tread on this

Lips like lustful love.
Black as the top
that you decided to wear,
or like your short,
raven hair.

Dagger-like eyes
in a cold,
unforgiving stare,
a look that said,
“go ahead, come close
if you dare”.

I saw you
only in passing,
but it was
plenty of time
to be made aware,

that to approach you,
to court you,
would be to court
a deathly passion,
so tread softly,
and beware.

—  saw you only in passing (5/23/17), thekaijusleeps
If you see this, post an excerpt from your WIP

Harry smiled softly. He couldn’t stop looking at Louis, his face wide with pride as he spoke about his daughter. Harry’s heart twitched with the faint, familiar feeling of regret he always had when he was reminded of his lack of partner and children.
“So…” Harry cleared his throat, trying to tread carefully. “You’ve moved back.”
“Oh, yeah.” Louis nodded, sitting up straighter, sipping from his beer. “I’ve been back, oh… six years? Ethan died the year before and I was just so desperately lonely. Emily had flown the nest, she was off galavanting around the world and so I moved back to be near my family. Did you know I have six siblings? Most of them have kids now, and some of them have kids.”
“I’m so sorry about Ethan.” Harry frowned. “Was it sudden?”
“Fairly.” Louis paused, staring down at the floor, still apart from his thumb which was picking at the label of the beer bottle. “Heart attack. He was okay for a bit, then…”
“I miss him every day, but you learn to cope. You know?”

You can’t beat us.

You can’t beat us,
But you can make us bloody.

You can’t beat us,
But you’ll make parents worry.

You can’t beat us,
Neither could the Ra, your nail bombs, your hatred,
It won’t get you as far
As you’d like, in the end.

Because you’ll hurt us and scare us,
Wound us and tear us, apart for a while.
And steal our smiles.
But you’ll never beat us, not by a country mile.

We’ve got pop concerts, great books, and daft nonsense,
We’ve poets and writers, singers, designers,
Artists and speakers who’ll help to define us,

More than your empty hatred

You’ll never beat us, I won’t fear to tread,

to a show or to go to the city to see something pretty, or fly on a plane or try to explain that we’re all just the same, just people.

Muslim, Christian, Atheist,
Don’t you think maybe it’s
The people who hate
Not a number of people so great
They can’t all think one thing.

Terrorism has no religion.

You’ll never beat us, we’ll rise above,
You’ll never beat us because we’ve got the love.

i love to imagine what fandoms would look like as physical spaces

like, the bigger ones would obviously be cities, and there are nicer and less-nice neighborhoods, and it’s a good idea to get to know some of the locals in case you get lost. some cities lie mostly abandoned, with only a few stubborn hangers-on. roosterteeth is probably a small country at this point.

the ti fandom would be a palace built out of scrap metal and other salvaged things, adorned with sea glass and colorful fabric. every month or so, all the residents gather in the main ballroom and party as hard as possible.

the anime campaign fandom is actually pretty small, but you wouldn’t know it, seeing as it’s an ever-shifting maze. time passes differently in there - eight hours can pass in the blink of an eye. tread carefully, speak kindly, and don’t partake of the memes, and you should get out just fine.

the corsairs fandom is just me and @hellyeahmagicbitch sitting in a ditch by the roadside. it’s a nice ditch.

he knows he could be putting them in more danger, but the sight of his son, scared, knowing something is wrong, is enough to have him traveling inside the house.

quietly treading through the entryway, his eyes never leaving his son’s, approaching him with hesitancy, not wanting to scare the boy, but all the while the excitement of having those big brown eyes focus on him, deep down knowing that he recognizes him, knows who he is, it’s overwhelming.

he kneels down, making himself eye level with his son, a quirk of his mouth into a smile.  his name, mike, escaping from his lips, for the first time its recipient able to hear him, feels a bit like going home.  a taste of freedom he wasn’t about to let slip through his fingers.

his son approaches, answering the question of recognition with one small action.

and then he’s standing before him, no longer several feet in front of him, trailing in the shadows, or a mere memory construed with fantasy in solitary, summoned as motivation to get back.

he’s here, he’s real, leaving michael hesitantly grabbing his arms, refusing to make this about himself, despite the pride threatening to burst through his chest at how smart his son, their son, truly is.

his promises of escape rendering the boy confused for half a second, the admittance of innocence uttered from his small lips, leading to quick realization on his part that this is a trap.

danger immediately surrounding them, his first instinct the same as his son’s, encoded in their dna, to protect his family.  refusing to lose his son again, after only just meeting him, he wraps him up, their first embrace one of protection, hoping that the love he has for him, a bit of quick thinking, and someone to intervene will be enough to save them, once again.

anonymous asked:

Ugh my god big thick caveman Owen Grady sex machine and cuddly teddy bear. Can u imagine being wrapped in those arms UGH

*Sighs* Yup, I can. I really can.

I think that’s what Claire loves most about his physicality - how safe and loved she feels with him around her. Owen’s not wholly vocal with his affections; he demonstrates his feelings for Claire with his actions towards her body. He worships every inch of her and is keen for her to know that.

He treads the line just right between sex machine and teddybear - though it’s probably more accurately described as sensual versus sensitive. Claire rests against Owen in the bathtub as he washes her hair for her when she’s too exhausted, he carries her to bed when she’s fallen asleep sprawled over him on the couch, ensures her helmet fits properly three times before allowing her to get on the back of his bike with him. He’s careful with her; massaging Claire’s shoulders or feet when he feels she’s worked too hard, pours her a glass of wine and prepares dinner when he knows she needs it.

Obviously, Owen will also nonchalantly squeeze her ass in public, whisper wildly inappropriate things into Claire’s ear at the worst times, and reach for the zipper on her new skirt for the office before she even has a chance to leave. He can’t get enough of her, and he’s pretty damned sure no other guy would blame him. Owen can see their eyes lingering on the woman he’s planning on making his wife - and though he’d never make her feel trapped - his possessive nature means he always likes to have a hand on her hip, an arm round her shoulder.

Claire lives for Owen’s touch just as much in return. When he’s sweat-soaked and riled from the gym, pinning her to the wall; derailing all other plans for their day as his lips latch onto her skin, her hands tugging at his hair. When he pulls her close to him in the early hours during his deepest sleep, warm biceps keeping her safe, though their skin turns sticky from the tropical heat. When his thick fingertips curl into her inner thighs to hold her down as Claire squirms and arches her back in bliss, Owen working magic beneath the sheets.

There’s a balance, and they find it - and fit it - so well.

Love Beyond the Obscure

It is perilous out there
Schemers everywhere
Demons lurking
Paving the way for fear

So I am treading lightly
Surveying the field
Perpetuity at arms length
I can see things clear

Peering through the walls
The walls of my rear
Past experiences eat at me
Destruction is near

As the rain falls in drops
Hearts ache, monsters jeer
I am perpetually alone
Boisterous thoughts, all I hear

And there you fucking appear
As if from thin air
Fairness is far from truth
Your presence I cannot bear

It is eternally good and pure
A familiar soul, lost although
A story untold, for sure
I begin to watch mythology unfold

Your light and your dark
Are apparent to me, I reveal
But unto you, my beholder
A God forsaken will to heel

As your spirit grows closer
I realize the depths we will reach
Tearing down walls which
Were always meant to break, weep

So I enquirer of you
Can you stomach this allure
What seems as tragedy amidst
Is love beyond the obscure.

-Quinton Horne


Hoard clearout! Accents in order

Snow Witch, Golden Tread, Surging Dawn.

Midnight Swirls, Arcane Druid, Merle Tundra.

Fire Doll, Light in the Dark, Blood Paint.

Lapis Crystal Armor.

Other Stuff also for sale!

Witch’s Tatters bundle box.

Various Silk sets.

Old Festival chests.

Dragons to sell

Gen one: Orange, Obsidian, Maize, Guardian Male.

Gen one: Grey, Rose, Purple, Guardian Female.

Oh, Danny. Where would you be without your wingman?

Inspired by a scene from chapter 19 of Treading Water. I laughed hard and had to draw it. Go read it if you love the fandom. I guarantee it won’t disappoint. ;)


The mobile network provider RBB’s phone is connected to confirms that (if the phone is pay as you go) in order for the SIM to stay active, someone needs to perform some kind of chargeable usage (a phone call or a text message, something like that, just topping up the credit should be adequate too).

In other words - we already knew this, but - someone is definitely still maintaining the number, nearly 18 months after OTRA ended and over a year since the phone was switched on for any period of time. (Either by paying a monthly bill or by switching it on and topping up or sending a text.)

[if you want to know why I think the phone is pay as you go and not on a monthly contract, click here. If anyone wants more information, send me an ask. I think I might rewrite my thoughts on that later on anyway.]

For a second, he had forgotten she was even there. Everything she had said came rushing back now. Danny looked away, muttering, “Are you going to yell at me and storm off, too? If so, now’s your chance.”

Morosely, Danny slumped into the floor next to one of the supply shelves, ignoring the grime caked on the floor of what was a surprisingly filthy cleaning closet. He propped his elbows against his knees, hung his head, and clasped his hands over the back of his neck.

Sam crouched down across from him. “I’m not going to yell at you.”

Danny raised his head. “You’re not?”

The girl smiled wryly. “That would feel too much like kicking a puppy.”

Excerpt from Treading Water by The Full Catastrophe

Decided to try my hand with more moody shading and such. A-lister Sam is SO much fun to draw.

170520 Tablo posted this Snap. A screenshot of his convo with Yoongi

Trans: I’m very proud of you ^^

You know how important this is? In an interview in 2013, Min Yoongi revealed that he decided to become a rapper after listening to Epik High’s Fly. Last year, Tablo did post a vid tweet of him jamming to Dead Leaves in his car.

But to hear “I’m very proud of you” from someone you have always looked up to and inspired you to tread towards your dream? Wow!