this strains the neck

flowerjom  asked:

"Wait, don’t go! Can’t you stay the night?” DO THIS ONE

i love being actual shit garbage

the third movie has just ended, grainy credits rolling across shane’s laptop. when he sees them in the darkening screen, leant so comfortably on each other, his chest clenches all too unpleasantly. hitting the eject key and turning to the small girl beside him, he simply raises an eyebrow. she has fallen asleep. checking the time, his neck strains in a quick show of worry. way past curfew and rapidly changing into daybreak hours, there seems to be no point in waking her.

unluckily for him, she shifts anyway, one eye opening ina display of her indignation. ‘hm?’ comes her inquiry, and she stretches by him with little regard for his space. he smiles as he is jostled, softly and discreetly. a hand comes to steady himself against the bed – it just so happens that she takes it, and that tightness happens again, uncomfortable and unwarranted. he’s starting to think that it’s not the worst feeling in the world. maybe, if she’s there to look at, he can tolerate it.

‘shoot,’ drags him from his thoughts. she’s getting up, pushing sleep from her eyes adamantly, a rainbow zipper trailing down one arm. unclipping it as she talks, shane reminds himself to focus. strategy is always.

‘it’s late. i should go.’ there’s a pause, rustling of sheets as she clambers up and jumps onto jirard’s empty bed. her antics get her hurt, more often than not, but he’s grown used to and capable of tending her various wounds. he says nothing for some time, watching her walk away, until; ‘wait. don’t go.’

she turns, and the silence gets longer. he winces. ‘can’t you… stay the night?’

her face flickers for a moment, confusion, surprise, a smile that blows him away. instead of answering verbally, she leaps back over to where he has stood, leaning up to poke his nose as she does. this time, the feeling of tightness is closer to his throat; deep and unforgiving. he loves it. 

‘what are we watching?’

the movie begins to play, terrible opening credits on a grainy screen. she seems to follow the characters, but he only has eyes for her.

Rhysand and Feyre after the battle in Velaris.

“How could I scold you for defending my people? I want to throttle you, yes, for not going back to the town house, but … You chose to fight for them. For Velaris.” He kissed my neck. “I don’t deserve you.”

My heart strained. He meant it—truly felt that way. I stroked his hair again. And I said to him, the words the only sounds in the silent, dark city, “We deserve each other. And we deserve to be happy.“


Soooo….I’m just gonna say up front that this caribou headdress is already sold. I delivered him to his new home earlier this month. But I got these photos for archival purposes first and wanted to show him off a bit because he just turned out so friggin’ awesome!

The original caribou headdress sold at an event earlier this year, and the new owner wanted me to add the teeth decorated with the Younger Futhark of runes. The head is positioned so that when the wearer dances more stooped over like a quadreped, the head faces forward as with a real caribou.

I should also add that there are NO taxidermy supplies in this piece–no plastic-foam form, no clay, no glass eyes, etc. I don’t do taxidermy-style headdresses in part because there are so many non-biodegradable materials, and because the materials add weight and put more strain on the wearer’s neck. It took some very careful engineering to get the antlers set securely in there, especially as this was my first time tackling a project with antlers of this size, but it turned out really well!

A Wrinkle in Time
  • A birthday gift to my lovely bro Isaac aka @demisexualhale ♥♥♥ and for the anon who sent me De-aged!Derek prompt. 
  • A huge thank you to @jonjokeat and @benaya-trash for the beta read/read through  ♥♥♥
  • My entry for @sterekweek2016
  • Sterek | G | 2,900 | fluff, De-aged!Derek, kid fic

[Read on AO3]

“But Deaton, how do we change him back?”

“I don’t know, Scott.”

“Does this potion contain wolfs-bane?”

“A little.”

“What?! But he's… he is… ” Stiles watched as Scott struggled for the correct word, totally freaking out, and gestured at the twitching blanket in Cora’s hold. “… so small,” Scott murmured after a beat.

Stiles let out a heavy sigh. He strained his neck to get a better look at him, his lips curving a little when the two tiny hands peeked out from the edge of the blanket and tried to grab a gleaming stud on Cora’s dress.

“Aha, d’you like it, baby bro?” Cora cooed at the baby, rounding her painted lips for unnecessary cuteness, as if that would work. He might be a baby, but in there, somewhere, he was still Derek Hale for god’s sake.

The next moment, the baby started wailing at the top of his lungs. Stiles smirked, proud at his prompt prediction. Scott was shouting something in his ear, but the distressed baby was a way too much of distraction to continue researching the goddamn witches and their possible motives for turning Derek Hale into a teeny-tiny child. At least, Derek would take something home from this episode, like not to barge his perfect ass in on unknown supernaturals, alone, with only a simple fucking group text - It’s a witch. I got this.

He looked at the shrieking baby. Yeah, Derek totally got this.

“Uh-Huh,” Stiles nodded, agreeing to whatever Deaton was saying. Anyways, the man was adamant and, for a change, seriously trying to fix the situation. After all, it was his homemade potion which had transformed almost dead naked Derek into a wailing but pretty much alive Derek - Baby Derek - and Stiles had no complaints whatsoever. His heart had almost stopped at the disturbingly familiar sight of Derek all sprawled on the forest floor, fatally injured and unmoving. For a crazy moment, Stiles had thought - this is it.

It was Erica’s voice that pulled him from his thoughts.

“I think he’s hungry,” she declared. Right, the universal law when any baby cried.

“We just fed him the baby cereal,” thankfully, Lydia retorted.

“Um, then check his diaper.”

“Yep, all clear,” Allison confirmed.

The baby’s hysterical cries started cutting through his ear drums and he was sure, doing much worse to all the werewolves with their sensitive ears.

“Eeeeeeee,” Cora shrieked, tilting her head in an attempt to cover her ear with her shoulder, jostling the baby dangerously in the process.

“Jesus Christ, Cora!” Stiles rushed towards them. “Just give him to me.”

Maybe surprised by his sudden movement when he literally snatched the baby from Cora’s loosening grip, the baby immediately stopped crying.

He looked up at Stiles with his wide, green eyes, dark eyebrows distinct against his flushed chubby face, and a downturn curve of those little pink lips matched well with his adult grumpy face. Stiles’ smile spread into a full grin. He was definitely one of the prettiest babies he’d ever seen. Not that he’d come across many, but still, Baby Derek was a cutie.

“Hey, buddy.” He gently tapped his index finger against those pouty lips till the baby giggled. “There you go. Feeling sleepy, eh?” He adjusted his hold around the baby, rocking him gently. Baby Derek blinked at him, making gurgling sounds in his throat in complete agreement. “Al-right then,” Stiles chirped, “Have no fear when Stiles’ here.” He held him upright, close to his chest, curling his fingers around the back of the baby’s neck, caressing him and supporting him in a warm embrace.

“Oh my god, Stiles. He stopped crying,” Allison squealed. “You’re so good.”

“Nah,” Cora protested, eyes flicking between her now relaxed brother and Stiles. She had been pretty much in charge of Baby Derek up till then and looked pissed that Stiles was hijacking him like this. “It’s just that Stiles smells like Grandma Marcia… all citrus and mint and junk food,” she grumbled, but didn’t fight Stiles. “She was Derek’s favorite, y'know?”

This was a brand new piece of information and Stiles wasn’t sure how to digest it, he was definitely taken aback. He’d hardly given a thought to how he actually smelled to anyone and definitely not to Derek.

“O-Kay.” He took a moment to chill and breathed and eventually, strolled towards the living room couch. He settled down with the baby on his stomach, arms locked around the kid, eyes drooping as he listened to the rhythmic sound of Baby Derek’s snoring.

Grandma Marcia. Right.


Of course, he shouldn’t have trusted Deaton. He realized this when he woke up to a solid kick in the gut from an eight year old.

Keep reading

Imagine Sherlock helping you focus

A/N: My brain is still recovering from too much research papers. Sorry about this :( heh

Themes: NSFW. Crappy writing skills.

“So as I was saying about this case…” His voice started fading away as your mind drifted to yet the same dream…

“You like this?” He was huffing lungfuls of air as he took you from behind. He pounded into you mercilessly and you moaned with every thrust. Just as you felt your arms giving out, he pulled you up against his body while he’s still inside you.

“Hng…!” Your breathing strained as his hand found its way around your neck. He wasn’t choking you, but he might as well have. He did it to pin you into place. Your legs trembled, it was the fifth- no, the sixth time you felt the build up to your orgasm but not once has he let you come.

“Shh, shh…” He shushed against your ear, the vibrations from his chest making you whimper. Keeping your body flushed against him, he slowly but effectively rocked the two of you, creating a dull friction that made your walls flutter erratically. It was driving you crazy, making you desperate for that sweet release. “You’re devouring my cock, Y/N. Always so eager for me…” He panted, his voice deep and erotic.

“Please- Sherlock, I- I need-” You stuttered, he got you so wind up that your mind went blank.

“I know what you need, Y/N…” He chuckled as he brought his free hand down to your core. “I know exactly what you need…”

"Oh!” You gasped when he increased his pace without warning. He rubbed on your clit as he resumed his sweet torture. “I’m c-coming…!”

“Y/N? Y/N!” Sherlock tried to get your attention.

“I’m coming!”

“…what?” He looked at you quizzically.


“You just said you were coming…?” Sherlock raised an eyebrow and you cursed yourself for thinking about that recurring god-forsaken dream you’ve been having. “Did you understand anything I said?” He half-sighed and you just looked at him with an unreadable expression. “Y/N, you can’t keep zoning out like that.” He said.

“I know, I’m sorry! I’ve been having these, uhm, strange dreams and I can’t seem to focus.”

“Maybe I should give you an incentive then?” A smirk played on his lips as he shifted closer to you.

“An incentive?” You nervously asked.

“Mhm.” He hummed. “You need to be careful. If you space out like that again I will bend you over the nearest bloody surface and fuck you senseless. Twice.” He stated with all seriousness, causing you to have a staring contest for a few seconds before finally speaking.

“Sorry,” You laughed, thinking that you spaced out again. “For a second there, I thought I heard you say that you would bend me over the nearest… surface…“ Your words trailed off together with the amusement on your face.

“And fuck you senseless.” He completed. “Twice.” He smiled.


He lifted her up in his arms, feeling her long delicate fingers playing with buttons on his shirt. Grinding his teeth, he headed to the bedroom. Muscles of his neck were so strained it physically hurt. Although they weren’t the part of his body that hurt the most at the moment. He drew a deep breath trying to regain control and not to think of the way she was rubbing against him thirty seconds ago. She was rubbing after two bottles of champagne which meant that was champagne rubbing, not her.

She was sound asleep right after he laid her down on his bed. For a moment he remained there, watching her, contemplating on staying and spending the night in his own bed, next to her, but then dismissing the idea. He didn’t dare confess to himself that was self-preservation talking. He wasn’t even sure he wanted it anymore. Sure, he wanted her, she was like a wild hurricane that brought pleasure instead of destruction, but it didn’t feel like a fun game anymore. It felt more like destruction was due nevertheless, and he was getting the idea of whom it would leave in ruins in the end.

Tom Wilson #3

Requested by Anon:  could you do a tom wilson one? something cute and christmas-y!! like bringing him to your family christmas for the first time or something? 😊 [ENJOY!!!:)]

Word count: 859

Originally posted by lattsandhags

You watched the staring contest that was happening in front of you with a grin on your face. Contestant number one is used to staring contests, he can make anyone cower in fear with just his piercing eyes but contestant number two is also known for being a formidable opponent too – she has used that stare to get numerous dolls in the past.

You swung your head from one contestant to the other, like watching a very exciting tennis match. Contestant number two narrowed her eyes into a glare as contestant number one massaged the back of his neck, clearly straining at the fact that he’s been looking down for the past three minutes.

Keep reading


“How can you trust that guy? […] What happens when he gets everything that he needs from this book? You’re splitting rent and utilities with a muncher on steroids! What happens if you wake up one morning with his stinger in your neck?” .- Vasiliy Fet, 03x01 “New York Strong” (The Strain FX)

15. Horned Serpent spending hours hunched over a drawing, piles of references spread around them on the floor. They completely tune out their surroundings and get as lost as they do in a book, a picture dancing in their head. They finally finish and stretch their aching neck and back and look up with strained eyes to see that yet again they are the last one in the common room. They aren’t even tired as they sigh and look down at their drawing, already seeing their mistakes but it will have to wait….

submitted by @hermionetolkien

“You can’t be visually disabled because you can draw”


You see these drawings right here?

Yes, I drew them.  And yes, I have a visual disability.  Do you know what I did to draw these?

I had to find incredibly high quality reference images.

I zoomed in to each part of the face so that I could only see about a few inches at a time.

On TOP of that, I leaned in so close to my computer, my neck was sore.

FURTHERMORE, I had to strain my eyes and my back to lean in close to the paper to actually draw the lines.  ALL THIS TOOK ME HOURS.  It’s EXTREMELY hard, draining, headache inducing work.  It’s very hard.


I’ve been drawing since kindergarten.  Most of the stuff I learned was from looking at pictures and drawings that I could zoom in on, and feeling my own face.  I can’t see shading on people’s faces.  I can’t see the whites of someone’s eyes.  If you imagine spinning around in a chair really fast and then stopping suddenly, that’s how I see the world every day.  It’s called “nystagmus” (look that shit up).  I have worked HARD for YEARS to be where I am now.  WITH a disability.  And people then see my accomplishments, and disregard that I have a disability altogether.

Don’t disregard my hard work and effort. Just because I don’t let my disability define what I can and can’t do doesn’t mean I don’t struggle.  I want to prove I can do anything, no matter what life has dealt me.  I work HARD to make sure I can defy the cards the world has dealt me.

Disability does not mean inability.

i’m sitting next to you but my lungs get caught in my throat
and you’re touching my thighs and i can’t breathe
and you don’t tell me to relax but i know you’re thinking it
but how do i tell you you’re wonderful
but the last one broke me
how do i tell you you’re wonderful
but i don’t want to be near you
how do i tell you my anxiety is gripping my palms
and straining my neck
and it hurts to be so disconnected
to hear you but your words burn right through me
to want to get away because i can’t bear how being close makes me feel
to be sitting next to you but wishing i was by myself
and you’re wonderful
but i think i’m better off alone
—  too anxious to be with you, too afraid to be alone

“Today, you will define who you are. Today, you will spill white blood and change the future. Are you with me?!”