the guys move and look around when they speak

7

everybody 📣 admire 📣 @boldlysewn’s 📣 work

I commissioned this barely any time ago, and @boldlysewn was 1) friendly 2) professional 3) FAST. The intense quality of her handiwork speaks for itself; she hardly needs me plugging her stuff when it fits like this ripped right out of the packaging, but oh my god, you guys, LIVVY IS REALLY REALLY GOOD AT MAKING STAR TREK UNIFORMS. I’m too attached to it just the way it is–very comfortable, easy to put on and take off, stays where it hangs with no need to keep pulling at it–to take advantage of her alterations policy. I’ve been wearing it all weekend, it’s so easy to move around in! 

Just. Look how flat and flawless the seams in front are! Look at that collar point! A GOOD UNIFORM. (ARGUABLY BETTER THAN MANY WORN ON-SCREEN, & I AM MAKING THAT ARGUMENT.) (Probably… a lot of cosplayers’ outfits are better than the ones that got worn onscreen, but still. :P)

I am not so good when it comes to “finding nylons,” however, so enjoy my shorts. (screen-canon skant bottoms are next on my list, because if these uniforms are going to be this ridiculous, I am going to be ridiculous also.) (AHHHHH I’M STILL SO EXCITED) (& YES IM WEARING IT RIGHT NOW)

NaLu AU: To Whom He Speaks, Part 6

A/N: HEY LOOK. THERE’S FINALLY ANGST IN THIS ANGST/MYSTERY STORY. HOW ABOUT THAT.

:D This chapter was fun to write. Enjoy the angst, guys!

Parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9


Natsu ran straight past the tiny cabin to his shelter.

Perhaps he’d been running around too much this particular night, but he was extremely exhausted. He was ready to drop dead onto his rickety old bed again, even if it did smell funny and make a lot of noise when he moved around on it. He could look forward to getting some rest for the remainder of the day, and meet that Lucy girl back at the edge of the village again the following evening. The excitement of the night had completely worn him out.

He slowed to a jog, struggling to control his breathing, as he continued onward—and so many thoughts ran through his head as he did. So Grandpa Makarov had been the one who had told Lucy about this legend? It probably was, according to her words earlier. What exactly had he told her, though? He hadn’t seen him for a while now, but he figured that he must be pretty old by this point. Did he remember everything? What exactly would Lucy be able to figure out by going to ask him questions about that photograph if he hadn’t told her the first time?

All these thoughts flew through his mind, but he couldn’t really organize them in any shape or form—it was just too confusing. Lucy could probably figure something out. He didn’t want to think too hard about it; it made his head hurt.

He finally reached the familiar grove and wound through the brittle brush until he came out into a clearing, where his sleeping area was—a one-story wooden home, completely obscured from sight by the trees and bramble. It had been built specifically for him to live in in secrecy—at least, according to the unsigned note he’d found on the porch when he’d first discovered it, which was nearly five years ago. He still had no clue who had penned that note (or how this particular person had even known who he was), but he was grateful for the shelter. It had been much better than that toolshed of a building that he’d been forced to hole up in for years. The home was very heat-resistant—there were very few scorch marks anywhere in the house, no matter what he touched with his hands. He’d learned to stop questioning it about a few months after he’d moved in.

He entered through the front door, closing it carefully behind him, and meandered through the dark corridors until he reached his sleeping room. He promptly collapsed upon it, not even bothering to get undressed, and blankness clouded his mind as he fell into the comforts of unconsciousness almost immediately. He probably wouldn’t get all that much rest (sleep never came easily to him), but it was better than constantly staying awake.

As usual, his dreams were fitful.

Keep reading

Hooking Up

Dean sat at the diner, near the pick up counter.  He was picking food up for them.  Sam had said he was too tired to go out.

Bored, he pulled his phone out.  He’d kind of gotten hooking on this dating, or in his case, hook up, app.  It showed you if people who might be interested were conveniently located, geographically speaking.  Since he tended to move around so much, that worked for him.  Course he was kind of getting hooked on sexting, even when he didn’t have time to meet up.

He scrolled through messages and some suggested profiles, his eyebrows quirking when he noticed a handle he’d liked back at another town he’d been working a job at a while.  The guy seemed to be here too now.  

He tried to look for photos, but the guy’s settings were on private.  Course Dean didn’t put up photos of himself, except one of his hook ups had some skills outside the bed.  The guy had made him a user picture featuring Dean’s abs, with his handle, Impala67 across it.

<Text:  We’ve been stuck in a small apartment for weeks thanks to the witness protection program.  The cop left.  His gun and cuffs are on the table and I’m looking at you like I want it.  Watch'a gonna do about it?>