer, for Dougal had disappeared off of your lap. He entangled his large hands through your hair. Nothing but passion was exchanged between the two of you in the serenity of his hidden world. When the two of you pulled away, Newt began apologizing rapidly.

“I’m so sorry. I t-thought you, I thought it was okay I-,”

“Newt, it’s okay.”

“It is?”

You looked up at him. He was breathing heavily as you smiled at him. You could see every detail etched on his face.

“Yes. I just thought you didn’t like me, you know, like that. I always thought you would go with Tina.”

“But Tina and I are friends.”

“Yes but Tina is a lot more-,”

You didn’t get to finish because Newt began to squeeze your hand again. He stared into your eyes, becoming mesmerized again.

“Tina is my friend, and I don’t want you to finish that sentence. You are the most astonishing person I have ever met. I never thought I would meet someone as caring towards me or even my beasts would ever come into my life as you have. There is no one other than you that I would rather have in my arms or by my side.”

You were touched by his words. This man, this awkward yet wonderful in every way possible man loved you. All of you was loved and cherished by Newt. He grabbed both of your hands to stand you up. He glanced down before pressing another sweet kiss to your cheek. You returned the favor by pulling him closer as you rested your head on his chest briefly.

“I love you Newt.”

“And I love you my darling.”

You pulled away from him once more.

“Newt, the rest of the creatures probably still need to be fed.”

You didn’t want the moment to end, but you knew the other creatures shouldn’t have to wait for food while you two were busy kissing.

Newt chuckled before responding back, “Yes love, come on. Let’s go.”

He grabbed another bucket of food in one hand, and he cradled your hand in his other. You picked your notebook up before heading to the other parts in his case, ready for anything that now came to you and Newt. You were both unique, and together, you were incredibly perfect, both like colors mixing together for the perfect shade.



Crossposted to AO3.

Inspired by @bean-about-townn’post: “Imagine the first time Thomas sees James’ hair out of its ribbon” and a related conversation with @blanketed-in-stars


Fingertips skimming delicate along James’s jaw, his stuttering pulse, the tip of Thomas’s nose nudging against his cheek – each point of contact clamors for James’s attention as much as the sweet and constant softness of Thomas’s lips on his own. Gradually, Thomas’s touch migrates to James’s temples, his hair, a quiet caress James leans into without a thought. But his hands only linger there for a breath or two, then there’s an insistent whisper of a tug at the ribbon that binds James’s hair. The knot opens, and his tresses fall loose. Before James has time to be puzzled, Thomas kisses the corner of his mouth once, again, then draws back.

When Thomas opens his eyes, they stare and stare and seem to shine. “I wondered often how this might look,” he murmurs, pushing an errant lock behind James’s ear, fingers tracing over the shell. He looks down at James, adoration writ plain across his face, warm as the candlelight, and this is all still so strange to James, so new. His heart has all the baby-softness of a fresh-healed wound, one light touch or fond gaze sends it reeling, and Thomas is ceaseless in his affections, James never has a moment’s peace…but he does not want one. Not when he could thrill beneath Thomas’s every smile – there seem to be so very many of them, these days.

“Did you?” he asks. It comes out more timid than he intends. He’s too on-guard, far too vulnerable. The seal’s only just broken on this letter of theirs, reading each new line takes courage – one never knows when news might turn sour. And to think of Thomas thinking of him, imagining and longing and daring to hope, it seems a fantasy, the sort of dream James so often imagined and longed after and dared to hope for himself. He swallows. “There you have it, then,” he breathes, and could wince for his ineloquence.

But Thomas’s smile is not patient and weary, or a wooden you’re-too-kind. It’s shy. Shy and sure, and when his fingers slide through James’s hair, gentle and curious, James detects the subtlest tremor. Time and time again, he’s seen those hands stay steady through long nights of debate and bureaucratic minutiae, their following exhausted dawns, and he saw them stay steady during a confrontation that seemed to shake the very china and crystal, that even stirred the villain across the table to movement. To feel them tremble now, from nothing more than their closeness – the unreality of it all proves it real for James. He could not have imagined such a thing long enough to even wish for it. There is much, he supposes, they have yet to learn about one another.

Where to start seems obvious once Thomas meets his eye, glows at him through the dark. Though his limbs have turned to liquid gold, James cups the back of Thomas’s neck and pulls him across that unbearable gap and kisses him, hesitant at first, but never uncertain. Thomas melts into him on a sigh, lips pressing tender and unhurried, those hands threading ever deeper through James’s hair, coaxing him closer. James can do nothing but oblige. Behind him, the ribbon slips from Thomas’s fingers, flutters to the floor and makes not a sound, one wind-fallen petal in a bursting, tremulous spring.