what even is your everything

  • fanfic writer: *writing* Oh wow, they are going to love this. This is by far my best work!
  • fic: *witty lines* *perfect love making* *fluffy enough to kill us all* *a dash of angst, a smidgen of hurt/comfort*
  • fanfic writer: Oh man. This is it. This will be my legacy! *sweats into fic* *bleeds into fic* *cries into fic* *spends days perfecting the grammar and verbage and sex scenes* *has 15 betas look over it*
  • fanfic writer: Okay. It is finally time to release my baby on the world. Here you go fandom. You're welcome.
  • fandom: Ha, cute. *like* *kudos*
  • fanfic writer: :/
  • * * *
  • same fanfic writer: *writing* Whatever. This is shit, I don't even care right now. A singing squirrel? Sure, let's do it. Haha, cheesy lines that make no sense, sure. Grammatical errors out the wazoo? Why not. No one's going to read this piece of crap anyway, I literally wrote it on a scrap of 1 ply toilet paper with a broken yellow crayon.
  • fanfic writer: LOL *post*
  • fanfic writer: *sigh*

okay so i was having thoughts this morning about how i believe that obi-wan was probably t h e best master for anakin under the circumstances (and a few others) and how as much as i hate predestination, if you accept anakin as (one of?) the chosen one(s), then he is fated to bring about the fall of the Jedi - cos you can’t have balance when the lightside outnumbers the darkside by as much as it does. and i started thinking about how what if the universes where obi-wan is his master greatly delays him fucking off to the darkside and bringing about the end of the Order? well, he was all of 23 when that happened, which means in other universes, where obi-wan is not his master, he probably abandons the order much younger than that.

okay, so - an au where.

an au where qui-gon lives. despite reasons why it probably wouldn’t happen, he becomes anakin’s master, obi-wan fucks off to do Knight Things and Grow As His Own Person. anakin has his canonical crisis of faith and great realization that being a jedi is difficult and not actually all that he thought it was going to be. he fucks off from the order - say around the age of fifteen?

qui-gon, despite everything, goes off to hunt him. despite this “betrayal”. after all, anakin is the chosen one, right? so he even goes so far as to call in obi-wan to help him find anakin. meanwhile, anakin is employing every last trick in the book to remain out of reach. he won’t go back - he won’t. he can do more good out there in the galaxy, instead of tied down by the (hostile, tbh) jedi order.

it just so happens that obi-wan finds him. rather than try to arrest him or anything (leaving the order is not a ‘take into custody’ offense, as obi-wan well knows) and actually talks to anakin about the reasons why he’s fucked off. he finds the reasons understandable. besides, becoming a jedi is not being conscripted. anakin has the right to leave if he feels like it. obi-wan tells him that it’s fucking dangerous for a half-trained force sensitive out there in the wild galaxy, but when anakin doesn’t change his mind (because he’s hella stubborn tbh) obi-wan is just like “welp” and lets him go. he tells qui-gon he never found anakin, but that it’s really unreasonable to hunt the kid down for fucking off. it’s another thing that qui-gon and obi-wan don’t see eye-to-eye with.

so that’s that, right? they’ll never see the chosen one again.

but wait, there’s more. So of course the Sith find anakin. he must bring balance to the force. Dooku and Sidious play bad cop/good cop until anakin is firmly under Sidious’ thumb. (presumably, Qui-gon would have found nine hundred different ways to keep anakin away from palpatine, who might even have been the one to plant the idea of running off into anakin’s head on the few times when he was allowed to speak with the kid). anakin goes corrupt, as you do when siths are fucking with your head, and the story proceeds.

here it is, the fall of the jedi order, and order 66.

ymmv what happens to qui-gon. does he live through even this? or is he shot down protecting obi-wan? in either case, obi-wan survives as he tends to, trying to regroup with the rest of the surviving Jedi. of course, you have this wretched sith lord, Darth Vader, hunting them all down. his skill with a blade is unparalleled. no jedi who has faced him has survived.

when he finds them, obi-wan stays back, sacrificing himself to save the others. and yet, to his surprise, darth vader does not kill him. darth vader himself does not understand entirely why, only that once when he was very young, a jedi heard him out and let him go.

he does not let obi-wan go, but neither does his blade fall.


“A friend is someone who knows all about you and still loves you” - Elbert Hubbard

  • me: okay, I have to write, I will write *opens document* nice, okay... let's do this.
  • me: ...
  • me: ...
  • me: ...
  • me: *writes* Touka looked at...
  • me: ...
  • me: ...
  • me: *deletes*
  • me: ...
  • me: *closes document* I think I'm gonna play some Skyrim.
Do not imagine... going to a concert with Shawn

Do not imagine how he‘d go to any concert with you, even if the artist isn‘t his favorite. And you‘d tell him he doesn‘t have to, but he‘d insist to come (because he gets to spend time with you, but he‘d never tell you that.)

Do not imagine how you‘d spend your evenings planing everything. What outfit to wear? Shawn will give you advice (Advice you shouldn‘t follow, he‘s a hormonal boy after all, and some things are not appropriate, even for sweaty concerts.) Who is your ride? Shawn is volunteering before you finish the question (He will also let you listen to said artist on your way to the concert and back.) Do you eat before or after? Shawn proposes to get takeout (Before and after.)

Do not imagine how he‘ll get ready to leave 3 hours before the concert begins, because he knows you want to be there early but you also don‘t want to make to much of a deal about it.

Do not imagine how he‘d hold you hand in a death grip on your way in because he‘ll be damned if he loses you.

Do not imagine how that little shit would comment on your hand being sweaty. and do not imagine how you‘ll point a finger at his chest and angrily whisper „It‘s because I‘m exited you- you- you know what? That‘s rude to say.“ He‘ll just shake his head and and scrunch his nose, „That‘s disgusting, you‘re lucky I love you.“ (He does absolutely not mention how his hands are drenched every time he goes on stage.)

Do not imagine how he‘d give you the ear plugs. He jokes about how he‘s the only artist allowed to ruin your hearing. You bump your hips into his in annoyance.

Do not imagine how his eyes would light up in amusement when the lights finally go out and you put your hands over his mouth and order him, „Don‘t say a word. This is the magical moment.“

Do not imagine how when a slower song comes on, he‘d press his chest to your back and pull his arms around you. And do not imagine how he‘d lean down and whisper the words into your ear. You‘d barely hear him, but you feel his hot breath and honestly, that‘s enough to get your heart rate up.

Do not imagine how he‘d pout when you tell him that was the best concert you ever went to. „Hey!“ „What?“ „What about me?“ „Oh right-t-t. But have you seen how great they were? Like the thing they did at that one moment? And their voice was so great?“

Do not imagine how you‘re too high on adrenaline to notice your surroundings. After you stumbled over his feet (how is that even possible?) and bumped your hip at a corner (not even adrenaline keeps that pain at bay), he‘ll simply pick you up and get you to his car, muttering about how he‘d a babysitter for his significant other.

„You love it, don‘t lie.“

„I really do- love it, you know. And I love you, too.“

Greetings from E!

I might have changed the girlfriend at the end to significant other… oops? BUT I READ DO NOT IMAGINE AND LITERALLY FELL OUT OF MY CHAIR E YOU KILL ME EVERY TIME

Kneepad shoe things

I honestly have no idea what to call these things, but they’re basically fake shoes that you wear on your knees for a short character.

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Sweet As Pie (Ethan)

Summary: Requested by a few. Ethan is a barista at your local coffee shop and he writes stupid puns on your cup every time you drop by.
Word Count: 2,326
Warnings: None.
A/N: I’m still reeling from 1k followers ughhh, you guys are everything. Hope you enjoy this! Let me know if you want a part two, might make it smutty. xx

It had started last semester. You had been sleep deprived during finals and had studied all night, eventually feeling like you had to go and take a walk outside for some fresh air. It was nearing 6AM by the time you had found  yourself outside the deserted coffee shop, so you had shrugged and walked in to grab something to drink. Maybe sugar and caffeine would keep you awake.

The barista that was standing behind the counter was utterly gorgeous and you had lost your voice for a second as you saw him walk around, wiping down the counter and pushing his long curls from his forehead with a rough hand, humming. His nametag had said Ethan and he looked gorgeous in the obligatory white shirt that clung to him in all the right places. You had marveled at the stripe of red at the front of his hair, stuttering out your order when he had smiled gently, greeting you.

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  • me: Police Brutality is a serious issue we need to -
  • One Of Those People: HAH! Bleeeeding heart liberal... Still crying from Brexit, snowflake? I care about PROTECTING OUR WOMEN FROM RAPIST IMMIGRANTS! Ever thought about THAT? Also stop taking my money for your precious welfare. We don't need public services, I DON'T WANT TO PAY FOR SOME GYPSY'S TATTOO REMOVAL... All Germans are Nazis and I support nuking the entire middle east to kill a few terrorists - EVERY MUSLIM IS A TERRORIST BY THE WAY. Why not just let everyone into our country? Give them our food and let them kill our children. Also I hate faggots and trannys, they're all rapists and paedophiles. The wage gap doesn't exist. I identify as helicopter HAHA get the joke? Go cry into Killary's loser liberal pantsuit shoulder, libtard, I actually have forgotten what your original point even was I HATE EVERYTHING!!!

there was once a headcanon that ino will invent a jutsu to wipe out her memory if she’s ever caught. i thought the idea is neat, especially if she’s rescued somehow afterwards. who could reverse her jutsu, when she’s the strongest mind technique user there is?

decided to do this kibaino because i’ve missed these babies together. and several years post-war, hence kiba’s shaggy head and jacket ‘cause i love that fur jacket okay.

Selfishly Selfless

Originally posted by largebang

Selfishly Selfless
[Was there truly a selfless act in love │Samuel Seo]

There was a fine line between selfishness and love.

If you love someone you were supposed to be selfless because you should put their happiness before your own. But is it selfish to want them to be with you? Was there really a truly selfless act?

Love was inherently selfish.

The only selfless thing you’d ever done was break up with him. But you were too selfish to actually let him go.

It wasn’t that this was routine perse’. You two never sought each other, this was never planned. You’d just always end up finding each other when you needed one another most. Maybe it was because you knew each other so well, that it was never a conscious decision.

It was just fate.

Samuel rolled over on his side watching you shimmy your jeans on. There was something so bittersweet on watching you leave. He’d gotten so used to seeing your back as you attempted to leave his apartment before he woke up. You always failed, but it didn’t stop you from trying. He smiled seeing the sun shining in through his curtains, indicating that you’d slept in. As much as you tried to leave before sunrise, it just wasn’t in you to be awake that early. It probably took everything in you just to get up this early.

Your bare silhouette was beautiful as you stretched your arms over your head, slipping on your shirt, not bothering to put on your bra. You were always too lazy to be bothered with it in the morning. He smiled seeing you stuff it in your bag along with your heels. You searched around his room, looking for your favorite pair of boots of his to take. They were far too large to actually fit you, but anything was better than your heels.

“Stay for breakfast, I can whip up your favorite” he smiled sleepily, already knowing your answer. He didn’t have to see your face to know you’d have that nervous look in your eyes. You were probably anxiously biting your lip, dreading turning him down.

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anonymous asked:

Hi there! I'm wondering if you could possibly write me a little some from prompts 33 and 53? MSR?

Dear Anon, this somehow turned into a sequel to this prompt

33. “Are you sure that’s the decision you want to make?” + 53. “Do you think I’m scared of a woman?”

They’re lucky, for once; the ER is mostly deserted. No other disoriented, disorganized agent in here with an unexplained injury. The nurse told her that a doctor would be with them in just a moment, but Mulder can’t keep his eyes open. His head keeps lolling about only to snap back as soon as it hits anything solid. Whether it’s her shoulder or the window in the car earlier.

“Drunk, huh?” The doctor, a short blond female greets them with a sharp nod, snaps on her latex gloves and smiles at Scully. Who feels strangely protective of Mulder at that moment.

“Actually, no,” she answers not knowing if it’s the truth; for all she knows Mulder is drunk and has been ever since he showed up at her apartment earlier, “he hurt his wrist.” Mulder, like a lost puppy, offers his swollen wrist. The doctor grabs it and he winces.

“Yeah, we’ll x-ray it,” she says, “so what happened?”

“I had an accident,” Mulder’s words are slurred; Scully is certain that he did not sound like this earlier, “Just an accident.”

“Is it just your wrist? Did you hurt anyone else?” She turns to Scully, who shrugs. She doesn’t know anything and for the first time this night she thinks maybe she should have asked Mulder beforehand. This is not like her; she is unprepared in every sense of the word,

“No one else hurt,” he assures them, “no, wait!” Both women turn to him. Scully tries not to think about it. Maybe he got into a drunken fight. Or he hit someone with his car. There’s an endless string of possibilities running through her mind; this is Mulder after all.  

“My pride,” he grins, “I think I hurt my pride.” Scully feels her cheeks burn. She feels sorry for the poor doctor. But her pity is limited; at least doesn’t have to take Mulder home with her and nurse him back to health. That job lies with her and her alone.

“That's… it would really help, Mr.-” she checks the chart, “Mulder, if you could give us some information about what has happened. Is anyone else hurt? Another human being?” He shakes his head no, finally.

“I went running,” he quickly glances at Scully, before he looks at the ground, “and I took off my shoes in the bedroom. I always do. I took a – a shower. I forgot the shoes and well. My hand stopped the fall.”

“No alcohol was involved?”

“No,” Mulder sighs, “I took a couple of pills to make the pain go away.”

“What kind of pills?” Scully asks before the doctor can and earns a confused glare.

“She’s a medical doctor,” Mulder explains for her, grinning from ear to ear, “I thought it was Tylenol. I don’t think it really was Tylenol, though, Scully. I feel dizzy.”

“Come on, Mr. Mulder. We’ll just x-ray your wrist and then you can sleep it off.” He follows the doctor and a young nurse dutifully.

“I’m not drunk,” he tells them, “Scully, tell them I’m not drunk.”

“I hear you, Mr. Mulder. Given your current state, I think it would be a good idea if we kept you overnight.”

“I’ll take him home with me,” Scully interjects quickly and Mulder smirks, “and make sure he gets all the rest he needs. I am, like he said, a doctor myself.”

“All right,” the ER doctor is not convinced, but Scully couldn’t care less right now, “Now let’s get your wrist x-rayed.”

Scully watches them wander over and fights the need to follow. Mulder doesn’t need her to hold his hand. Their voices are fading as they slowly make their way down the hall; it’s quiet here this late and the white walls echo only Mulder’s voice, louder than usual. Or maybe she’s just so attuned to him that she can hear him amongst all the chaos in the world.

“Do you think I’m scared of a woman?” She hears him ask and she sees his face turn towards the tall nurse. “If you’re talking about my partner then you’re absolutely right. She shot me once, you know.” The words put a smile on her face and it’s the last thing she hears for a while; the nurse gently pushes Mulder into a room and closes the door.

When Mulder returns, finally, his wrist is in a bandage. Scully throws the magazine she’s been reading aside and quickly joins him.

“Just a torn ligament.” He answers her unasked question, grinning at her as if he won a prize.

“Mulder, it’s not funny.”

“I agree. It really hurts. I think the pills are starting to wear off again.”

“Here’s some ibuprofen you can take, Mr. Mulder.” The nurse hands him the pills and Scully takes them from him immediately. The nurse blushes.

“I’ll make sure he takes them.”

“Of course. I’ll finish the report.”

“Oh Mulder,” Scully sighs, gently examining his bandaged wrist, “come on, we’re going home.”

In her living room, Scully removes the melted Ben & Jerry’s container as Mulder, still wearing his jacket, examines the VHS box of Scully’s movie. He holds it up like a piece of toxic waste.

“Did you watch this?”

“We can’t all have your excellent taste in movies, Mulder.” She mocks him, making sure the molten ice cream doesn’t drip on her carpet. She throws the container away and stares at it longingly for a moment. This is definitely not how she imagined her quiet weekend at home.

“We can watch it,” Mulder almost yells, “I don’t mind, you know.”

“Mulder, you need to sleep. Whatever you took earlier, you should sleep it off.” Scully makes a mental note to check the pill bottle tomorrow when she takes Mulder to his own apartment. And then take it away from him.

“I’m not tired. I feel like I slept all day.” He doesn’t look like it, though, she thinks, biting her tongue.

“But Mulder,” Scully sighs; she doesn’t want to complain, she really doesn’t, but it’s late and he’s looking at her like that puppy again. Ready to be walked, ready to be entertained, “I’m tired.”

“Then go to sleep. I can,” Mulder looks around, “I’ll find something to do.”

“Mulder, please.” Scully begs of him. For a moment he remains still, but she can almost feel the wheels turning in his head – and she has a distinctive feeling she’s not going to like whatever he’s going to say next.

“How about we make a deal.” His lips curl upwards.

“What kind of deal?” Scully asks carefully.

“I think I remember you wearing a certain garment earlier. Or was I hallucinating?”

“Mulder, no.” The grin disappears and his lower lip comes forward just the tiniest bit in a sneaky pout. Scully can’t help but think that he knows much how that affects her. He must know.

“Then I’m not going to sleep.” He tells her decisively, turning away from her. She rolls her eyes; all she wants right now is to sleep and she knows it’s not going to happen if Mulder is out here, unobserved.

“Mulder,” she begins, but he refuses to look at her; just like a little child, “Are you sure that’s the decision you want to make?” He nods, playing with the lapels of his jacket. It completely slipped her mind to help him out of it.

“Mulder, look at me,” he doesn’t, “I have a deal for you.” His head snaps into her direction.

“Let me help you out of your jacket first.” Mulder lets her take it off for him. They manage to avoid coming into contact with his wrist. That’s something at least. Until she remembers that she’ll have to help him out of the rest of his clothes, too, in the near future.  

“What’s the deal?”

“Ask me again about the tank top,” he opens his mouth, “when you’re no longer high on drugs. Now come on, g-man. We need to get you into bed.” He mumbles something, but follows her obediently.

“What, Mulder?”

“I’m not high on drugs, Scully.” He mimics her.

“Of course not,” she not so gently shoves him into her bedroom and he sits on her bed, waiting, “We have no idea what you took, Mulder. So I’d rather wait for it to wear off.” For once he decides to remain silent. He lets her help him out of his pants; he’ll have to sleep in his boxers and t-shirt, Scully decides. Mulder watches her as she reaches for her pajama pants she threw on her bed earlier.

“I’ll be right back,” she tells him gently, “get under the covers.” She almost winces; she sounds like his mother and that’s not at all what she wants. As she enters the bathroom, she hears rustling and she sighs in relief. In the bathroom, she quickly puts on her pajama pants. For a moment she debates whether to leave the t-shirt on or not; it stays on, she decides, turns off the bathroom light and joins Mulder in the already dark bedroom.



“I’m sorry.”

“About what, Mulder?”

“Everything. I crashed your evening and I realize I – I probably should have called. And I didn’t mean to, with the tank top. I know I – just ignore me, Scully. You’re probably right and I’m high on drugs. Good night, Scully. Thank you for letting me stay here.” With a sigh, she grabs the hem of her shirt and takes it off. It lands with a soft thud on the floor somewhere.

“Scully?” She’s aware he can’t see her in the darkness.

“Shut up, Mulder,” Scully says, lying down next to him, “And sleep.”

He manages to stay quiet for a couple of minutes; long enough for Scully to almost fall asleep. Almost.

“Scully? Are you – I must be hallucinating, but… are you wearing the tank top?”

“Mulder, if you shut up now you’ll wake up to me wearing it in the morning.” Scully expects him to say something – anything – but he remains beautifully quiet. She doesn’t tell him that if he’s his normal, drug-free self tomorrow, she might even let him take it off.


Summary: Mickey begins to feel jealous over Mandy and Ian’s friendship, so he confronts Ian about it.

Word Count: 803

Ever since Mickey came out at the Alibi, he and Ian had been living in the Milkovich house along with Svetlana, Yevgeny, and Mandy. Mickey and Ian obviously used this time together as an advantage, but Mickey couldn’t help but notice how close Ian and his sister were. He’s never had a best friend before so he didn’t know if it was just that, or if it was more.

Eventually Mickey came to the conclusion that Ian and Mandy being together was completely out of the conclusion, so he decided he would try to just let it go. Technically Ian and Mandy were best friends and ‘dating’ before Ian and Mickey got together, so he figured it would be completely ridiculous to feel any jealousy.

After a few days, Mickey started to forget about the whole ordeal until he walked into the living room to find Mandy sprawled out across Ian’s legs on the couch. She had a beer in her hand, and she looked wasted, but it still sparked that flame of jealousy right back up. He gritted his teeth and went into the kitchen without saying anything and got himself a beer.

Eavesdropping was something Mickey never did because he never understood the point of caring enough to listen to another person’s conversation, but now he found himself listening and watching his sister and Ian. He noticed how engaged and interested Ian seemed to be in whatever Mandy was talking about– nodding his head, laughing at her jokes. Why did it bother him so much to see his sister and his boyfriend be so close? So fucking stupid, right?

When Mandy sat up and drunkenly grabbed Ian’s face to speak to him, Mickey slammed his beer and the counter and stormed his way over there. He rolled Mandy off the couch and dragged Ian into their bedroom. “Mickey, what are you doing?” Ian said in confusion.

Mickey shook his head. “Are you fucking Mandy?”

Ian actually bursted out in laughter at the accusation– he thought it was a joke. When Mickey’s face stayed serious, Ian stopped laughing. “Wait, are you serious?”

“Okay, nevermind that question,” Mickey ran a hand over his face. “That one might’ve been dumb.”

“It was really fucking dumb,” Ian informed his boyfriend. As he studied Mickey’s conflicted face, he furrowed his brows and stepped closer. “What’s going on, Mick?”

“It was kinda hard for me to tell the difference between if you two are really just good best friends or if you’re fucking so I had to ask.” He sarcastically laughs. “For fucks sake, you guys seem to be together more often than we are and we’re actually together,” he mumbled out in a slightly aggravated tone.

Ian shook his head sadly at his boyfriend’s words. He’s never known that his relationship with Mandy made Mickey jealous. “Mick–”

“I just never had a best friend, alright?” He cuts Ian off and speaks quickly.

Suddenly Ian face looks upset and offended. “What do you mean you’ve never had a best friend?” His frown is prominent.

“Like you and Mandy, y’know? I’ve never fucking had that,” he avoided making any eye contact with Ian. “Terry would call me a fag if I ever wanted to hang out with people from school so I just never took the time to make any friends.”

“I know you’ve never had anyone else, but you have me. I’m your friend,” Ian said. “Well I would fucking hope so at least because you’re my best friend.”

Mickey’s eyes shot up in wonderment. “What? Mandy’s your best friend, and I’m your boyfriend so how does that fucking count?”

“Yes, Mandy is my best friend, but so are you. I have two best friends and it doesn’t matter that we’re together– we can still be friends even if we’re dating, it makes it even better.”

“Makes what even better?”

Ian chuckled. “Being best friends with your boyfriend makes everything more fun, Mick! Why do you think we’re never miserable in each other’s presence?”

Mickey is hit with the sudden realization that Ian is right. Over these past few years, Ian’s became more than just his boyfriend, he’s also became his best friend– someone he could count on. “Huh,” Mickey says. “Guess you’re right.”

“I am right,” Ian grabs Mickey’s face. “And you know something else? I love you more than I love Mandy,” he winks.

Neither boy knew the drunken girl was listening through the door until she started pounding on it. “Hey, asshole! You’re supposed to love me more! I was your girlfriend first!”

Both boys laugh and fall into a sweet and chaste kiss. “I love you too,” Mickey says with a smile. He’s very thankful that he talked to Ian about everything because now he realizes he should be happy– and he is.

i made this icon for a friend of mine on instagram!! i tried using new techniques in this piece, and i’m pretty happy with how it turned out ( ⁎ᵕᴗᵕ⁎ )

you can follow her @zacharyb.episode on instagram!! she’s an episode author, and i’m really a fan of her stories ꉂ(ᵔᗜᵔ∗)

@rontra B^)

So ….. this happened. *looks around nervously*
I SOMEHOW ended up there…with the help of SOMEONE kicking my butt into the fandom. And … I fear I will stick around.

So.. those two are a thing now… in my art. It’s the arms and eyebrows… I s2g seriously…

(No, not a fandom switch, just an addition, don’t worry. I’m still totally in volleygay hell.. I just have a …space hell now too… oh god i have TWO space hells…)