unfathomable things

Ways to Say ‘I Love You’ (Drabble)

“So, Hanzo’s never said it before?” 

You look up with a mouthful of cereal and take a moment to ponder the question before swallowing and shaking your head. “Nope, not once.”

“Not even in Japanese? Really?” inquires Lena, eyes growing curiously wide as if such a thing were unfathomable.

“Not that I know of.” 

“But that’s not unusual,” Hana interjects, not even looking up for her handheld console. “Asian culture is like that. We just don’t say it. Not even to family, really.” 

“Say what?” Mei suddenly pokes herself into the tiny kitchen of the safehouse you’ve all taken refuge in for this mission, curiosity piqued now that her culture has been indirectly mentioned. She doesn’t even wait for an answer before a light bulb seems to go off in her head. “Oh! Is it the”–her voice drops to a whisper for some reason–“‘I love you’s?”

“Yeah, that’s it!” Lena swoops in on the opportunity to question you further. “Are you sure he’s never said it? You both have been dating for–what–a year now. Surely the grump must’ve said something.”

You close your eyes and lean back into your chair, thinking. You’re almost one hundred percent sure that you’ve never heard him say such things to you. 

Not when you’re both on the cusp of sleep and he’s murmuring whatever his sub-conscious dares come up with, holding you close to him like you’re going to disappear; not when you return after a long mission and he’s waiting for you at the landing site regardless of the time of day (or night); not when he hands you your bags (you’d later discover some sort of food item packed inside) as you’re about to leave for a mission, wishing you to return in one piece; not when you were left injured in the medbay after a particularly grueling mission and he sat beside you the entire time, hand in yours. 

But you don’t need to hear those words when his actions themselves proclaim his affection just as loudly as if he were shouting it from the highest mountains. After all, there are many different ways to say that you love someone, and not all are spoken. 

“Nope. Definitely never said it.” 

Dear Mathematics, 

From the moment I first met you, first saw you as you truly are, I knew beyond any doubt that your power to enthrall would never cease. It was the first time I had no fear at all of losing interest in a subject, of reaching mastery and then setting it aside. You cannot be mastered, I knew that even then. But I also knew that it was worth dedicating every second of what life I had left to making whatever small progress I could toward that end. 

It’s now been three years since I quit my previous career to dedicate my life to a greater understanding of you, and to teaching others about you, doing all I can to help others see you as I do. My ‘quittiversary’ was four days ago…

…and I still wake up so excited to go to campus that I can’t stand it. I’m still stunned every day by the incredible capacity of this impossible, unfathomable thing that you are. While I cannot hold you in my hands, you are more concrete and real than anything I have ever touched. While I cannot truly see you, you are lovely in a way that brings tears to my eyes. 

The roar of your perfection never dimmed. 

It only got louder. 

And the sound of it is the most precious thing that has ever been mine to own.

In one minute you taught me the meaning of true love. Over the course of these past three years, you have taught me what it is to live a life of purpose. I have no doubt that the years ahead, years spent working to earn the highest degree possible in your name, will test every inch of my capacity and resolve. But how can I possibly be afraid? How can I hear the sound of fear over the symphony of you? 

Each breath left in my lungs, every remaining beat of my heart, everything I am and will become, belongs to you. 

I remain



Top of the Morning to ya Laddies (redraw 2017)

Holy cow, it’s been one year of me speed painting and sharing it with the world! So, I thought I’d redraw the one that started it all. Like Jack, my style has evolved and become better as time went on.

I also want to thank everyone who supported me on my journey to get me this far. I can honestly say, I wouldn’t be here doing this right now if it wasn’t for you. I mean, I’d still be drawing, but sharing my experience and voice with you is a cool thing, almost unfathomable to a younger me. 

Thank you all for being there for me. It means the world to me.

Speed Paint

Johnny x Reader

Possible tws! Violence (getting jumped), death.
I’m iffy on writing sorry. Finals are hell. I combined two asks, I hope you don’t mind.

Anonymous asked: “What did they do?” prompt with Johnny? Thanks!

Anonymous asked: Whenever you get the chance could you do the “lay with me for a while” prompt (I think that’s what I’d called, its on the list you posted) with Johnny. Wonderful blog btw

“What did they do?”

“Lay with me for a while.”


You were alone yet again.

At least you felt like you were alone. There was someone in front of you. He was on his back.


The sight of him had caused you to retch. There was blood on his hands, streaming over his arms in a twist of patterns before aligning down onto the asphalt below him. It was apparent that the blood was his own. You closed your eyes to elude into a dark idyll, but the image of the boy before you was burned into your mind. You couldn’t let him go.

“Are you alright?” A stupid question, your mind told you as you crept down beside him.

His eyebrows knit together and his lips parted, blood spewing from his chapped lips as he tried to speak. You were trapped, trapped watching him suffer with no way to truly help. But he was alive, this much you knew. You outstretched your arm and placed your hand on the side of his head, tilting it towards you.

Another contusion, another future scar.

You pulled away and puke charged your throat. Tears suffused your eyes, not from dejection, but from a strain of emotion. There was a score, no, a gash, starting at his eyebrow and ripping down to his cheek. With every heartbeat more blood siphoned out, seeping down the side of his face. It needed stitches so badly.

“Please,” you begged. Your breath failed you and you shot up to your feet. “Please help him!” You screamed into the night. Nothing but the distance bolting of cars answered you. “What did they do?” you asked him. You were referring to people whom you did not yet know, but had to be responsible for this.

You did not know this boy. Nothing about him was familiar. The story of what had happened to him was not evident to you.

“What’s your name?” you asked, crouching down beside him again. The boy trembled violently, grousing, sweat breaking through his skin with no indication of curbing. “What’s your name?” You asked more urgently. You clutched at his hand, intertwined your fingers with his and squeezed bluntly. Trying to squeeze the torment out of him, trying to focus on something else.

“Johnny-” he gasped. A sob caught in his throat and he began to convulse harder. “Johnny,” he recited. The voice that left him was pained, subdued.


A voice cried out from behind you, as if singing the name. You whirled around. There were four males set in front of the glaring lights of the cars that passed by. They slinked closer and as your eyes adjusted, you saw their lips drawing back in sneers, their eyes gleaming rigorously and their fingers curling to fists at their sides.

“Who’s this?”

You held your arms out, a harrowing attempt of shielding Johnny behind you. “Johnny,” you said. He whimpered beside you. You felt his arm nudging your hand, you heard the way his voice grew more shrill in what seemed to resemble the sound of desperation.

“Not him,” one of the boys bellowed. A finger was pointed at you. “Who are you?”

Something you weren’t all enlightened of was how three of them were encircling you as the one speaking kept his place. You opened your mouth to answer, your mind supplying you with a fake name, but at that moment hands writhed around your forearms.

“You weren’t supposed to be here. You weren’t supposed to see this,” one of the guys behind you said, motioning to Johnny with dupe pity.

“I-I didn’t!” You exclaimed, trying to flee from their grasps. There was no avail. “I saw him like he is now. He needed help. He needs help,” you growled. “He’s suffering!”

The male who had addressed you was suddenly an inch away from your face. Panic swelled inside your chest and he noticed this, his smirk only widening. All control was lost at that moment. Untrained instinct took over and you thrashed in their hold, shrieking, weeping, begging unfathomable things at the minuscule chance of diversion, at the chance of escape. Goosebumps pimpled your skin and for the second time that night your breath failed you. Your voice shadowed not long after. Soon you had to convalescence, and the boys saw this as desisting.

“I’ll show you what true suffering is,” the one before you leered. And then your breath was truly gone.

Abhorrent wheezing sounds forced their way through your gullet and a moment later you conceived that he had alighted a smite to your stomach.


They were Socs. Only Socs would do something this vile without reason. The two holding you grabbed at your arms and twisted with both hands. Indian Burns is what they were giving you, but your mind was too frantic to discern this. They weren’t playing fair. Nails dug into your skin and tore away at your flesh, but your body was too shaken to feel the blood beginning to trickle from the wounds. It was only the start.

“Stop!” you yelled, your voice hoarse and roaring. “It hurts!”

“That’s unfortunate for you,” a new voice rasped against your ear. You felt fingers run up into your hair. Shivers pelted down your spine and flares of warmth trailed as the hand clasped against your scalp, wrenching your head back so you were gawking up at the luminous night sky. It hurt, oh lord it hurt. He was prying your hair out with a smirk on his lips in the exercise. A foot pummeled against your back and your balance was spared. The Socs relented their grips on you with the unabridged knowledge that you would not get away. Instead, you crumpled to the ground, bruising your cheek and fastening your eyes shut. Feet hammered beside you. One landed on your hand and you heard the bones in your fingers crunch, break, before truly feeling the pain. It was execrable.

You screamed. You screamed until it felt that they had enforced fire down your throat. They were so insolent they didn’t bother to cover your mouth. More punches, more kicks that landed against your ribs and left at least a fracture against three. Howling fled from their wide-open mouths, accelerating and provoked it seemed, at the chance of death. It went on forever. Pain. All you could think of was the pain. And then it was over.

You heard the echoing of pounding feet and you couldn’t even bother to flinch. Though you realized the sounds were quieting, that they were running away. You laid there for a long time, thinking they were dashing from cops, thinking someone had heard your pleas. But none of what you thought was actually true. You were here with the boy beside you and without help. You weren’t even sure that he was still alive. You didn’t even know if you were still alive.

Your whole body was throbbing ferociously. Your heartbeat was the worst part. It was thundering in your chest, demanding to shatter more ribs. It was erupting through your ears and exhausting to evade. It was roving through your bloodstream. You were losing yourself. It hurt too badly.

“Open your eyes,” a voice resonated in your head. It was real, though. It was the boy’s voice.


“Please. Don’t-Don’t go. Stay, it’s all I need,” he croaked. You didn’t open your eyes, but you moaned his name, aspiring that you recalled it correctly.

“Johnny,” you whispered again.

“What’s your name?” He asked, and you told him. “Y/N,” he murmured. A simper was striking in his voice. “We’re going, going to be okay.”

There was shifting. Your eyelids lifted and you saw he was no more than half a foot away from you. His arm was thrust out in your direction. You tried to do the same, and he caught your hand arduously. Fingers twined in against yours.

“I’ve got some buddies, ya hear? They’re on their way.” He was still smiling, and you endeavored to do the same. His eyes glistened at this. “Lay with me for a while. You’re gonna be fine, Y/N.” He was lying, but it was a beautiful lie. Above you two, a star flickered out and died, but lost in your own minds, your own thoughts, you both failed to notice. Johnny’s hand slacked.

“I’m sorry … It’s painful,” he breathed. You watched him closely, colors blurring together, but you made out his eyes, which kept rolling into the back of his head.

“It’s okay,” you said. “I hope you’re okay.”

Johnny nodded his head. “I’m a Greaser.”

You nodded your head, but he didn’t descry this.

“You ought to know.”

“You’re Johnny,” you mumbled. “It’s all I n-need to know.”

You knew he was Johnny, you knew he was hurt. And now you knew he was a Greaser. A breath left his lips in a soft manner.

“Y/N,” he murmured. “I’m sorry.”

His hand lost his grip at that moment. Maybe in another life you two would’ve known each other. Maybe you would’ve even been friends. But that was not the case now. He was gone and you knew this.

Time passed. It became too much after a while of gazing at Johnny’s resting face. His glazed eyes and his parted lips. Everything about him was still.

You were alone, yet again.

Your eyelids fell and your lungs pressed a final breath from your chest, painless this time, unnerving.

anonymous asked:

Darling Caretaker, I offer you blood i have drawn with my claws, a vial of tears i've cause, a bottle of venom from my own fangs, nine hundred and ninety nine paper stars full of frustrations and promises, a silvertongue incapable of telling a lie and my favorite jar from my collection of hearts. I try and try but its never enough, so i dont try anymore. I dont believe people can change, me the least of all. Do the stars think someone broken, jagged and sharp at the edges, can ever change?


okay but if you actually…take a step back and just think about how some people literally don’t have enough money for food and shelter and then others have enough for $10,000 dresses that they wear to one event and enough to eat at a 5-star restaurant for every meal every day of their lives, have literally more money than they could ever possibly use, like it’s so normalized and it’s such an unnatural thing. idk i feel like if you were to view it from another lense or just…re-examine it then it’s the most fucked up thing, actually unfathomable

anonymous asked:

I was wondering how do you know for certain that Sony is keeping eye on what's been said here? And if they do it doesn't seem to make any difference whatsoever, they are still doing unfathomably stupid things and not trying at all to appease us.

I mentioned this before but I have worked very closely with Sony PlayStation. They have a team of entry-level positions that not only monitor but actively participate in all the big gaming forums. Their information is real time.

I have seen situations in this fandom where blogs talk about how they would improve a stunt to be more believable and overtime those improvements are made. I’ve also seen backlashes and damage control implement.

If you’re talking about babygate or Harry’s rollout then I think you’re assuming that Sony/HSHQ and you have the same goals. It was clear from the beginning that HSHQ didn’t care about appeasing this fandom at all. So as a loyal fan it did not play out how you would’ve liked but Sony may have seen it as an absolutely a success.

With regards to babygate, it’s painful for Louis’ fans and he may have lost a share of his fanbase but if it helped in marketing Harry as the very het womanizer his album’s focus is on then maybe in HSHQ/Sony’s eyes babygate as successful. 🌼

When the eternal slavery of women is destroyed, when she lives for herself and through herself, when man, up till now abominable, will have set her free, she will be a poet as well! Woman will discover the unknown! Will her world of ideas differ from ours? She will discover strange things, unfathomable, repulsive, delightful; we will accept and understand them.
—  Arthur Rimbaud

“When the eternal slavery of women is destroyed, when she lives for herself and through herself, when man, up till now abominable, will have set her free, she will be a poet as well! Woman will discover the unknown! Will her world of ideas differ from ours? She will discover strange things, unfathomable, repulsive, delightful; we will accept and understand them.” Rimbaud 1871

Ok so I’ve recently got back into a massive Star Wars crunch and read Kanan the Last Padawan so I’m going to spend a ridiculous amount of diction telling you how much I love THIS slimy fucker.

Janus Fuckin’ Kasmir.

Alright first off I’m always an absolute sucker for the “Criminal With a Heart of Gold” trope, so my unwavering bias towards him is probably perpetuated by that BUT I REALLY fucking love Janus for a number of reasons:

He helped out Caleb knowing full well that assisting any Jedi would put him in deep shit, yet he was willing to not only give Caleb something to eat, but harbor him regardless of the insane risk.

Even let him stay longer than what was promised. When nearly everyone in the galaxy at the time would see Jedi as traitors and war criminals, Janus saw Caleb as a child in desperate need of help, and regardless of this dude being a smuggler, the type of person who are regularly associated with greed and self-preservation, he went out of his way, farther than most would ever do, to keep him safe.

Now I’m not saying Janus is some perfect soul who adopts stray Padawans off the slums. Guy’s a criminal with an agenda. He’ll do do what it takes sell out whoever he needs to earn some good fortune, but it does say volumes about a character that’s willing to risk himself on multiple occasions to bail Caleb out when he could have easily left him at the mercy of the clones.

AND THEIR RELATIONSHIP. Lemme tell you how much I love their dynamic! What was expected to be a mutually beneficial relationship where one sticks around with the other to further their own agenda ended up being a great friendship between polar opposites. We have Janus, a low-life smuggler, who’s probably been in this line of work his whole life paired together with Caleb, who’s trained his entire early life as a Jedi, who’s been sheltered from the harsh realities of what the Galaxy and the people living in it are actually like. Being exposed to such things was unfathomable to someone as innocent as Caleb, yet Janus brought him into this life, and they both thrived from working together. What makes their relationship even more impactful is Caleb’s desperate need for someone to always take him under their wing. He spent his entire childhood under the comfort of knowing that no matter what, someone will be there to take care of him. When he was a Youngling he had the various Jedi masters at the temple, and this notion of his was further enforced when he became Depa’s Padawan. Caleb even acknowledges it and tries to forget Depa to cope with the guilt of running away, tries to block out everything he was raised on, so long as he has someone to care for him. Even if that someone is a scoundrel like Janus.

What I love about Janus is that he recognized Caleb’s insecurities so easily. Read the kid like an open book, initially decided the trouble wasn’t worth it, tried to shoo him off, and eventually caved in to keep Caleb around, resulting in both of them getting attached to each other. Caleb satisfied his desperate need for a mentor, and Janus ended up with an irreplaceable partner/protege.

omg what a softy big bad smuggler won’t even hit the kid

And when Caleb finally comes to terms with his insecurities and tries to go off on his own, Janus immediately knows why and tries to talk him out of it.

Even after 14 years Kanan regrets leaving Janus behind, wondering if they’d reunite and help with the Rebellion. That just shows how much of an impact Janus left on Kanan as a sort of partner/mentor. He takes on after Janus in multiple ways, ways that his new family would never know.

Janus was one of the few positive things in Caleb’s life during the Jedi Purge before starting his new life as Kanan Jarrus, and I really want to see these two again, either in comics or in the new season of Rebels. I really want to see how Janus would feel seeing Kanan blinded, how Kanan would react to reuniting with one of the few friends he had in his childhood, how his team would react knowing his best friend was an eccentric smuggler.


Thanks For Playing

It starts as a happy ending. No more battles, no more constant dread, no more loneliness. Everyone’s together and safe.

It ends with a huffy retort in a minor argument. It’s as simple as Jade disagreeing with John on an interpretation of a movie; she keeps her tone even as she defends her point, but it pushes his buttons all the same. He crosses his arms and says matter-of-factly, “The real Jade wouldn’t say that.”

“I’m real!”

John feels a brief pang of guilt and waves her off, letting the argument fizzle into awkward silence. Jade bottles up the hurt and the anger, just as she always has, and tells herself it doesn’t matter. Getting emotional doesn’t help anybody.

She watches movies with John less and less.

Rose picks up the bottle again. She misses a mother from another universe, a mother she misunderstood, a mother who deserved a better daughter. So she drinks in solidarity and in search of answers. She drinks to cover over her failure as a Seer who let a Thief wrest away her duties as a strategist.

No one knows how to help her. Vriska always handled it before and Vriska isn’t here.

Dave avoids Rose when she’s drunk. It’s none of his business. He doesn’t like confrontation, especially with someone who can kick his ass in an argument. She’ll be fine, he figures. She’s smart. Someone else can take care of it.

Kanaya doesn’t understand human addiction and she doesn’t want to risk falling back into her habit of meddling. Prodding too often might alienate their relationship, or even worse, push it from flushed into pale territory.

Besides, if she confronts Rose, what’s to stop Rose from turning it back on her? Rose has surely stumbled on the stash of blood, just as Kanaya has found Rose’s stash of booze.

Jake breaks off from the group. He’s a social mess who only upsets people. He’s best off living as a hermit again, where he can’t hurt anyone.

Dirk breaks off from the group. He’s a manipulative monster unfit for human society anyway. If he can’t stand to deal with himself, why should he force anyone else to?

Jane breaks off from the group. She did too many unfathomably horrible things to her friends under the control of the Condesce. She can never live it down, not when she always had it in her; it just took the tiaratop to bring it to the surface.

Roxy’s time is sapped just trying to coax her friends back together, pleading with them that their flaws don’t define them. She’s almost physically ill from stress when she discovers that Rose fell off the wagon.

John and Dave aren’t on speaking terms anymore and no one knows why. Karkat pries, but Dave refuses to repeat John’s words: “Why don’t you act more like Davesprite?”

No one asks what happened to Davesprite. No one really cares – except for John, when it’s convenient. Davesprite never mattered anyway. He’s happy now though, somewhere. The new voices blaring in his head insist that he’s happy; his opinion doesn’t really matter, just like the rest of him.

Repopulating the troll species proves slower than expected, in no small part thanks to Karkat’s rash impatience. He rushes it time and again. He doesn’t have time to sit around on his ass when he could be getting shit done. He has to prove himself as a leader. How are they going to recreate Alternia if it takes this damn long?

Dave wonders if it’s the greatest idea to resurrect a culture based so heavily on violence, but Karkat dismisses him. “Are you kidding me? Alternia was fucking great!” That’s all there is to say on the matter.

Terezi keeps her distance. She smiles when it counts, when anyone’s looking, but there’s rarely a moment that Vriska’s words don’t echo through her head and eat at her. Her confidence is a facade, torn down piece by piece by a moirail she can’t stop missing. She can’t shake the unease that this is all her doing.

John’s dad is still dead, but he has Jane’s dad now and that’s the same thing, right? When the cake tastes a little bit different than his father used to make, it’s just a coincidence that John lashes out at his friends more often over unrelated, trivial matters.


“They have to face all these issues themselves, or they will never learn and grow as people. The journey itself is more important than the destination. The struggle is what builds character and teaches us about ourselves and about life. If you lick a lollipop that flips a switch in your brain that says ‘all my problems are solved,’ I guess maybe that’s fine for cherubs, but if you’re a human you haven’t actually solved anything” - Andrew Hussie


Edit: now on AO3

Adult Faith AU: Part 3

I lied. I said it would be a week or two before the next installment, but I found I needed to exorcise this demon promptly and get it out of my system so I don’t completely ignore my other life priorities like, I dunno, my job, my husband, or my masters thesis. 

This installment completes Section One of my Adult Faith AU. The story will have 3-4 more sections, each broken up and posted in parts. I also anticipate some follow-up ficlets, so you’re stuck with me spamming you with this universe forever, I’m afraid.

All that to say, this will probably be the last installment for a little while (for rilz this time) as the next chunk of the story takes us WAY off the canon reservation and will therefore take me much longer to craft. 

If you enjoy these stories, be sure to follow me so you don’t miss the next installment!  Feel free to reach out with questions or feedback. You guys are the best readers a girl could ask for.



My Master List  (I’m the new kid on the block, so this is the only story you’ll find there at present) 

Part 1 (Snapshot: Claire and Jamie are in Paris in 1766 (mid-Voyager) preparing for the trip to the Indies to seek Ian. They run into the–gasp, not dead?– Comte St. Germain, who drops a major bombshell about meeting their daughter. Faith.) 

Part 2 (Snapshot: Jamie and Claire must grapple with the news that their firstborn daughter may in fact be alive.)

Part 3 below the break. 

Hold on to your hats, its a long one and angst abounds. 

Keep reading


Rockwell Kent (American, 1882 – 1971) 

Wilderness: A Journal of Quiet Adventure in Alaska, 1920

Rockwell Kent spent seven months living in a goat shed on Fox Island off the coast of Seward, Alaska. During that time, Rockwell and his 9-year-old son refurbished the cabin and sketched together. The sketches made their way into a journal published in 1920.

“It seems that we have…turned out the beaten, crowded way and come to stand face to face with that infinite and unfathomable thing which is wilderness.” - Rockwell Kent

More Rockwell Kent

KNIFE&FIGHT would be probably a pair of private detectives

the  Ψrpent is a young hot blooded greaser in a pompadeur wig 

the small creature is an ancient and unfathomable Elder Thing from the dawn of time who wants to solve some crimes

they still both think they are the one called KNIFE

If I wrote an Animals of Farthing Wood AU where the characters were, like, a band of human refugees in space or something (since, like Watership Down, The Animals of Farthing Wood was about a group of characters struggling to deal with an alien environment full of dangerous, unfathomable things), people would categorize it as survival horror. 

But hey if you make all the characters fluffy little animals then that’s fine, kids can read that, what the fuck.