this one's sort of weak

10

top 50 otps of all time ☆ #10. Seth Cohen & Summer Roberts

“You see, back then, you were just this fantasy. You were this little girl who when I would see, you would either ignore me or make an obscene gesture and keep on walking … But now look at you, you fight for sea otters, you’ve befriended Taylor Townsend, you’re an incredible mom to that bunny. You’ve evolved. And over the last nine hundred and fifty days we’ve been dating - yes, I’ve counted and yes, I counted the Zach era because really, who were we kidding? - I’ve watched you grow into this incredible woman. And that is who I love.” 

4

The “my little random moments of pleasure” series -
Gun cleaning should not look so pretty N°1 - SN:12x18

I begin this letter by, ironically, apologizing.  I am not the best writer, nor the best historian. I will do my best to convey the most accurate account possible, but know that I am, of course, biased and grieved. It has obviously deeply affected my state of mind, and every day I can barely bring myself out of the downward spiral of endless thought. Forgive me.

A lot of people might tell you that it was entertaining at first, amusing even. When it happened everyone didn’t really know how to react – but eventually we all figured out how.  Our melting pot of emotional reaction rapidly churned into a thick, hot rage that no one dared try to simmer.  We were united, all of us, for the first time in history.  But it was a slow start.

It was early September when it got there, right above one of the Galapagos Islands. A group of Spanish scientists were the lucky few to get the first look.  It was small, dark, swirling, and sporadic.  The media liked to say it was about a tenth the size of Rhode Island, which was not a very helpful benchmark for anyone not familiar with Rhode Island. It floated, or rather simply existed, 1.44 miles in the sky, and occasionally dropped down a few yards, much to everyone’s horror.  The color of it was like staring into a black sun; mosaic waves of darkness swirled around and sparked. It smelled strongly of ammonia and sulfur according to anyone who went close, and one scientist liked to say it felt like staring death in the face.

I can’t begin to describe to you all that happened in the first few days.  Scientists from every corner of the globe, every backwoods nation and fringe group, demanded access to the newest Ecuadorian landmark, whose government was not too willing to comply.  At first, select small teams were permitted admission, closely monitored by the Ecuadorians.  But when a U.S. carrier strike group shows up at your door, all international law and decorum goes out the window.

They figured out pretty fast what it was, a wormhole of some sort.  A very, very weak one. Helicopters and planes could fly within a couple hundred yards from it and only barely feel a pull.  That pull increased almost exponentially as anything went closer to it, as several birds were the unknowing producers of that knowledge. Electronic systems worked fine, and other than the small gravitational interruption, nothing was horribly wrong with the gigantic black blob in the sky.  Yet.

About a month or so after it had gotten there, when the media was just beginning to start covering anything else, a black cube the size of a truck spurted out from the center of the hole with incredible force, slowed down to terminal velocity, and then sunk into the South Pacific. Of course this was all captured on film; by now thousands of cameras and satellites were aimed at it, and a city of yachters had gathered beneath, despite the smell.  The whole world was shocked that the silent, putrid, black sun had actually done something other than suck up the occasional bird.  I was horrified. I thought we were going to be invaded.  That cube was not natural.  It wasn’t a meteorite or a speck of dust or anything you’d expect to be on the other end of the line. It implied, practically proved, that something intelligent was over there.  

People thought the box might be to communicate, that perhaps it was a sort of radio or beacon.  We soon found out what it was.  Before we even had time to get divers down there, it burst. Most of the blast was held in by the ocean’s depths but still a colossal geyser of water sprang up, almost touching the blob itself.  The explosion seemed nuclear, but we were assured it wasn’t.  Some sort of conventional explosives, several times stronger than any nuke we owned, had created the largest crater on Earth’s floor in the span of a second.  The waves flushed rapidly in every direction, toppling the yacht city and swamping the coasts of the islands. Hundreds died instantly.  

The fallout spawned itself in the form of rage and panic.  Were we being invaded?  What next horror would fall through the sky? How can we stop this thing, how can we turn it off?  The second question was soon answered, as a day later thousands more boxes fell through, each in succession, each various sizes.  A quarantine zone was declared, as everyone expected the worst.  But these cubes never exploded like their precursor.  They sank to the bottom, fell on top of each other, and slowly but surely piled up towards the surface.  

Weeks later, when the dilapidated pyramid of boxes had begun to pierce the waterline, whoever was in charge had concluded that the threat was low enough to send someone in to investigate.  The team that went in noted that the cubes were coarse to the touch despite the sea water, the edges were perfectly formed and sharp, and there were no markings to give any hint to their purpose.  Taking a box back with them to the continent, the collective effort to open it began. As time ticked down, pressure mounted.  Debate raged over whether it was wise to even open it at all. Pandora, Pandora, Pandora, rose the cries from the streets. But it wasn’t the people’s call to make.  The boxes were soon opened, the answer revealed, and the questions began.  

Garbage. Millions of boxes of garbage had been streaming from the black mass.  Information trickled in, but people begged for more. It was alien, from a civilized culture.  Bipeds, more advanced than us, larger, omnivores. It was amazing what we could tell from their trash.  It was an instant view into some other part of our universe.  When more boxes were opened we continued to learn.  But there were no photos, no paintings, no art or culture of any kind.  The clothing, or at least what we assumed to be clothing, was uniform and exact. Everything was bland, simple, and spartan.  Soon, discoveries became rarer and rarer, as the items became just copies of the ones found prior.  Finally, nothing new was opened; just a hundred or so items of compressed waste had formed their gift to us.

The pile on the other hand, had become a problem.  It, combined with the blast, had devastated most of the area’s ecology.  The boxes had also slowly bled a red slime, likely a coating of some sort, which had dyed the ocean for miles. All fish in the area were floating to the surface, dead and cancerous. The birds stopped flying anywhere near.  The tortoises crouched down in their shells and gave in.  The Galapagos were dead.

It didn’t stop. The dye and waste had slowly began to affect every drop of water on Earth. There was no one who did not feel its terror. It was biological, ecological, and psychological warfare.  It was an unending barrage of terror.  It was death.

So I hope this letter reaches you, whoever you are, and I hope you learn how to comprehend it. You have destroyed our planet. You have defied our attempts at reconciliation and communication, and you have been a brutal, silent antagonist for too long. It is time for you to understand. My letter to you is just one part of the millions to be sent through the rabbit hole tomorrow.  Know that it is just a fraction of what you have sent us.

BUT I’M WEAK

AND WHAT’S WRONG WITH THAT?

BOY OH BOY I LOVE IT WHEN I FALL FOR THATTT

Under Pressure

“Luna, you have to choose.”

Luna clenched her fist to her chest. She was confronted with the impossible. Thing was, this was something she couldn’t simply make her mind on. But Noctis, he didn’t want to listen to her excuses anymore, so he kept pushing her, his eyes tracking her every movement, boring into her for an answer.

She turned her head away, avoiding his gaze, “Why… why can’t I have both!?”

Noctis shook his head, “You know damn well this can’t keep going. Two cannot win this fight.” He approached her slowly, cornering her against the bed. “If you don’t make a choice, then I will.”

Taking her chin between his fingers, Noctis turned her head towards him. “Look at me Luna, and tell me. Which one will it be?”

Hands fretting, Luna’s eyes wavered from side to side, before defeatedly meeting the intense blue of his eyes. They held stares for what felt like an eternity, her lips quivering, until she couldn’t stand it anymore.

Luna bursted into a fit of laughter, holding her husband’s face between her hands “I can’t- can’t take you seriously, looking like that!”

Noctis pouted, letting go of her chin to rub the smooth, hairless right half of his face.

“I can’t believe you only shaved half of your face! You look so silly.”

“Well, I’ve asked you over and over if I should keep the beard or shave it completely, but what do you say each time?” Luna’s eyelashes fluttered innocently, “That you look handsome either way?” Noctis head turned to the ceiling, grunting in mock frustration as she laughed again.

“You know what? You deserve some punishment.” And then he lunged at her in the bed, rubbing the unshaved half of his face against what he knew was the sensitive skin of her neck. For a full minute, the room was filled with shrieking and flailing, before both adults sobered up enough to speak again.

“Oh Noctis,” Luna said with a breathy laugh, “It defeats the point if you only shave one half. What if I told you I liked you better with your beard?”

“Then you would have to live with a less good looking version of myself for a while.” he said, smile smug.

Chuckling, Luna shaked her head at him “That’s impossible,” her hands cradled his face once more, thumbs running softly over his cheeks, feeling both the clean and hairy skin, “There is no bad version of you.”

Noctis hummed under her soft caresses with closed eyes, “That’s debatable,” and stood up, heading into the bathroom to retake his morning routine. Smirking at his admittedly dumb-looking reflection, Noctis reached again for his razor and shaving foam.

“One of these days you will have to choose…”

Luna’s voice rang back at him from the bedroom, “We will see how that goes.”


One of the many Noctis x Luna drabbles I had in my to-do list, as well as a comedy practice of sorts, since I feel thats one of my weak points (I tend to be strightforward in my sentences, woops?). Next one should be more serious. I love dramatic and cheesy narratives too~

Winter 2018 First Impression: The Lazy, Point-Form Version [Part I]

This season is starting off surprisingly well with a lot of series I’d love to keep watching if I have time.

Previous First Impression Reviews:
Fall 2017 - 1 | 2 | 3
Summer 2017 - 1 | 2
Spring 2017 - 1 | 2

Must Watch:

A Place Further than the Universe 

  • A girl who wants to experience something new and amazing in her youth meets a girl who wants to form an Antarctica expedition team to search for her mother. This is a story that leads four girls to Antarctica. 
  • Gorgeous scenery/art; lovable characters so far; good soundtrack.
  • Cute girls doing cute things genre but done super well. 
  • Reminds me of K-On in a good way. 

Citrus

  • Blonde girl transfers to a very conservative, all-girls school because her mom re-married; she meets and butts heads with strict student council president, who also turns out to be her new step-sister. 
  • Having watched so many bad/mediocre BL anime adaptations, this yuri series might actually be a breath of fresh air???
  • Good art/character designs. Gets pretty intense pretty fast, actually.

Laid-Back Camp △

  • A girl who loves to go solitary camping meets a girl who loves to go on biking trips + little camping tips on the side.
  • Gorgeous scenery; cute character designs. Calm mood with good comedic moments.
  • Cute girls doing cute things: camping edition. Seriously though, again, it’s done really well. 

Cardcaptor Sakura: Clear Card

  • Beloved heroine last seen in 2000′s anime series, Sakura returns in this sequel as a first year junior high school student. After reuniting with her sweetheart Syaoran, Sakura faces the problem of all her cards turning into clear cards and capturing transparent cards with her new key staff.
  • Hello nostalgia my old friend. Nothing more needs to be said if you grew up with this show.

Keep reading

🌸 Through the Years 🌸

A Namjin story set in a royal AU 

In which Namjoon is the heir of the kingdom, and Jin a soldier. 

Originally posted by jjeonguk


Extract

“I won’t allow it,” Kim Namjoon stated in a matter-of-factly tone.

“If you do that, I won’t speak to you ever again. You’ll be stuck here alone, until the end of time.”

“I do have other friends, you know.”

“True, but I’m your favorite,” Seokjin replied, gesturing to himself with a smirk. “You couldn’t stand not seeing me for more than a few weeks. Admit it.”

The prince only grunted, not bothering to argue. “I’ll stop you, somehow.”

Seokjin’s smile faded. “Look, I’ve already made my decision. I’ll join the army, starting at the bottom, and I’ll climb the ladders if I’m competent enough. That is all.”

“That’s so senseless and impractical!” Namjoon exclaimed, his exasperation creeping into his voice. “You could be major right away! Or at least lieutenant or captain! Starting out as a private, with your social status, is utterly ridiculous.”

“I don’t want my blood to have anything to do with my success. I want to be recognized for my own strength.”

“That’s a nice idea,“ he admitted. "But being a private sucks. It’s degrading. You’re almost a toy to your superiors! The army needs to sort out the strong minds from the weak ones, of course, but we both already know that you are not weak. I’m sure even Father would agree on that. You don’t have to go through that hell, Seokjin. You shouldn’t have to.”

“Yet I will. Look, I want to prove myself to my family. I want to be more than a little, noble boy.”


Read here 🌸

Altean Lance & Keith AU

Ok, so I came up with this idea and idk why but Altean Lance AUs are one of my weaknesses :

So the setting is some sort of ball or something and Keith is just some Random Altean guy, and Lance is Allura’s brother.

Lance : *walks up to Keith, bows down to him, kisses his hand and blushes a little* Hello, I’m Prince Lance of Altea.

Keith : *blushing* I’m Keith.

Keith : *shocked* I mean, sorry nice to meet you Mr. Lance- Prince Lance sir.

Lance : *smiles* No need to be sorry, my sister, Allura told me to be more “nice” to people *rolls eyes*. You can call me Lance.

Keith : *giggles* Okay then, Lance, did she tell you to kiss people’s hands too?

Lance : Well… No. *Lance looks at Keith flirtatously*

Keith : *blushing* Oh.

geekysparkle  asked:

My birthday is coming up in a week (August 12th) so I was wondering if you'd write some FMA? I'd love some Ed whump, especially with the Voltron whump week coming up and it being everywhere in general! (If you're not fine with that then just. Some my bby Lance. Maybe a college AU or something and slight Klance since I'm trash and starting university in a month)

Absolutely! I’m sorry this is a day late–Happy Birthday, friendo!! You’re amazing and I love you!!

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

tbh I’m obsessed with the way you draw Andrew’s mouth?? like all smirkish and wry, and it’s so sharp and like... cutting. it’s so perfectly in character ugh.

boiii thank you so much!!! i really like drawing mouths, and andrew smiling is like… one of my weaknesses hjshdjh i really like drawing that sort of twisted humorless grin 👌

anonymous asked:

"Ugly" is definitely not the right word. Because Bakugou is still fucking beautiful even when he's making those intense faces.

Bakugou is 100% always beautiful and perfect and we’re all on the same page there, but I feel the need to point out that I was talking about this sorta faces, mostly haha

bsquared050716  asked:

Re: the Cullen gangsters. In the book when the Cullens leave Forks after meeting James Esme mashes a button and it's like it closes up the house mechanically. Assuming all of their residences are like this set up for quick departures would cops really accept all that in the event of a murder? Maybe in forks it'd be too much Hassel but Edward said the cops have been after them before. What if warrants were issued after they'd left & cops found those stashes, graduation caps, 30o year old cross

Yeah the sealed up house thing is pretty suspicious, isn’t it? I mean fleeing town is suspicious but that’s the icing on the cake. 

There’s so much about how the Cullens live that doesn’t really make sense if you think about it too much. I’ve said before that I think one of the great strengths of Twilight is also one of its greatest weaknesses, that sort of stream-of-consciousness first person narration that sucks you into Bella’s world so much that you don’t (at first, and for some people maybe never!) notices the weirdness and inconsistencies until you step back and look at it later. 

The graduation caps were a movie invention, and the old cross could reasonably be some sort of antique or religious relic, the thing that would be hard to explain is that Solimena painting with Carlisle in it. By itself it’s a “huh, that’s funny, he looks like Dr. Cullen” coincidence, but if the family fled town after a bunch of murders, and their house was weirdly sealed up with a metal contraption, that painting is just more weirdness and would lead to some bizarre questions. I think it would take a long time (or a really outside-the-box cop) to get to “immortals” or “vampires” but it would be suspicious and warrant a second look and more investigation. Even if they just thought they must be art thieves or something .

I am REALLY curious about what happened that time Edward said they were on the run from the FBI (or whatever it was) and go into hiding. In my head I’ve always linked it to the Maria/Calgary incident for some reason but I don’t think there’s anything in canon that actually links them. They could be two separate times they had to disappear quickly. 

6

“The idea of falling prostrate before anyone or anything is, frankly, downright revolting. That sort of humility makes one weak, and while Oswald considers himself many things - admitting, even, to a few faults – the one thing he refuses to be is weak. But there’s a part of him, small and persistent, that wonders, Am I being punished?”

The Bird and the Worm Chapter Two: Take Me to Church

By: @okimi79 and @riddlelvr

Manhunt - Chapter 5

~MASTERLIST~

Word count: 2′055

A/N: Chapter five of ‘Manhunt’ is finally out! (Took me long enough)

I sincerely hope that you enjoy this chapter and the rest of the series. Constructive criticism and comments are as always more than welcome!

I’m currently writing chapter six and I’m really fucking excited for you to read it!

Tagging: @annamreed and @celebranehelyanwe

CHAPTER FIVE:

Eisuke’s POV:

I fiercely marched into my office and slammed the door shut with as much force as possible. I was boiling inside, I bet steam was streaming out of my ears and my whole face was as red as a tomato.

I let out a noise that was something between a heavy sigh and an angry growl and walked towards my desk. I slumped down onto my leather chair, stretched my legs out under the desk, leaned back and closed my eyes.

I tried to calm my nerves and took a few deep breaths. In through my nose and out through my mouth. I loosened my tie and popped the first 3 buttons of my lilac shirt open. It took me a minute to calm down, but I somehow managed to kind of do it. But my brain just couldn’t push her out and I kept thinking about her.

Why has she changed so much? Where is the sweet, innocent little girl that I got to know and somehow 'love’?

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

I first sent this to some1 who doesn't like kidfic, so now I'm here. I had a dream about the party coming upon a dying tal-vashoth woman who'd just had a baby and everyone being like "Well, Dorian and Bull can raise it," and Bull is like "????!" but DORIAN is "Yes, give me the baby. Who's my little star, it's you! Biggest baby Pavus in generations, aren't you? Why are you looking at me like that, Bull, make yourself useful and wind this fabric around so my hands are free and the baby is secure."

HELLO ANON YOU HAVE COME TO THE RIGHT PLACE, i should just change my blog title to “kidfic <3″ because i think i could probably read and/or write kidfic every day for the rest of my life and be content with my lot in life. this is who i am. it’s who i want to be.

i tend to write bull as liking kids more than dorian but i’m starting to love the opposite (ty for starting me down this road, chaoslindsay), and boy howdy let me tell you i absolutely love this idea. (WHAT A GOOD DREAM BTW.) here are some thoughts i had because i have a lot of feelings okay:

A qunari child would be so outside of Dorian’s childhood expectations for himself, and the demands placed on him by his parents and society, that it’d be easy for him to look at the child and not think immediately of a future where this child would be groomed and molded into the perfect heir, as they tried to do with him. So it’d help to eliminate some of his own unreasonable compunctions, and he’d just be frigging delighted 24/7 with this tiny creature who fits in his arms. A qunari that fits in his arms, who’d have ever thought, whose horns haven’t even started growing in.

And Dorian – who hasn’t maliciously thought of Bull as a beast in years, who hasn’t said the words even jokingly in months – still finds himself struck with what he was taught about the Qunari, what he still thinks when a new Vashoth joins the Inquisition. And now, every time the child opens his wide dark eyes and blinks lazily up at Dorian, every time he seems surprised by his own hands waving in front of his face, every time he laughs and squawks and hiccups after he’s done crying… Dorian thinks he can do better, for this child. He will. 

He rocks the child in his arms late at night and whispers against the tight curls springing out of the sweet crown of his head, coaxes him to sleep for papa, darling, that’s a good boy.

..

Vivienne is not particularly fond of the mess and chaos that accompanies a child, but she finds Dorian the information he needs, reaches out to her contacts in Rivain for anything on the rearing of qunari children. Sera and Varric are delighted by the child, Sera playing peekaboo with him for what seems to Dorian hours, Varric self-editing his own novels into naptime fare, until the babe yawns and slips under. It takes some time for Dorian to accept what he can’t help but think is charity – until Vivienne tells him one evening over a glass of excellent wine that friendship is not charity, Dorian. Do not think yourself above or undeserving one of the chief tenets of a relationship. And oh, it is a help, because Bull is…

Bull is supportive, and does as Dorian asks him to do. But Bull seems to be all thumbs when it comes to the child. He holds him in stiff arms, glancing down at him with brief looks, never lingering, like he’s checking that the child is still there but doesn’t want to dwell on it either.

..

Every time Bull looks at the kid, he thinks of the potential children he has who are still under the Qun, who maybe inherited his penchant for caring too much, for going too far, and what happened to them when he went Tal-Vashoth. There’ll be records, people tasked with watching them, if that first pregnancy took then that kid should be old enough to have been in their role for a while. What’d he bring down onto them? His tama didn’t deserve it, she did her best with him; but what about the kids who got whatever desirable traits the tamassrans wanted to breed for – and then the shitty stuff too? It’s not their fault, but it’s on their heads now, whatever insubordination they were born with.

It’s… unsettling then, to be handed this kid with the expectation that he’s not gonna fuck him up.

..

“What’s his name?” Bull asks quietly, arms still stiff but hand gentle under the child’s head.

Dorian breathes out loudly, half tired laugh, and crosses his arms – and then promptly uncrosses them, concerned the pose makes him look as frustrated as he feels. “Every name I know is Tevinter. I’m not sure that’s appropriate.” Which is true, but also a ploy to force Bull to make some sort of decision – Dorian’s been combating the fear that Bull’s not wanted this since they first agreed to take care of the child, that Bull said yes because it was the right thing to do, because Dorian wanted it, because Bull still stumbles over wanting things for himself…

“Kid needs a name,” Bull says, and he caresses the kid’s temple, the little bump that’ll one day sprout into a horn. “Okay if we call him Felix?”

Dorian can’t speak past the lump in his throat. He tries, an unflattering creak making its way out his mouth, and then he’s nodding, unable to look away from the tenderness in Bull’s touch.

I was raised on Singing in the Rain. I was raised on bright colors, tap dancing, and iconic musical numbers. I was raised on the movie musical. And, despite all odds, that’s who I was - a musical.

Neither of my parents were musicals. My father was film noir. Everything turned to black and grey when he entered a room. He seemed made up of shadows; visible and oppressive, and yet intangible. I rarely tried, but I got the feeling if I had reached out to touch him, my hand would only pass through empty air. He was good to me, I suppose. And good to my mother. The endings were always happy. Like a grizzled P.I. he stood for what was Right, what was Just. There just always seemed to be a lot of darkness on the way there.

My mother was science fiction. There was nothing believable about her. She was an alien sent from some other world to live in our house with us in order that we might marvel at whatever unknowable quality it was that made her seem so strong. She presented us with peace offerings - trips to nice restaurants, vacations wherever we wanted to go - to distract from the fact that she was never there. She was a paragon of strength, or so it seemed to me when I was young. I think now that there was a sort of hidden weakness to her, but an alien one, one that I can’t understand.

And despite that, we, as a family, watched musicals together. On the rare occasion that mom would come home from work before my bed time, the three of us would make dinner together before settling on the couch - mom on the left and dad on the right, with me in the middle. We’d rummage through the box of DVDs until we decided on something - Bye Bye Birdie or Kiss Me Kate or My Fair Lady, but most often Singing in the Rain. And nobody was film noir or science fiction, nobody was bored or too busy. As Don Lockwood made his way down that red carpet, all of that faded away.