though if he has this much spare time

Dex is a Computer Engineering major, and takes programming because some of the courses are mandatory, and he had briefly considered trying to double major, but decided he didn’t have the money or the time. He does like programming, but he just isn’t good with stuff on a screen or on paper. What he’s really good at though is building computers. He loves working with his hands, and it’s the best way for him to earn money in his spare time. It’s a good chunk of money too, as he builds up a name for himself online. People will often pay nearly twice the price of parts (under 500 if you’re smart about it, as much as 5,000 if you’re crazy) for someone to prebuild a custom pc for them. However, he doesn’t have a really nice computer for himself, just a school issued laptop since he has a scholarship. He sends all the money he possibly can back home to his parents, a little extra help towards rent, things that need replacing, toys every now and then for his siblings. He saves the rest to help his siblings pay for college once they need it, and doesn’t tell anyone quite how much he’s been saving.

(inspired by http://dazeli.tumblr.com/post/156158557644/measurelessgarden-dazeli-measurelessgarden )

Could you write a preference with the angels were you are the first person who truly cares about them?
Requested by Anon~


Balthazar:

Balthazar is a great conman; he can bluff and talk his way out of any situation, even if he has to lie. Or, at least, spare someone the truth. This causes not a lot of people to like him, much less trust and care about him. When you showed him that you cared about him and his well-being, Balthazar understandably didn’t believe you at the time. Maybe you were trying to manipulate him? Or twist his emotions around for your benefit? Balthazar has played this game before.

But time after time, you put his needs before your own. His safety before yours; even though Balthazar was an angel and can easily save himself. And this slowly, steadily caused the angel to open his eyes; you really did care about him. The first person to legitimately have compassion for Balthazar, and he pushed it aside as a con. He felt guilty, and immediately made up for lost time.


Gadreel:

After being imprisoned for thousands of years, knowing only brutality and scorn, Gadreel kinda ran when you expressed how much you cared. Many different thoughts and feelings swam around in that angelic head of his. What if you were lying? What if he messed it up? What if-?

But when you nearly died protecting Gadreel, all those little voices seemed to dissipate. Here you were, almost dead, because you cared for Gadreel and valued his life. Gadreel felt foolish after this happened, and the moment you woke up, he was there for you, fetching every little thing your heart desired. And once you were on your feet, you two were inseparable.

crispytp  asked:

I like that you like Loghain. But I've always had this question for Wardens who spare Loghain: do you think a Warden who spares Loghain can ever salvage their friendship with Alistair over time (even if it's a long time)?

Thank you!! :D I love that man way too much!!

Now, of course that depends on the Warden. My Mahariel, for example, never really got along with Alistair, and just when their relationship was starting to get better, the Landsmeet happened. So she’s not interested in salvaging anything, though I imagine he has gotten over it by Inquisition and has a grudging respect for her.
Alistair’s fate is the deciding factor imo. If he became king, it’s possible that he’d have to make some difficult decisions himself, so even if he can’t forgive Loghain’s actions, he might be more willing to understand why the Warden chose to spare him. In Act 3 of DA II, when Hawke meets him in the Viscount’s Keep, he speaks fondly of the Warden, regardless of whether Loghain was spared or not, though he will say it’s unfortunate he’s still alive if you bring Aveline along. But he doesn’t express any animosity towards the Warden, unlike his cameo in Awakening. Though perhaps we shouldn’t take that to heart. Maybe the writers didn’t have enough time for special dialogue options reflecting all your choices in Origins.
Drunk!Alistair would be much less forgiving, I think. It’s been seven years or so since the events of Origins, and he is still lamenting Duncan’s death, the loss of his title and is very bitter that Loghain is alive. Which makes lots of sense; he has…nothing left if he becomes a drunk. It’s not surprising he allowed his hatred to fester. I’ve only watched this cameo on YouTube, but while he doesn’t say anything about the Warden, he doesn’t seem to hold the Order in high regard anymore. I won’t say it’s impossible for the Warden to reconcile with Alistair if he’s a drunkard, but I do believe king!Alistair would be more open-minded and accepting.
There are also people who headcanon that the Warden somehow manages to convince Alistair to stay in their party even if Loghain is recruited, and he gradually comes to terms with his presence as he is forced to spend time in his company, and apologizes to/forgives the Warden, usually once the Archdemon is dead. BioWare probably intended for this to be an actual in-game option, since we have that one cut banter from Return to Ostagar. But again, since this is cut content, I don’t know if we should take it as proof that Alistair would forgive the Warden.

(i’m really glad so many of you wanted a sequel because i wrote another 2k words. and there will be a part 3 coming up. idek, i just love these nerds. you can track the tag ‘sonatine coffee shop au’ for the next update. i love you all. read part 1 here)

mainline // part two

Steve hates first dates. And second dates. And all dating, really, because it just takes so much effort and time: both of which he doesn’t have much to spare.

Which is why he feels fine as he’s getting on the subway that’ll take him to Bucky’s coffee shop. It’s not a date; it’s technically a business meeting. The social guidelines are different and Steve won’t be expected to be at his best or charming.

Bucky has left the door unlocked and the lights on, even though the sign is flipped to ‘closed.’ He breaks into curling smile and slides a mug across the counter as Steve walks in.

“On the house,” Bucky teases and the fact that neither he nor Steve find it strange to be ingesting caffeine at 8pm puts Steve at ease. His lifestyle isn’t really conducive with so many of his Monday-Friday 9-5 friends (or former partners).

“You going to work soon?” Steve asks.

“Yeah, in about an hour. Right down the street though. You?”

“Not till tomorrow evening – got the whole day off.”

“Nice.” Bucky’s sitting on a barstool on the opposite side of the counter and when he leans forward their arms almost touch. Steve does a double-take.

“Not your fault,” Bucky says lightly. “You’ve never seen me in short sleeves before.”

“It’s so cool,” Steve breathes before he realizes how that sounds. “Not that – I’m sure it was not great –  I just meant the technology itself is amazing –”

Bucky’s eyes are crinkling up. Steve is realizing he has a mild obsession with them: they’re just so expressive in a way that many people aren’t, even with words. “S’okay, I knew what you meant. It is pretty cool. Cutting-edge tech.”

“Are you on a trial for it?”

“Yep.” Bucky takes a large gulp from his mug. “It’s a good deal. I got it for free and I only have to go in for tests and eval once a month.”

“Does it have biofeedback?”

Bucky looks a bit hesitant, so Steve rushes: “It’s okay if you can’t say. Is there some kind of non-disclosure agreement?”

“Stark Tech likes to cover their ass,” Bucky neatly sidesteps, “even if their CEO doesn’t care about covering his.”

Steve splutters into his mug.

“I met the guy once,” Bucky continues, looking pleased. “It’s weird. He sounds like an asshole, but the meaning behind the words are kind.”

“Even with good intentions, you can still be an asshole,” Steve says.

Bucky smiles like Steve’s just said something funny. “Maybe. So let me run this plan by you.”

+

Bucky is decisive and clear about what he wants, and open to suggestion where so many of Steve’s clients are stubborn.

Which is why Steve is surprised and let down when Bucky shakes his hand, promises to send over the initial payment by the next day, and then leaves for work without so much as asking for Steve’s number.

+

Steve holds out until the next week. He texts Clint, Hey got a question for your coffee shop friend about his commission, you mind giving me his number?

Because Clint is Clint, it takes him five hours to respond. Uh-huh, is all he says, followed by a phone number attachment, and surely it’s just Steve’s sensitivity that the message sounds smug.

It’s nearing on 8pm, which means Bucky will be heading to work soon (oh god, Steve has it so bad; he knows his schedule) so Steve dials the number immediately.

It rings indefinitely and Steve almost drops the idea altogether; but Bucky picks up on the last ring, sounding like he’s underwater.

“Oh, sorry – did I wake you?”

“Just a nap. Long day. Glad you called, actually, probably would have overslept otherwise.”

“My pleasure,” Steve jokes. Then he realizes: “Oh, uh, this is Steve. The – Steve Rogers.” He chokes on the phrase ‘the nanny’, remembering Bucky’s last description of him.

“I know,” says Bucky, sounding amused. “Clint messaged me your number. Thought you were gonna call hours ago.”

“Really? I mean, I just got yours like a minute ago.” Steve mentally kicks himself as to how desperate that sounds, but Bucky just snorts.

“Sounds like Barton. Anyway, what’s up?”

“Oh right – just wanted to run a couple of things by you for the design. You near a computer? Can I send you some samples?”

“Sure,” Bucky says, and then before Steve knows it, there’s a burst of background noise and then Bucky’s voice dims down to tunnel-level.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just walking to work.”

“Oh man, sorry – you should’ve kicked me off the phone.”

“No need. Just had to put on pants and grab my keys. Don’t need much for this gig. Just my scary face.”

“I doubt you have one,” Steve says and is so, so glad this is a voice and not video call so Bucky can’t see how hot under the collar he is at the thought of Bucky talking to Steve while in his boxers.

“Then you would be wrong. I’m a scary motherfucker.”

“Think you’re just full of it, actually.”

Bucky huffs a quiet laugh. “Yeah maybe. All right – I gotta hang up now.”

“Yeah go work, ya lazy bum.”

“Shut it,” Bucky says warmly, and there’s the sound of him greeting someone – a coworker maybe? “Stop by and see me sometime,” he says and hangs up before Steve can respond.

Steve stares at his lock screen, stomach flipping. He didn’t really mean that, did he? That’s just something people say?

He saves his work a couple hours later, gulps down some instant noodles, and goes to bed feeling restless.

+

Steve is nannying for a new family on the weekend – a friend of Brynlee’s mom – who specifies that she just wants a sitter on Saturdays for her toddler while she takes her older kids to various activities.

“The owners are getting tired of him running around the waiting areas of the dojo and ballet studio,” the mom says, laughing self-deprecatingly as the toddler winds in and out around her legs, “and honestly I think he’ll have much more fun hanging out with you. Christine speaks really highly of you.”

Steve smiles and takes the job because she seems low key, as mothers go, and the kid is nice.

“I’ll text you an address to meet me at around five, if that’s okay,” she says before leaving with the two older kids, “so that you can bring all three home and start dinner. I’m going to run some errands and be home by seven at least.”

Steve turns the ringer on his phone and spends an okay afternoon with the toddler, Kale (naturally), at the playground and the park. Kale is smart and sneaky but minds him well, and has lost all of the new-adult shyness by the time Steve gets the text with a maps attachment. Kale chatters to him animatedly as they head to the address – which is definitely on the street of Bucky’s coffee shop.

Steve’s mouth jumps into his throat as he realizes just which building is number 616. Kale grabs his hand as they walk into the coffee shop, using Steve’s strength to better leverage his jumps.

It is, of course, not Natasha but Bucky behind the counter this afternoon. Then again, Steve’s never been in on a Saturday before. Bucky is in a tank-top because of the heat wave and his hair is in a tidy bun and Steve mainly wants to die. The mom and two kids are sitting at a table against the wall, just across from the counter.

Bucky catches sight of him. His eyes widen, then do the crinkle thing, and then a slow smile spreads across his face and Steve wishes to God that he hadn’t inherited the blushing gene.

“Hey Kale,” Bucky says, “who’s this?”

“This is Steve,” Kale says witheringly, unimpressed at Bucky’s ignorance. “Do you have any hot chocolate today?”

Kale’s mom catches Bucky’s eye and mouths, NO SUGAR, so Bucky says, “Afraid not, champ. It’s too hot for hocho today. You’d probably melt.”

“Like a snowman,” Steve says hastily, watching a tantrum threatening to form on Kale’s face. “How bout some ice chips instead, bud? You can eat half of them. And then we can have a contest to see who can spit them farther,” he adds in a whisper so the mom can’t hear. “On the street.”

Kale considers this and deems it an acceptable alternative. Bucky gets two cups of ice ready and hands them to Steve with a look that should probably be illegal.

Thank you,” the mom whispers gratefully. “I’ll be home around seven. Be good for Steve,” she tells her kids and then trills, “Bye James.”

Bucky lazily waves goodbye. Steve stuffs a couple of bills into the tip jar and then gathers up the kids to bring them home before Bucky can pull him into conversation. He turns and smiles as he leaves, though, so Bucky knows he’s not – mad? – and isn’t sure if Bucky looks disappointed or not.

The ice chip spitting contest is a big hit and occupies the three kids the entire walk home, which is good because they forget to complain about how hot and hungry they are, but bad because it gives Steve plenty of time to brood.

Because he’d forgotten that the number-one rule of retail or service industries is to flirt with the customers. It’s good for business, it makes people feel special, and everyone’s a winner. Steve worked enough sales jobs in high school and college to know the truth behind this.

But now he panics because what if his crush is one-sided and Bucky was just laying on the standard sales charm? Every mother in the coffee shop was clearly in love with him. And who wouldn’t be?

Although Bucky did call him hot. And explicitly introduced himself by his nickname. And told Steve to ‘stop by anytime’ and visit him at work.

Steve is more than happy to arrive at the kids’ brownstone and start dinner. He is 100% certain that this is a ‘no screen time’ household and has the kids play I-Spy and Simon Says with him over dinner until the mom returns home.

+

Steve lets two weeks pass before he gets tired of mentally beating himself up. He’ll be delivering Bucky’s commission tomorrow and then he’ll be out of excuses. He tells himself be brave, which is ridiculous for a kid that spent the better part of his childhood getting into fights with people literally three times his size, but somehow this feels monumentally more terrifying.

He saves his current project, throws on some sneakers, and heads to the street with the coffee shop. He doesn’t actually know which bar Bucky works at, but a) he knows it’s nearby and b) maybe by the time he’s wandered around the block he won’t want to throw up anymore.

It’s 11pm on a Thursday and surprisingly easy to follow the sound of a crowd outside in the patio area. Sure enough, there is Bucky manning the door and Steve has just lost a bet because he absolutely does have a fuck-off face.

Steve approaches the mercifully empty line area with his hands shoved into his pockets. Bucky looks, well, shocked really, to see him and it takes everything Steve has to not smile politely and pretend he just happens to be walking by.

“Hey,” Bucky says, mildly concerned, “you here for the Pi Chi reunion?”

“No! Christ – no – ” and Bucky just laughs in his face.

“What are you here for then?”

Steve lets out a breath. 

“Came to see you.”

Bucky leans back and gives him a hooded look. “That so?”

A group of people approaches the door then. Steve steps aside to let them pass and all of Bucky’s bluster disappears.

“No, wait,” he says, grabbing at Steve’s sleeve. “Just – hang tight for a minute.”

Steve can’t help the hopeful twinge in his stomach. It’s just barely fading by the time the group has all dispersed inside. Bucky turns to him sheepishly.

“You gonna stick around for a bit?”

“Can’t,” Steve says. “I’ve got to finish this commission by tomorrow. Not yours, another one.” Bucky’s face definitely falls and Steve adds, “But I’m not working tomorrow morning.”

“Good,” Bucky says, pulling out his phone. “I’m texting you my address. Come over round eleven. I’ve got some episodes of SNL stacked up, we can watch those and eat breakfast or – something,” and Steve has to laugh because goddamn, Bucky has it just as bad, doesn’t he?

“Sounds great,” Steve says, sincerely, and a grin splits Bucky’s face.

ao3 link

(update: read part three here)

Update on my dad: he’s doing very well and was in great spirits when we saw him today! Altho he of course doesn’t feel good due to the chemo, it’s much more tolerable than his first round was, ESPECIALLY because he has not gotten the mouth sores like last time. He’s got some appetite, but can’t stomach much usually, however he can drink nutritional stuff like milk and natural fruit a vegetable juices no problem, so he’s still getting plenty of vitamins at least.

He’s lost 40 pounds since he went into the hospital December 23rd. He still has a good amount of extra weight to spare though so if he drops another 40 pounds or more he’ll likely be at his ideal weight, although he and us never wanted him to lose it in this miserable way, but at least he was t already frail and skinny before the chemo started like some are.

His levels are still doing great, but his methotrexate (main chemo drug he needs) is not as low as they want it to be. It’s at .17 and they want it at .5, but it’s nothing too major they are just working on balancing that out. His wounds are still healing well and he’s run no fever lately, so it’s all good news really :)

Of course, his third round of chemo should be coming up again in the next week. It sucks because right when he starts feeling better, that’s right about the time he has to get chemo again, but he’s staying strong and is ready to fight this cancer no matter what!

Thank you all for your prayers and kind words as always❤️❤️❤️

Bottles of Glass

My dear Hawke,

I thought you would want to know that I’ve returned to Kirkwall. It appears no different than I remember it, they’ve rebuilt it well. All save the tower which still lies in ruins. But, even the Chantry stands again.

Varric, who has taken place as the Viscount, has allowed me to return to the mansion. It, too, has been restored. I have taken up residence there for now. Admittedly, I had begun to call this home during the good old days. It feels good to come back to it. It looks as though your mansion was untouched….

I’ve begun keeping a journal in my spare time. I write all that I can remember, so I’ll never forget it. Much of it concerns you and our time together.

I spend most of my days on the hunt, keeping the citizens free from slavers. Aveline thouroughly appreciates it. She has Donnic bring by meals when he comes to play cards like we used to. Varric sometimes joins us in the rare moments duty has no need of him. It is not quite the same, but it is preferable to silence.

Isabela came to port a week ago, Merrill was with. They have been well it seems. Isabela had plenty of treasure and trophies to boast. She offered me a place on her ship once more. But, I declined. I would rather be here for now.

I am…. somewhat comfortable. Although, it can do little to ease the ache of the distance between us. Still, it is better….

I spend my evenings at the Hanged Man, you know. I have a bottle of wine before bed. Sometimes it is passable. Other times unbearable. I sit at a table thinking all the while. I neglect to mention it to Varric. I assume he’d let me use his old room, but, I’d rather not. When I go to walk back to the mansion, I bring the empty bottle with me. I’ve collected them since the first day of my return, and I place them in my courtyard where they’ll catch the sun. They’re a way of measuring time.

Now and again, I count them to know how many days it has been. Although it has not been long, only a few months have passed, I’ve easily lost track in the tedious call of day to day life. It is a means to an end, but a dreaded one to be honest.

I often stand before my door, with the new bottle in hand. Sometimes I think to smash it, otherwise to shatter them all and go searching. Always I end up slumped against the door staring up at the stars. Wondering if what people say is true. If loved ones watch after you from above. I wonder if you’re watching….

And, on nights like this, in my pathetic stupor, I pray. Just like this. Hoping if there is a maker, he is sending along these messages to you. I think it is difficult to write to those in heaven. You never get a reply, so you never know if your words were recieved.

I do miss you. Every day. I would wish you peace when I visit your monument, but, I suspect you are not resting. It would not befit who you are. You were always one to seek adventure no matter what that meant. I believe your spirit wanders still, finding trouble as always. Perhaps, in the name of the Maker. You always did seem destined in all that you have done. It gives me my own measure of peace to imagine such things. Even when it seems impossible.

Well, if, perhaps, it is possible…. If you can hear me…. If you have heard me…. You’d better have prepared responses. I expect them when we meet again. I expect a reply to every word and answers to every question. No matter how hard they may have been to hear at times. And…. You’d better be there.

As always, I am yours…. Goodnight, Hawke….

His face began to break apart. “Claire, I want you so badly that my bones shake in my body, but God help me, I am afraid to touch you!”


I started up to go to him, but he stopped me with a sudden motion of his hand. He was half doubled up, face contorted with internal struggle, and his voice was strangled and breathless.


“Claire… please. Please go. I’m going to be verra sick, and I don’t want you to see it. Please.”


I heard the pleading in his voice and knew I must spare him this one indignity, at least. I rose, and for the first time in my professional life, left a sick man to his own devices, helpless and alone.

— 

Jamie and Claire, Outlander

…I think this exactly mirrors Jamie’s state of mind in 02x02. Even though he’s a few months removed from Wentworth, and he no longer shrinks from Claire’s touch - clearly he still has so much pain and anguish. He is struggling to find himself after these terrible events - and he is reluctant to turn to his wife, to show the full extent of his weakness. Claire does not leave his side - she is right there with him in 02x02, but she knows there is sooo much he’s not telling her. Whether to spare her, or to push it all down - she desperately longs for that emotional intimacy again. They’ll get there - we know they will - but for the time being, it’s so very, very painful.

Two and  Half Men

Two and a Half Men catered to virtually every MRA/anti-feminist fantasy in existence:

- the nagging, Man-Hating ™ ex-wife who is just after alimony from poor, innocent dude

- the creepy, needy and eccentric stalker/ex-girlfriend who preys on poor, innocent dude

- the nagging, cold hearted, God-awful mother

- the obsessive ex-girlfriend/ex-secretary who becomes “hysteric” and almost kills poor, innocent dude because hormones and stuff

- the dumb-as-fuck “b*mbo”, useful only for that one thing and spending poor, innocent dude’s money, a.k.a. The Gold Digger

- marriage as The Trap ™ for poor, innocent dude

But most importantly:

- the constant jokes at women’s expense

- the Nice Guy ™ with a profound woe-is-me attitude and

- the egocentric dude with too much money and spare time who changes the women in his life more often than he changes his underwear, who manipulates women at every opportunity he gets and then acts as though some profound injustice, personally orchestrated by God, has befallen him when women somehow get angry at him. (Charlie Sheen didn’t even have to act for this one)

[Miraculously early, Xeno has no idea how to pass the time he usually spends rushing. Though it’s really only a few minutes he has to spare, he finds himself opening a book to try - and fail - to distract himself from the worries that had arisen since reading her note a couple hours back, the most pressing being the realization that he had entirely missed her birthday having been entirely caught up in the latest Quibbler and making him wonder if that was why he had only just heard from her.

When he hears her knock, he doesn’t hesitate to abandon his book and open it, smiling slightly when he sees her.] Hello. And happy birthday. I’m sorry, that should have come nearly a week ago, and I don’t have anything to show for it now.