this doesn't look that good but hey


Happy trans day of visibility!! (She/her)
(Guest star: my mom’s dog Snowy, named after Tin Tin’s dog)

alphaandhismate  asked:

Hey Rachel got a question for ya. Do you think Stiles would feel inadequate compared to all the buff sexy werewolves and push himself​ to the breaking point trying to look like he belongs? Cause I have this headcanon where he decides to work out to make himself look like he belongs beside the wolves but it doesn't work out to well and he winds up doing more harm than good. Which upsets Derek when he finds out (because he loves the idiot but he won't admit it)

Aw I can absolutely see this. Stiles, already prone to insecurity and the feeling of not being good enough, slowly being worn down by that itching knowledge in his skull of being that he’s not as strong as any of his friends, not as attractive as any of his friends, and sure as hell not as useful as any of them, right? Sure, he’s smart. He knows that. But what the hell use is that in battle? He can’t dive in front of a bullet to keep the others from hurting, can’t stand beside the others and fight at anything close to their level.

And no matter how much he smirks at enemies’ jibes and plays off as enjoying being the group’s token human (”means I get to leave all the heavy lifting to you guys, right?”) it’s a feeling that would keep building up over time, pushing at the back of his skull every time the pack insists he be left behind on a certain mission, that he should stay where he’s safe, or gets offhandedly told he’ll just slow the others down. Every time they go running out in the preserve and he gets to sit behind and watch the car. Every time he goes out with the group and finds himself wondering what he looks like in everyone else’s eyes: this circle of beautiful beyond belief, supernaturally perfect people and then… him.

He couldn’t share his worries with the others –– Scott would get that worried look in his eyes and insist Stiles is perfect the way he is. Lydia might not share the same speed and strength as the others but she’s always been supernaturally beautiful, and she’s got her own banshee tricks to help out in a fight. So he keeps it inside, bottles it up… and he starts to push himself. Stays after school lifting weights until his limbs are wrecked from it, goes out running until his legs are shaking under him. Thinking one more lift, one more mile, one step closer to belonging.

And it starts working, too. He’s able to keep up with the pack sometimes, on their more casual runs. He’s gaining muscle, losing any last hints of baby fat. But there are hollowed shadows under his eyes too and he’s not eating enough, probably, but that’s fine. It’s fine when he wrestles with Liam and ends up with a purpled bruise blooming out across his ribs from a too-hard tackle. It’s fine that he can’t really sleep anymore because his muscles are always burning. It’s fine because he’s started looking at pictures of the group after pack events and almost seeing a group of people who fit together, not a handful of perfect people around a lanky, awkward him. Who the hell wouldn’t sacrifice a little comfort and the ability to lift his arms above his head for that?


Derek’s the one who notices first, because of course he is. Drops in through the bedroom window one night like the supernatural stalking creeper he used to be, and finds Stiles collapsed to an exhausted heap against the side of his bed. Too tired and too sore to have stripped off his sweat-stained shirt or make it the extra step to lay down on it. He forces a smile when he spots Derek, but it’s more pained than it should be. Wavers at the edges. Derek ignores his opening jibe, doesn’t comment on the way Stiles tries to push himself up on unsteady palms and falters, a spasm of motion that starts and dies just as fast. Just moves silent, sits down next to him on the floor at the foot of the bed. There’s a world of words in his silence, a disapproving air Stiles can feel deep in his bones, and he finds himself saying “I’m fine,” low and head ducked, like it’s a lie.

It’s not a lie. But it’s not exactly true either, is it?

Derek’s eyes are on Stiles’ face now, flicking down his damp shirt, over his faintly trembling limbs, and it’s like he’s seeing too much suddenly, seeing through walls Stiles is too tired to pull up. People aren’t supposed to see him at this point in the day; they’re supposed to see him in the morning when he has the energy to grin and bounce and keep up with the rest of them like it’s effortless. They’re not supposed to see the tired bruises under his eyes or the way he shakes from hours of trying to hold himself at a werewolf’s level.

He wets his lips, a flash of frustration burning bitter through him.

“Look, I’m not strong like you guys.” It’s not news. It’s been a constant refrain for the past two years of his life, ever since Scott was bit and turned into a superhero sports star girl magnet and left Stiles standing awkwardly in his dust. Stiles couldn’t ask for the bite, Scott wouldn’t understand. And he doesn’t think he wants it either, not really. He doesn’t want the claws or the anchors or the pulls to the moon. He just wants to be able to keep up with them. Wants to not be the funny one in a group of supermodels. Doesn’t want to be the weak one in a group of heroes. Doesn’t want to be the one holding them back.

He bites over a frustrated sound, frowns at Derek’s faintly pinched brows, manages to lift one bone-dead arm and snaps out even more harshly: “I’m not… hot.”

It’s not the whole issue, it barely touches the issue, but it’s too much already and he scowls after he says it, daring Derek to snort or mock him or roll his eyes and agree, obviously, but that searching look only seems to sink deeper and Derek murmurs, “You’re wrong.”

Which is just… it’s worse than laughing. Because Stiles could handle people dismissing him, mocking him. He’s used to that. What he can’t take is Derek fucking Hale feeling so goddamned bad about his patheticness that he’s reduced to lying to try and comfort him.

“Oh, right, sure. I’m hot. You guys are all freaking Greek gods with all the muscle and the… faces.” He snorts, falling back against an overworked spine that protests the pressure. “You can’t even talk. You’ve always been the hottest person ever. You’ve got no idea what it’s like to be the one no one ever wants.”

Derek’s eyes flick down Stiles again, reassessing, and Stiles winces over the realization that Derek’s trying to find something, anything likable on his wiry frame.

Don’t––” He starts, because he physically cannot handle that, but Derek’s saying “You’re wrong,” again, and it’s soft and warm in a way that doesn’t sound like pity.

But Stiles doesn’t let himself feel it. The “oh yeah?” he shoots back is sure and challenging, almost smug in its confidence because maybe he’s not beautiful beyond all reason like the man next to him, maybe he’s not strong and desirable and wanted but at least he’s smart enough to realize that.

Derek lets out a growl of frustration and turns where he’s sitting, crowds in close with palms pressed to either side of Stiles’ thigh, and Stiles is on the edge of rolling his eyes because does Derek seriously think he can intimidate Stiles into changing his mind about himself, but then “you’re wrong” falls out a third time, a too-warm growl of a whisper, and Derek closes the space between their lips.

Stiles loses his conviction in the contact.

Derek’s hands move over him while they kiss, dragging soothing tips and scolding pinches over his wrecked muscles in ways that leave him groaning, touches sinking you’re beautiful and you’re wanted under his skin in ways the best words probably never could. Hands trail down to play across Stiles’ fingers, silently praising the cleverness of them. Beard-rough lips drift up to kiss across his temple and a warmth of admiration seems to melt into him with each press. And Stiles can barely move, arms aching protest as he lifts them to thread into Derek’s hair, body quivering in ways that shift between exhaustion and want.

When Derek finally leans back Stiles whimpers, wanting more but too worn down to chase him. But Derek’s watching him from inches away in the dark room, and there’s no reflected flaws in those dark eyes now. Just you’re beautiful, you’re wanted. You’re important

Stiles runs light thumbs down Derek’s beard, lets out a light laugh he barely recognizes.

“Guess I believe you,”

(And from now on, on nights when the pack goes out running, Stiles and Derek find a more interesting way to occupy themselves by the cars.)


[Akira]: Rest in pieces Ryuji

[Ryuji]: Hey! At least your hair looks good! And quit tellin’ people I’m dead!

[Akira]: Sometimes, I can still hear his voice…

So, as promised, have some Wonder Woman!Boneset. I wasn’t sure what to draw exactly so I just redrew some of the promotional photos of the movie. 

Feel free to come up with a reason that there’s a man on Themyscira during WWI because I don’t have one.


Today’s prompt was crooked so I just HAd to finally drag my butt into gear and post something Stan related. Honestly I hate inks and inks hate me, mostly because I have super shaky hands and can’t draw a straight line to save my life. Plus I don’t have the best markers…

But hey! Inktober is all about going back to basics right? And it’s a good excuse to use my fancy sparkle pens.


Harry Styles & Lily Collins [manips] + selfies


The general reactions to the to the Jobs in 4.0 (old and new)
  • PLD: Holy shit, non-Flash or oGCD AoE (that doesn't generate hate, wtf). SHIELD OATH AT 30, HALLELUJAH! ... Wait, I can cast Holy? I HAVE MY OWN FELL CLEAVES?! WHAT IS THIS MADNESS, THEY LISTENED?!
  • WAR: Oh, yeah, triple Fell Cleaves- ... WAit, what, QUINTUPLE FELL CLEAVES?! HOLY SHIT, I'M WET!
  • DRK: ... Eh, not as fancy, but, still, good shit.
  • MNK: Hey, look, team synergy! ... Wait, where'd my personal dps go?
  • NIN: Oooooh shit, I get MY OWN LEYLINES! EEEEE
  • DRG: "Left Eye" "Right eye" "Gaze of the First Brood" ... wtf, I thought we killed Nidhogg?
  • MCH: FLAMETHROOOOOOOWER! (Also, I can Swiftsong now, lol)
  • BLM: Oh, thank god, Enochian is just tied to the Astral Fire/Umbral Ice timer now. And, wait, OH SHIT, THUNDER II AoE, YOOOOOO
  • SMN: On one hand, RIP my AoE DPS. On the other, FUCKING BAHAMUT.
  • WHM: Just... put these useless liles on my grave. To the SCH and AST, I leave my skills.
  • SCH: ... RIP my AoE DPS, too. Buuuuut, I get my own Battle Litany. So... *shrugs*
  • AST: No, SE, I wanted Noct to better mesh with my kit. I didn't WANT another flat buff! I mean, everything else is great and all, but, come on, I was already borderline broken.
  • SAM: So, uh, Monk, about your personal DPS...
  • RDM: "Ver" is like Frank's RedHot: We put that shit on everything. ... Also, it looks like I'm going to be the raise bitch of statics and 24 mans.

anonymous asked:

Taeil's the lowkey sexy guy. Seriously, he doesn't need to act sexy. It's already in him. The aura just emits off effortlessly. He has a good build too. His shoulders look broad and damn those thick af thighs. He can crush my head with that I'll be singing Good Thing through it all. - Totally Not A Taeil Fan

hey there totally not a taeil fan have fun suffering ;)


Hey there, what you got to hide?
If you’re mad, get mad, don’t hold it all inside,
I get angry too, well, I’m a lot like you.
When you’re standing at the crossroads,
And don’t know which path to choose,
Let me come along, cause I’d never do you wrong.

anonymous asked:

You said that if Phoenix was happy then that was enough ( or something along the lines of that) right? But he doesn't look too joyful now. How about trying to cheer him up?

MILES: H-Hey, Phoenix. Don’t… cry? It could be worse!


MILES: Well, you could’ve been the one murdered!


MILES: Nngoh!

MILES: (I’m really not good at this!)

anonymous asked:

wally doesn't seem to have the strongest jawline. either he's a cute, chubby wubby widdow boy, or he's a cute, baby faced widdow boy.

((…definitely baby faced. the good news is, its good for picking up chicks. the bad news is, nobody believes him when he says he’s 23.))

Please don’t tag as kin/me - Please don’t repost to other websites - Ask Before Dubbing - Please don’t remove caption - Reblogs appreciated! <3 ✮

Black & Blue & Red All Over [Shance Ficlet]

For Day 1 of @shancefluffweek: Black/Blue

Summary: Modern AU. When Lance shows up to the gym with a limp and covered in bruises, Shiro assumes the worst (spoiler: It’s nothing bad! Nor anything kinky, surprisingly).

As Lance stepped into the yoga room, he was relieved to see his struggle to the gym that day hadn’t been in vain after all. Near the front of the room the cute Air Force guy, Shiro, was already seated on his mat and warming up with a stretch. His heart skipped a little upon seeing him, and it was all he could do to quash down the gooey feelings brewing inside of him as he approached.

He still couldn’t believe he had such a mushy crush on a guy, especially since he’d sorta hated Shiro when he first joined the class. Before he came along, Lance had had the privilege of being the only strapping young man in a class otherwise comprised of lovely ladies (all of them twice his age, but Lance didn’t discriminate). Once the beefcake military dude walked in, his reign met a swift end. Oh, how he’d despised that dude.

Well, ok, he’d only actually despised him for about an hour. When Shiro approached him after their first class together and politely introduced himself, all his petty jealousy had warped itself into some unfamiliar feeling it took him a while to recognize as attraction. Since that epiphany, he’d been spending a lot more time at the gym – always choosing a place next to Shiro in yoga class, spotting him in the weight room, challenging him to races in the pool just to see him shirtless…I mean, that was all he could do. It wasn’t like he could just confess to the guy, right?

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