Ik theres this big cringe trend lately, but if its just kids having harmless fun and arent doing any damage ( harrassing, stealing, overbearing strangers, etc) just let them be
Nothing sucks more than having a good time, that isnt distressing anyone, and to be ridiculed for it. Remember that while it isn’t your place to babysit anyone it’s also not your place to ruin a good experience
I’ve been thinking about this Plant boy Yoongi au, in where he is a really pale green with long green hair with flowers all over it. Not a flower crown, flowery hair & he lives alone in this mossy green cabin in the mounts near a forest that he protects. & you always see him on the roof talking, but he isn’t talking to himself, he is talking to the sun, the sun’s name is Hoseok. The sun is his best friend, his life force, without the sun he can’t live for very long. He became friends with the sun on the very first stormy day of his entire life, he realized his forest was getting sicker & sicker the more the sun would hide, so he climbed up to his roof frustrated & screamed as loud as he could. He asked why this was happening & why he couldn’t help them, his family. After that tantrum he just started crying, the sun came out to see what was all that ruckus about & he saw this beautiful boy who wouldn’t stop shedding water, he was confused because he was the only one that could make water. So he came down for a bit & talked to the plant boy & that’s how they became friends. The plant boy managed to get the sun to cheer up, so that’s how he got the humid dark clouds to stop. But of course there would be sad days that couldn’t be helped, but plant boy would help the sun to get better after letting it all out. He was there to listen after all.
I’m gonna draw this soon after i finish the JK series to show you all how i imagine him, he is really cute trust me guys.
To everyone who sent sweet messages about the porn gif drabbles: thank you! I will be answering them as soon as I get a free second.
To the one nasty anon who tried to ruin it: congratulations! It worked. I’m not going to post your message because it was by far the most disgusting hate I’ve received. But you accomplished your goal. I’m out.
I will finish these drabbles another day, when I’m feeling better. In the meantime, I’m sorry to everyone who was looking forward to them.
Once a sick kid, and now a soldier, the possibility of imminent death is something Steve's had to grow accustomed to. Turns out, a sacred, somewhat odd nightly ritual, helps him cope.
It had been strange at
first, after the serum, to find out how deep a ‘deep breath’ really was.
He was lying on his back
in his bed in Stark Tower and no matter where or when he was, nothing was as
comfortable and as comforting as that last breath before winding down into his
His mother had started it;
he never remembered a time when she didn’t sit with him, hand on his back and
breathing slow and deep with him before mentioning three things she was
grateful for and one happy memory, before another three deep breaths. Sometimes, they were grateful it was sunny, and
sometimes they were grateful they were Irish and sometimes they had such nice
neighbors. Sometimes it was bigger
things, being grateful for being able to eat dinner or have heat. They were always grateful, Sarah would always
say, for second chances. A new one, every day, my dear, was what
she always said every evening.
Steve took in his third
deep, deep breath and held it for a slow count to ten before releasing it
slowly. Eyes still closed, he thought
for only a few moments before murmuring to himself:
“I’m grateful for the
trust of my teammates. I’m grateful for
belonging. I’m grateful for second
chances; a new one, every day.”
He paused again for
several moments before continuing:
“Singing in the car with Rhodey after his PT appointment this week made me really happy, because I didn’t think he’d smile or laugh for a couple days. It was a rough appointment and I admire him and he can really sing him some Sly and the Family Stone.”
Steve went quiet, taking
three more slow, deep breaths, and drifting off to sleep.
Only the very best pilot is allowed to
fly the heir to the Empire from one place to another, and until the
very best pilot comes, the Empress won’t allow her son to leave the
Pilots from every school in the galaxy
come, of course, to try to apply for the position as the prince’s
personal pilot, but none of them can make it past the Empress’s test.
Every new applicant leaves complaining of yet another catch to the
test that none of their friends warned them about.
One complains of an asteroid field too
thick to fly through, another of wormhole calculations made by hand,
a third of a complex engineering problem no flight instructor has
“Have you taken the Empress’s test?”
becomes a question among pilots and those who work with them, a joke
and a real question all at once. After five years, anyone who answers
no is considered hopelessly green, and not even a freight company
will hire them until they’ve given it a try.
It’s a question, a brag, in pilot bars,
and in one particular bar, someone listens to years of brags and
wondering if the Empress is keeping her heir cooped up in the center
of the Empire on purpose.
She listens, and she thinks, and she
never steps foot in a piloting academy.