when you come of age

i guess i’ll have to learn to be delicate (with your heart)

Fluff Friday: November 18 “Big & Little”

Not particularly shippy. Featuring: Sakura and Kakashi, with guest appearances by Naruto, Sai, Yamato, Tsunade and Shizune. Would nod vaguely at canon if they were to pass in the street.

This is de-aged fic. Neither Sakura nor chibi!Kakashi are particularly thrilled, but Naruto thinks it’s hilarious.


Sakura’s just coming up on the end of a long, long hospital shift when she hears the commotion in the lobby. She pauses, letting her attention stray from the medical chart she’s updating to trying to decipher the noise two floors down, but the distance muffles everything to only the dull rise and flow of voices. She cocks her head, listening to no avail.

“Haruno-sensei?” the chūnin perched on the bed dares prompt.

She frowns and shakes her head, turning back to her patient. If she’s needed, Shizune will send one of the nurses to fetch her. Until then, she has work to finish.

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Hi, Dad. You son of a bitch. I never made one of these when you were still responding because I was so mad at you for leaving. And then when you went quiet, I feel like I should’ve lived with that decision, and I have. But today is my birthday. And it’s a special one, because you told me… you once told me that when you come back we might be the same age. And today I’m the age you were when you left. So it would be a real good time for you to come back.

Clumsiness is a physical effect of stress.

Remember when Nursey spilled cereal on Dex?

His chill is so fake, its frightening.

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I think what matures us is time, not necessarily our physical bodies. So I think she can probably change as much as human would in the timespan of the show. However, I do think as a human you reach a point where there’s a certain amount of humility and acceptance of life and its consequences when you see your own body change and age, and the pounds come or the wrinkles come.

Whoring in late 20ties

In other words “Am I too old fart to do it?” Answer to this question is…"You couldn’t be further from the truth!”, but let me break it down for you.

What you’re going to witness is based on personal experience, for what it’s worth, and nothing more. Fake quoting Buddha: “Believe nothing, no matter where you read it, or who said it, no matter if I’ve said it, unless it agrees with your own reason and common sense.” And here we go:

1) Boosted confidence - There’s this coming of age when you realize that appearance isn’t everything and it’s about…over 25. No joke, you actually stop giving that much of a shit because you’re just an awesome creature and who wouldn’t want to be your friend?! Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that appearance isn’t important…it is, but how you see or approach yourself changes with the passage of time.

2) Sexual history - Most likely you’ve whored enough not only to know what you like, but also how to work your body to the maximum. Most likely you know exactly what you’re doing without worrying much about anything. Last thing you stress about would be “sleeping with someone for the first time” or just sleeping with someone.

3) Fully lived youth - you know those few years when you were drunk as fuck every weekend with the girls chasing fuckboys? Weren’t they the most hilarious years ever?! Broke or not, it was fun…don’t even try to claim otherwise! You haven’t missed a whole period of one’s life called “youth” due to official whoring. No regrets - that’s simply awesome!

4) Believability - Ok, I’m going to be harsh in here, BUT…seeing a 18 years old trying to look like 30…is a bit awkward! Everybody knows what I’m talking about. We all have seen it. It raises questions in public and your cover would be blown, in case you have one…or even care to have one. What I’ve learned in late 20ties is that I can literally sell myself for anything imaginable because it’s believable. I don’t know if anybody ever thinks about that, but I do. I could be working that Prada and sell myself to be a CEO if I wanted to or if it was necessarily and guess what…I’d get away with it! Those business suits look damn on point on me and my age supports the idea that I could actually “be someone” so I could afford certain things…even if I’m totally a pathetic nobody. Try to get away with it wearing Chanel in your early 20ties…you can’t! Options of assumptions would be just two: “she’s a ho’” or “rich parent’s spoild brat”. Take your pick.

5) Knowing yourself - 25+…most likely you’ve figured yourself out by then. You know who you are, you know your shit! The fact you decide to be a legitimate whore is probably pretty planned out action because you know you would be a god damn good at it. I take the freedom to assume…

6) Independence - Probably you’re living away from mommy and daddy. Covering up your incomes has never been easier. If you’re anything like me, who escaped away from the “home pond” thousands of kilometers, chances of you getting caught with anything are between 0 and -5.

7) Life experience - Why some men creep on “barely legal” is quite obvious. Whether they’re borderline pedophile or pray on young girl’s naivety. What happens with age is “bitches get smarter” and it’s harder to take advantage on someone who has already seen somethin’ somethin’ going on in the past. Age reflects wisdom and advanced problem solving skills - useful traits to have to say the least! Talking from the experience, and I had to learn things the hard way…trust me, there’s nothing more dangerous than being fucking STUPID because of lack of life experience!!! But you live and learn and become less stupid with every mistake you do so…ain’t really better advice on “not being stupid” than fucking something up to your own disadvantage! It’s a vicious circle…I know! Adding that at 25+ EVEN IF things go South (let’s face it, shit happens to everybody from time to time regardless of age), taking a punch in the mouth, shaking it off like a bad case of fleas and moving on faster than the speed of light becomes causality since the chances are you’ve done this already several times in the past knowing that…well…nothing can’t really fucking kill you so why the heck should you stress about something that can’t be changed anymore? Take the hit, learn the lesson, move on. You can’t always win…

Just few random thoughts that crossed my mind today even if part of me wishes I started earlier, I think 25+ is naturally the best age unless you’re not one of those “I want to settle down by *fill the gap*” type of person that most actually are. Not judging, we do different life choices. But when changing diapers by the age of 25 doesn’t still seem appealing to you or you have no feeling place for knitting a nest, well…world is your oyster, baby! Options are literally limitless. I’m the first one to claim it feels god damn good to be selfish at all times, do the things you want to do, live for your good only…forever and ever until the end of times. There’s nothing fucking wrong with that!

Happy whoring!

You know what annoys me? Having age ranges when it comes to books. I was in a public library yesterday and the had the “teen corner” people 13-17 could go in. I’m 20 but I still went in because all of the books in that section are my favorite. Books shouldn’t have age ranges. It should be 13+ or 17+. I’ve had a friend not read an amazing book because of the age range and I’m like dude it doesn’t matter it’s an amazing book.

Nyx Dialogue
Fire Emblem: Fates
Nyx Dialogue

For furansuwa-ask and dakcentral!

Oh wow I really like her voice. It throws her up there with Camilla and Hinoka for super soothing mature voices. Eternal disclaimers as usual!

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The Prophecy

Summary: In Azarath, harmony thrives. There is no war. No conflict. No pain. The people of Azar are a people of unity, and it has always been this way. Yet… fear can be a turbulent and destructive emotion, with the potential to have even a world of peace succumb to chaos. 

A/N: This drabble takes place two weeks after the birth of Raven. 

_______________________________________________

Someone is running.

Along a barren street of slate, the quick clap of bruising feet belt against the ground, lawless in their plight as the wild lash of rain teaming from the blackened skies.

Drowned in the storm’s roar, thick breaths fly from a rasping mouth, amber eyes searing against the blitz of cold, biting wind.

The man tears through the wet throng, two trembling arms pinned at his chest as it heaves in time with his rabid heart. His teeth grit, vision latched ahead, for he does not dare look around, lest another soul be looming in the dark.

Watching.

Being caught is not an option now. He knows this. His only choice is to succeed in getting the task done, and doing it quickly.

He feels the towering buildings stare down at him as he sharply turns a corner, like watching a man racing with Death.

For this man, though, Death cannot be seen stalking behind him, or waiting ahead, but moving with him, in the crook of his folded arms.

He glances down when a small whine cuts through the clashing rain, his fingers tensing their hold with an urgent dread.

“Be quiet,” he hisses through taut lips, that the sound might be quelled back to silence.

It works, if only for the moment, and he’s staring forward again, knowing now that he must be close…

Another turn, and his feet come to a brisk halt. The alley is narrow and grey, but it’s out of sight. From his lungs, hoarse pants rise and fall, grating along his throat and causing his ribs to ache. He slumps heavily against the nearest wall, shoulders hunched forward and weight buckled at his knees as he desperately strives to regain his breath. His toes are red, chapped and raw from his incessant sprint; his black, wiry hair clinging to his temples and cheeks. Even with the small stretch of fabric that hangs in the alley, acting as a makeshift shelter for him to rest beneath, that drum of rain continues to fall just out of reach, like a thousand jagged pellets surging aimlessly from above.

His eyes fall closed, briefly relishing the reward of relief, only to snap open once more to that familiar, frail whine in his ears. His brows sew together, creasing his forehead as he loosens the grip of his arms. A pause passes, before one hand moves from under the weight he holds to touch the bundle of cloth. Slowly, he pulls it back, to finally reveal the face of Death.

It has ivory skin, as though moonlight must be living beneath it. Its eyes are wide and glassy; a soul swimming in two wells of ink. Its hands coil at the fingers, curious and calm. Only a soft song leaves its lips.

And it’s small.

It’s so, so small.

The baby in his arms wriggles slightly within the bundle, and murmurs as it peers up at him in a mesmeric awe. He gapes back down at it, wondering why this child is condemned to one day end his life. 

To end all life.

The tears burn at the back of his eyes and he swallows hard.

That won’t happen, though… I won’t let it.

His head lifts to glimpse around him. The rain awaits him once he moves, but he knows the way.

Gravely, he places the cloth back over the baby’s face and sighs, before leaving the alley.

Upon stepping outside, the storm feels numbing. His arms fold at his chest as before, pressing in tightly, and he begins to run.

Through the shadows of night, his trained feet carry him to the city’s brink. He hears it before his eyes have the chance to seek it out. A feral, rushing sound, crashing against the bank and rocks that line it. A river, howling and rolling as if at war with the rain.

That smooth touch of the city’s floor feels years away as his heels sink into the marshy turf surrounding the stream. The rocks prick at his soles with each step forward, a great pressure sitting on his chest as his gaze locks onto those white, surging waves. He feels his mind reel with the water, like a torrent colliding and crashing against the inside of his skull. His mouth is dry as his pace stops, reaching the river’s verge, and for several moments, all he can do is watch…

He knows what he set out to do, but as that weight cradled in his arms begins to shift again, like seeking a way out of its fabric coffin, he is paralysed. It’s as though it knows.

The child is innocent.

But the soul is evil.

These words wheel in his mind as he feels himself lower to his knees. The soil stains his sodden robe, the river’s spray spitting at his face. The child lets out a soft cry from beneath its shroud, and the man can only wonder whether, perhaps… the evil one is him.

His eyes close.

“I’m sorry…”

He feels his grip grow slack, with the bundle lifted above the water, but before he is able to let go, he is suddenly on his back with a thud, the weight in his arms gone.

“Do not move,” a steely voice demands.

He is pinned. Two large, strong men hold down each of his arms, flat against the mud. The rain falls on his face, his mouth agape and eyes swollen.

“Is it her?” he hears from a few feet away.

No.

This cannot be happening.

He wasn’t being followed.

“It’s the girl,” comes another voice.

“Harmed?”

A pause.

“No.”

The following words are laced with a certain sense of relief.

“Good… Take her back to the temple – immediately. She’ll become ill in this storm.”

“Yes.”

He can’t breathe. He can’t move. He can only remain limp as the two men force him to sit back up, heavy hands still tightly clasped about his arms. From the sheet of rain, he sees a figure emerge, walking slowly towards him with hands behind his back. The figure stands above him for a moment, like a faceless omen, before bending to his level so that their faces meet.

“You know what you just attempted to murder. Yes?”

He can’t answer. The life has gone from his body. He only stares back.

“You are aware that that thing is more powerful than anything you could imagine.” The crouching figure says this as less of a question and more of a statement. His tone is like ice.

“And you are aware that absolutely no harm should come to it. This is Azarathian rule.” He leans closer. “Do you know why?”

Everything he says is like being slowly pierced with a blunt blade, right from the base of his ribs to the pit of his stomach. He says nothing.

“Clearly not,” the figure sneers, only distate painting his expression. “That ‘child’ is born of Trigon the Terrible, and you mark my words, it cannot die without his bidding.” The words are practically spat out from that frowning mouth. “If any of Azar’s people are to attempt to harm the child, he might seek reprisal for his gem. Do you understand?”

The blade sinks deeper.

Therefore, it is to remain within the temple of Azar. It is not to leave. It is not to be taken. And it is not to be touched by sinning hands, such as your own.”

He cannot even allow himself to breathe.

After everything… He’d been so close…

Mouth still agape, his eyes drift down to the mud beneath him as the figure returns to standing.

“Take care of him,” is all he says, before taking his leave of the three with that slow, meticulous walk.

Broken, a shell of himself, the man is lifted by the two guards and dragged to his feet. They pull him across the dirt, away from the river and towards his fate. It is only when their superior’s silhouette has disappeared through the rain once more that they finally speak.

“We understand,” they tell him.
“We’re scared too…”

is anyone else absolutely fucking terrified of sentry bots or am i just a coward and a weakling who won’t survive the nuclear winter

o0dramaticusername0o  asked:

Hey Auntie, where do you cross the line when it comes to age gap differences? This is coming from a younger girl here wondering at what age should I draw the line.

Well, really, you should draw your own line. I don’t think I’d ever tell anyone to never date someone a lot older than them - just to be super skeptical about motives. I wrote a post on it here. 

It also depends a lot on how you relate to the person. Did you meet them and get to know them, not knowing there’s an age gap, and did it surprise you? Because that’s sometimes a good indicator if there’s a creepy power dynamic or not. 

I have a 35yo school friend who, at … 28, I think, married a 42 year old man who she’d been with for 6 years. They’re both still married and seem pretty happy. So it’s not that age gaps never work, it’s that they’re highly likely to have creepy power dynamics.

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Actual Eurovision 2016 winners Måns and Petra

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I go where the knife needs to be.