this is bigger than i meant it to be

Omg I finished it!! This took longer than expected but its done. This was actually meant to be part of a bigger painting with the four main girls from eos but Im going to try and do them separately and later join them together. More art coming soon. BTW Thank you for a 1k followers!!!

Character belongs to @sjmaas

This painting will be available in my Redbubble if you would like to purchase it. 

Happy Holidays everyone!!!!

incomplete list of christmas gifts given between the empty cup family this year:

- an obnoxiously fluorescent elf hat, from magnus, to hearth. it has bells. (followed by his actual present, a beautiful ornate box carved from wood, found at an antique shop)

- the most plentiful and smelliest lush bath bomb set for samirah, from ‘santa’

- a humongous fluffy plaid blanket, like really ten times bigger than it needs to be, to magnus, from ‘santa’ again

 - a bedazzler kit for blitzen, from alex, meant as joke but blitzen genuinely loves it

- a subscription to Ceramics Monthly magazine for alex from yet again ‘santa’. she thanks hearthstone and blitzen directly, already flicking through the pages of the first issue

- “you can’t ruin the illusion!” magnus gasps, hand dramatically on his chest. “it was from santa!”

Tiny Protection and Luck Bag

This is my first time posting some of the magic I do. I just did this earlier today.

This is a bag meant to be hung somewhere to bring luck and protection while in the room.


  • a bag that you made that’s no bigger than the size of your hand
  • needle and thread
  • a little bit of cinnamon (for protection)
  • some rosemary (for luck and protection)
  • a little bit of salt (for protection)
  • [optional] catnip (for luck and protection)
  • two small pieces of paper and something to write with
  • yarn or something else you can attach to make the bag hang


1. Put the rosemary, (catnip), cinnamon, and salt into the bag you made.

2. Write the words “luck” and “protection” on small, separate pieces of paper. Put them in the bag, too.

3. Sew the top of the bag shut. Make sure it’s tight so nothing gets out! Or you can do what I did: I sewed the materials from step one inside of a little square that was thicker than my bag and put that in.

4. Attach the yarn or whatever it is you have to use as the hanging piece.

5. You’re done! That’s it! You can hang this bag in your bedroom, kitchen, car, etc.

Guzma redemption headcanons

Imagine all the times during their training that Hala literally picked Guzma up and hurled him across the sumo ring. Guz is a big guy, sure, but Kahuna Hala is bigger!

Imagine Guzma being overly emotional in the beginning, and letting his anger get the best of him, which leaves him open for defeat.

Imagine a certain someone sharing some friendly advice with Hala about how to “speak Guzma’s language” as it were.
“You can’t push him. He’ll only push back harder. I know he doesn’t seem like the type, but he actually responds really well to positive reinforcement. A little praise when he’s doing well goes a lot farther than reprimanding him when he screws up, believe me.” ….and then imagine Hala taking that advice to heart, and using it to help Guzma along in his training.

Imagine Guzma improving drastically, becoming more focused, and each day getting closer and closer to pushing Hala out of the ring, and although he never does manage to beat him, the recognition he gets for his improvements has such a profound positive effect on him that eventually it stops being about win or lose, and more about having fun and understanding your opponent.

Imagine Guzma learning to channel his anger through Alolan sumo, and no longer having violent outbursts when things don’t go his way. He still gets angry, sure, and that’s ok. Everyone gets mad sometimes and it’s ok! But he no longer acts on his anger, which is a massive improvement from the person he used to be.

Imagine Guzma returning to Team Skull (who is better known as Team ReSkull nowadays) and everyone being overjoyed to see him again. They’re happy to welcome him back, not just as their former boss, but as their boy Guzma!

Imagine Guzma improving himself so much, not just as a pokemon trainer, but as a person, that he earns the recognition of Tapu Bulu, and becomes the Kahuna in place of Nanu, who, quite honestly, is RELIEVED to finally be rid of the position he never wanted in the first place, and gives Guzma his sincerest (but still sarcastic) congratulations.

Finally, imagine Guzma finally being confident and feeling good about himself in the way he deserves ❤

I was young when I was convinced that I was not beautiful.

I felt it when my mother would viciously pull on my hair when she would braid it, because my hair was too curly to become straight just by her feeble fingers.

I felt it when I was scolded for eating the last candy bar sitting in the kitchen cabinet because eating it apparently meant that I was now ten pounds closer to being the most talked about subject at a party.

I felt it when my aunts would tell me to try on a size bigger than what I was wearing because the cloth simply clung too much to my skin which was unporportional in all different angles even though I thought I looked pretty.

I felt it when the phrase, “girls don’t behave that way” was drilled in the back of my head for stepping outside my so called ‘boundaries.’

I felt it after the first month of middle school when I made friends with a group of girls who lived by the moral codes of perfection based off of what you wore, because nobody else wanted to sit and eat lunch with me.

I felt it when I stood to give a class presentation and my classmates were too busy not caring about what I had to say when I first started to hate my voice and to this day I frequently stutter when I speak.

I felt it when I’d sit quietly with my hands folded in my lap while the everyone else conversed around me with nothing but the silent humming of my own heartbeat in my ears, eyes trained on the clock and my mouth would become so dry for holding my tongue for so long, because I debated a hundred ways to say a simple ‘hello’ in five minutes.

I felt it when I told my first crush that he was beautiful and he laughed and told me that I was not.

I felt it when I would weep against my pillow with the curtains drawn on a Saturday evening with my siblings playing in the room next door.

I felt it on the first day of high school when I repeatedly told myself to smile more because then people would stop asking me how I am.

I felt so much that now I have realized something.

The world is a void, a black hole that is meant to pull you out of the shadows, undress you, make love to you, and then leave you naked.

I have realized that I was born beautiful
and the minds of others plagued my own.

So I am sorry heart,
I am sorry brain,
I will be kind to you now
for I have passed my youth, selfishly given to those not worthy
and I have learned roughly that we can grow plants out of dead roots
if we choose to water them,
and it is time to grow a forest
out of my body.

—  You don’t define my definition of beauty anymore

Jaehee: My shower head broke last night and I woke up late so I had to rush to work and didn’t get to shower.. -_-

ZEN: im sorry, jaehee. Maybe you can get mister trustfund kid to pull some strings to get you a better shower system. I bet his shower is the size of my living room lol

-Jumin Han has entered the Chatroom-

Jumin: Were you just thinking of me in the shower?


Jumin: I admit it is a nice shower. I have a separate bathroom for Elizabeth the 3rd, but mine is slightly bigger. And probably more expensive than your rent.

Mc: Slightly…?


Jumin: Do you want to come over and take a shower?


Jumin: Are you sure?


Jumin: You’re not sure?

ZEN: Wait I meant- Yes I’m sure! I don’t want to..! Just STOP TALKING

ZEN: I gotta go

ZEN: mc, don’t miss me too much

Jumin: I don’t think that will be a problem

ZEN: -_-

-ZEN has left the Chatroom-

Jaehee: …

707: Jumin Han does is gay

i was built for bigger than all of this

my day-to-day is gawky figures and hearts like ash
a gnawing “tomorrow” whose ambitions burn forest fires
two cups of coffee and dollar store oil pastels
consuming friendships and paper airplanes
who do not fly
who scream “you are not good enough”

it is like i told my therapist two years ago
i am convinced i am a colossal force designed
like the moon, never to be harvested in this lifetime
of sage incense and cement souls

the day-to-day believes they are meant for
a “something more”

i was built for everything else

—  cement souls

(Part one -ish?)

Hajime had always been good at fixing things.

He was always fixing broken lamps, gluing vases back together, grabbing things for teachers, helping his siblings do their chores… He even helped his dad fix the car once.

And over the course of years, he had become especially skilled at fixing one particular person’s messes.

Whenever Oikawa forgot a pencil, Hajime had a spare one to lend. Whenever he would fall, as they grew up, the other would be the one to carry him and his scraped knee back home. When the setter failed a test, he would sit him down and bring him notes and have him study all night. He was the one to drag Oikawa out of the gym, clothes drenched in sweat, muscles burning, and throw his obsessed ass against the bleachers and tell him to give it a fucking rest.

There was a first-aid kit, permanently set inside his locker, filled with band-aids and bandages of all sorts. Plain ones for everyday injuries, and themed ones he liked to put in symbolical places, like Oikawa’s forehead, Oikawa was a regular client to that box, his favourites were the Hello Kitty ones. Oikawa had a wonderfully annoying gift for hurting himself – and it wasn’t always his body.

The duo could usually be spotted after practice, as the stoic, ever-frowning Hajime’s expression would soften as he tended to Oikawa’s bruises. The setter was always so careless! Life had turned into such a turmoil of obligations and responsibilities, it was nice to sit in a bubble of quiet and peace for a few moments.

“There, all better.” he would say, a thin smile hidden behind concentration, before stupid, stupid Oikawa would crack some pretentious joke about Hajime’s motherly nature – which he obviously did not have –, and trigger his temper again.

Hajime was simply… always there. Ready to catch Oikawa when he collapsed, watching him from the back and making sure he was all right.

So it came as no surprise that Iwaizumi Hajime would be the one to fix Oikawa’s ultimate mess.

This time the injury had been a bit more serious. Oikawa had strained his hand trying for a jump float serve, and it was now up to Hajime to bandage it, given how terrified he was of going to the nurse and having the coach find out.

“Don’t be stupid, you have to tell him. You can’t play through a strained hand!”

“No, please! Volleyball is the only thing I still have as certain in my life!” Oikawa hissed, aggravated.

“You idiot, do you plan… Wait a minute. Is this about us going to different universities again?” He felt a thorn sting inside his chest, despite the severity in his voice.

“No, it’s not –” Hajime watched him shake his head, he could almost see the gloomy thoughts begin to creep their way into the setter’s mind. “That’s not it. This time” He added. Dark eyes bore into Hajime, the same air of helplessness as when he was a child, one that pleaded help me, fighting its way through the walls Oikawa had built over time.

“Tell me what’s wrong.” He demanded, as he wrapped the last strand of bandage around the other’s wrist and let it sit on his lap. Could that idiot not understand, after all this time? That he could trust Hajime, that he could make himself vulnerable? “I’m sure we can figure something out.”

“I fucked up, Iwa-chan… I fucked up real bad this time” Oikawa duck his head, sliding down the bench to pull away from the spiker, a faint blush that Hajime could not comprehend settling in his cheeks. “You’re going to hate me when you find out”

The bastard was smiling. That ridiculously fake smile he gave people when trying to deceive them, like a magician that lures people’s gaze to one hand while the true magic happens in the other; Oikawa liked to smile the brightest when trying to hide his darkest emotions.

Hajime would not have it.

“Stop this childish play right now!” he launched himself to grab the other’s shirt, bring him back to his reach. He would not let Oikawa slip away and try to shut him out. “I’m starting to get tired of your bullshit. Sooner or later, you’ll have to learn to trust me – to stay.”

“Iwa-chan…” Oikawa gasped under Hajime’s intense stare, any trace of a smile vanished from his face.

“I’ll never hate you. You can fuck up as much as you like, it’s about time you understand I’ll always be there for you. I –” I love you.

And then everything clicked.

This was it, wasn’t it? It was love. That overdramatic feeling everyone made a fuss of, had sneaked its way into Hajime’s heart, without a sound, so subtle it had felt like something else for years. It wasn’t painful or breath taking – it was simple, comfortable, familiar, like coming home after a long day. It was simply there.

“I think about you a lot, Iwaizumi.” Oikawa blurted out, snapping Hajime out of his torrent of feelings, before averting his eyes, embarrassed. He gaped for a second, but his mouth was faster than his brain.

“I – think about you a lot, too.” The words came as easily as the sentiment, a bit scrambled from the sudden realization, but there was nothing more to it really. He was always thinking about Oikawa, and how to protect him, and hold him and not let a single soul touch him, and how to make sure he was never hurt, even if it meant saving him from himself. And how little things reminded him of the setter, and how to make him happy. He thought about him all the time.

“Does this mean you…?” his gaze dropped to Oikawa’s lips, as he breathed out that barely inaudible half-sentence. He didn’t even know what it meant, he just understood.

“I think it does.” Hajime whispered, realizing he was still holding the other’s shirt and pulling him closer. He pressed his lips against Oikawa’s.

Hajime had always been good at fixing things.

The minutes have melted into months but the breath from my open mouth still fogs the screen and stickies the keyboard. It hurts.

And I know you’re busy and you’re busy and you’re busy and your shoes sink into tequila soaked carpet when you aren’t crunching plastic cups beneath the soles I bought for you and your fingers are scrambling to remember the scratch of her lace against your skin because what color were they what color were they what color were they? And I know you sleep with your face smothered beneath three layers of quilts so the fragments of light don’t wake up the constant throb in the back of your head but I can’t stop I can’t stop I can’t stop the ache in my jaw like I swallowed something much bigger than the coin you pressed into my cold palm with your warm one not because you owed me but because it meant something it meant something.

It’s been two weeks since you’ve marked a message Read and it’s been six months since we all said goodbye in the dingy lighting and aging flooring of the train station whose name I could never pronounce choking back waterfalls and swallowing hiccups because there were people there were people there were people. You cried after I left.

Three videos will never leave my hard drive no matter how much my heart rots in your absence. One love you from a newfound friend who was the first I could mark with intimacy and not vomit guilt up afterwards. She was the first and last I ever admitted it to and god I miss the way she’d tilt her head back and laugh even when the words bubbling out of my mouth lacked sentience and humor. Another from a refuge found in a sea of empty vessels. I always crushed our shared butts beneath the toe of my moth-eaten shoe and he always kept quiet about the way I couldn’t help but wet the end of the cigarette every time I passed it back. He smoked menthols; I said he had no taste. A final from a soul which will always harbor a fraction of mine. His shirts smelled like cinnamon and my hair smelled like strawberries and I still picture his back against my cheek when sleep lulls me. What do his clothes reek of now?

We all share two tongues but she wakes up in a puddle of skylight drenched in cotton sheets and he sleeps when the music trickles to a hum under a queen sized quilt on a twin sized bed that creaks with every exhale and reeks of sixth grade perfume while I pry open drunken lids swimming in a sea of one one one three suffocating blankets that mimic the weight of another’s existence because she’s here he’s there and I’m alone I’m alone I’m alone.

We haven’t talked or touched and I haven’t felt the scratch of his beard against my cheek or swallowed the smell of her perfume or swapped cancer between my index and middle and you’re okay she’s okay he’s okay we’re okay we’re okay we’re okay. But he doesn’t steal slugs of my coke anymore and it sits and fizzes flat. And I don’t share lipstick in shades I don’t even like just to mimic her glow. We’re not gone but we’re not together not together not together.

None of us like goodbyes but we swear that I love you and I love you and I love you.
See you guys later.

—  the worst thing about friendships is there’s never a formal goodbye

As you can see, I’m what many call fat. I used to hate that word as a kid because it was a term that meant ugly to me. Well that’s what the kids that pointed fingers at me made me feel like. I’m not anyone who’s inspiring or anything, but I’m putting this out there for those who grew up bigger than everyone else or just anyone who doesn’t believe they are beautiful. I want you to know that you are beautiful in every way imaginable. It took me years to realize this. I changed this idea of fat as ugly, into fat and beautiful. We are all beautiful no matter how we look like. 💖

My love isn’t meant to be teased
My love isn’t meant to be known by everyone
My love is to be known by people who know me the deepest or who don’t know me at all
My love is my strength yet it makes me weak
My love is bigger than this universe but I can keep it locked in a small compartment of my heart
My love means the world to me
My love can’t be put into words
My love is everything I feel and it doesn’t let me feel anything else at all
My love isn’t just a four letter word
My love can’t be defined by any combination of the alphabet
My love cares about you and only you, not even myself
My love keeps me going forward yet it holds me back
My love is so much more than just love
My love keeps me focused yet it distracts me all the time
My love is what makes me cry every night yet it gives me a smile every day
My love is the grin on my face
My love is the frown on my face
My love is the emotion I keep hidden without leaving a trace
My love naps every afternoon but keeps me up every night
My love is the most complicated thing yet it is simple
My love completes me by leaving me incomplete
—  My love can travel galaxies and dimensions and time yet it cannot reach you // JustScribbledWords

i’m not going to tell you that your situations aren’t shit. because they might be. but your life isn’t shit. your life wasn’t a mistake. your organs weren’t a mistake. your blood flow isn’t a mistake. god. things are so bad. they’re so shitty. i can’t fix that. it might be bigger than you. but you’ll beat it. you’re not a mistake. these battles might get in the way of your path, but your path is meant to be finished. it’s not over yet. it’s not a mistake. no one can finish it for you. so do it. finish it.


rex, this, it’s…bigger than any of us… 
                                   ……anything i could have imagined. 
                                                                                            i never meant to….

                                      “i only wanted to do my duty.”

Ranger One from my favourite film of 2014, Interstellar. If you like it, please support it on Lego ideas: This is the fourth iteration of my Ranger series - practice makes perfect!). It is about 30% bigger than my previous version, making it one of my largest ever builds. It measures a total of 39 studs, bow to stern. The larger scale has meant that I’ve been able to pack it with details that I couldn’t squeeze in before. #spaceship –

anonymous asked:

does anyone else have really uneven body parts? like i'm a cis lady and my left breast is like 2-3 cup sizes bigger than my right one, and i think my butt is asymmetrical too. I'm really self conscious about that :\ idk if this blog is the right place to ask but i just wanted to see if anyone else is a lopsided fat person cause usually finding out that other people have similar body "oddities" to me makes me like my body a lot more

The symmetry of the human body is a lie perpetuated through the falsification and digital edition of human imagery.
Our bodies are not meant to be symmetrical. Our lungs are not. Our heart is not. Our thoracic and abdominal organs are not. Our arteries and veins are not.
And of course, breasts, penises and testicles are not.
Your breasts are perfect and very human. Very realistic. You represent the true beauty of the human body.
The perfection of the uniqueness.
- mod Guillermo

Man it’s weird to see those ‘oh mixed drinks are higher in alcoholic content than beer so beer isn’t that manly’ is so weird for a number of reason, the first being that it’s not all that true. Most mixed drinks are a couple of shots followed by a bunch of stuff in higher qualities, usually sugary and to lessen the taste of the alcohol. Modern cocktails in America were created to hide the awful taste of prohibition-era moonshine. 

People who don’t like beer don’t realize beer is actually about the taste. If you don’t like it I ain’t gonna push it on you, but obviously you can get drunk on a seabreeze faster than on an IPA. One’s 90% fruit juice and meant to be taken in bigger sips. Beer is all about complementing fermentation with proper tastes, which obviously isn’t for everyone. If inebriation is your goal, vodka and juice is the way to go, but it’s so weird to try and undo the toxic masculinity behind beer to go ‘actually mixed drinks are more manly because they’re higher in alcohol content’ since that’s not really all that true, and it’s just setting up a false standard of masculine toughness where you’re suddenly the more masculine one and the dudes are the ‘girls’.

Man, like what you like. I have cocktails pretty often, but don’t pretend that it’s a more authentic way to drink just because some assholes are dicks about beer.