#asker snowflake

[horror-beeings-artandwriting]

https://www.tumblr.com/horror-beeings-artandwriting/767466841421611008/btw-im-pretty-sure-i-said-this-before-but-just?source=share

Oh sorry! Guess I didn't see it or I forgot to check lol! My bad! Still I like a lot of your sprite edits! Butter roll looks so good and dark choco...oh I adore that guy!

I’m so happy! It makes me glad to know people enjoy my art!

[turbo-tastic]

Omg a Turbo blog in 2023 that’s so cool!

Yea!! He’s been my #1 babygirl for 11 years I just finally got the courage to make a side blog for him and somehow copped the best URL for it TEE HEE

[bonesandthebees]

I'm on computer again, but oh my god- mirror anon I absolutely adore your artistics skills rn. I draw myself and your designs are absolutely ON POINT!! I love that you gave me a staff and everything- magical being go!! This is totally making me want to doodle some of the askers myself- Your anatomy drawing is so good!! I adore this. You're amazing. A gem. Ily. - Look how ❄️ learned to paste emojis on her PC now

I knowwww the designs are so fun right snowflake?? mirror anon really outdid themself

and yay for learning to past emojis on pc

[a-student-out-of-time]

First off, given what happened with Mod Freeze, I don’t blame you for worrying about the Hiyokers coming after you. But it also made me realise that a lot of ask blogs, including ours, really like to subject Hiyoko to horrible fates. Never out of hatred, but it’s an interesting coincidence that she either dies, gets suicidal depression, or otherwise.

Secondly, one of the most difficult parts about these blogs I find is filtering out what counts as character hate, and what is said for the sake of the story. I know I normally don’t talk about my blog when I send asks here, but with Survivor specifically, I remember a few years back when there was one particular anon who really hated Kaede, called her out on every minor thing and verbally abused her regardless of whether what she did was good or bad, and then started rounding on me for pairing her with Shuichi. Which sucked ass.

But it’s different when that stuff is directed towards a character like Tsumugi or Kuripa for instance. Tsumugi gets hate asks ALL the time, but of COURSE she does; she’s a VILLAIN. And as for Kuripa, it’s always a What The Hell Hero situation with him. So even if some asks can be harsh, they are warranted.

So it’s hard to maintain your standards when it comes to these things. I don’t know if this is specifically an issue that I struggle with, but it’s important to filter out the generally abusive askers so they don’t bother you later down the line and you can deal with them swiftly.

//Yeah, you really need to curate what asks you get because that can lead to you helping to foster a particular type of audience. You let people do wild things, they'll be more inclined to do so because that's now accepted.

//Red from OSP put this well when she said that, by showcasing insecurity in your work and choosing to undercut the emotional beats in your story with humor because you worry people will mock you, you actually alienate people who were actually invested and draw in those who are comfortable mocking you. You've made it clear that you are unwilling to take what you're making seriously and thus the audience is told they shouldn't take it seriously either.

//Conversely, you have this problem with extreme investment among some fans who will relate very strongly to a character or a work who will be very sensitive to criticism. This has very little, relatively-speaking, to do with what you have to say and is instead a knee-jerk reaction because they interpret criticism of a thing they like as a criticism of themselves as well.

//This is patently ridiculous because meaningful criticism doesn't come from a place of hate but a genuine desire to see something improve, and by reacting negatively to any perceived criticism, you only prove harsh criticism justified. Some go so far as to interpret it all as a concentrated hate campaign by those jealous of how great this character, work or person actually is.

//These people are absolutely delusional and so toxic that it's really not worth engaging with them.

//I personally made the mistake of not curating asks early on, and it created a pretty toxic environment at times. Like, people have given me credit for having so many chill anons, but that's because I block all the really nasty ones ^^;

//There was a time actual fascists were trying to sneak number messages and slogans into their asks, and I had to learn to notice those. It became very obvious when I deleted one, an anon asked where it went, I explained that I understood what it meant, and then they went off on a paranoid racist tirade.

//Fascists are really the biggest, most fragile special snowflakes out there, and they won't even pretend to be chill when you prod them : P

//The bottom line is that, as a blog-runner, you have to be conscientious of the environment you want to create for yourself and your followers, and I wanted one where people could feel safe to express their opinions without fear of retaliation, and where hate and character-bashing are unwelcome. And sometimes it really is better to just ignore asks from truly toxic people and pretend they don't exist, otherwise they'll try and get you to recognize them.

[jdgo51]

Getting to the Root of the Problem

Today's inspiration comes from:

I Don't Know Who I Am Anymore

by Carole Holiday

"'If I had an hour to solve a problem, I’d spend fifty-five minutes thinking about the problem and five minutes thinking about solutions. ~ Author unknown, but sometimes attributed to Albert Einstein

Sometimes it’s hard to pinpoint exactly what’s wrong. I mean, you know in a larger sense that your world has been turned upside-down, like pink koalas and purple kangaroos should be hopping outside your window, or like big, fat snowflakes should be falling and sticking to the sidewalk on a sweltering summer day.

Somehow, in the throes of trauma, the wildest upendings seem acceptable. As if you’ve been expecting this theater of the absurd to roll into town. (After all, it was absurd that this hospital bed was now a fixture in the living room along with the strangers and syringes that accompanied it.) But when it really comes down to the minutest details, can you articulate why this loss hurts so deeply? I mean, what exactly is the problem?

Jesus knew how to cut through the marshmallowy fluff and reveal the real villain. To pluck the prize at the bottom of the Cracker Jack box. To tease out the splinter instead of just applying a Spiderman Band-Aid over that dark sliver in your thumb. Jesus drilled down to the heart of the matter by calling out the heart of the asker. Like a hot knife gliding through your best chilled cheesecake.

Enter the Pharisees, Scribes, and Sanhedrin. Let the ancient rendition of Truth or Dare begin, in the Gospel of Mark, chapter 7.

“We’ve got a problem here, Jesus. Your crew of misfits doesn’t wash their hands before they eat. They’re just pawing at the picnic — passing out loaves and fishes willy-nilly. We do have a rule about that, as you should know — ahem — that is, you should know if you really are a prophet.” (I mean, these Hebrew Mensa members traveled long, dusty miles from Jerusalem and that’s all they’ve got? That’s their best shot?)

Jesus brakes.

“Whoa. Hold on a minute. Aren’t you the ones who deny your mother and father support — won’t give them a mite — because your money is already cinched up in that ‘Devoted to God’ pouch? What law could be more devoted to God than ‘Honor your father and mother’? You trade the Word of God for your traditions. You trample God’s intentions. You say that the problem is handwashing. I say you need a heart-washing.”

For the mouth speaks what the heart is full of. — Matthew 12:34

That’s what you call exactly the problem.

And the followers of Jesus were not immune to His laser focus.

The earliest teachings of this unorthodox Galilean are exactly that — unorthodox — and feature Him excavating the root problems of surface sins.

Jesus’ take on the old laws confounded His listeners. Consider these lessons from Matthew 5:

It’s not just that murder is wrong. It’s that unresolved anger toward your brother or sister is wrong. (vv. 21–22)

It’s not just adultery. It’s lust. You know how you looked at that neighbor’s wife? Yep. That one. (vv. 27–30)

Yes. It’s divorce all right. But more than that, underneath divorce, it’s like your hardened heart forces a wife into adultery in future relationships. It’s condemning her. Compromising her. Casting her aside as collateral damage. (vv. 31–32)

It’s not just revenge. It’s stinginess. (vv. 38–40)

Time and again, He calls out the problem underneath the problem. Time and again, He calls out the problem underneath the problem.

My friend understood that well. Sitting across from the always elegant and eternally wise eighty-two-year-old grande dame, I spilled my guts. Florence Littauer, an accomplished author who had ministered to women for four decades, owned an aura reminiscent of the tulle-wrapped, very pink, and very glittery Glinda, Oz’s famed Good Witch of the North. And I, a trembling Munchkin, was counting on her kindness. The imaginary wand she waved would undoubtedly reflect that kindness, but I was still nervous. Although I had known her for years (or perhaps because I had known her for years), I suspected an edict was forthcoming.

Florence listened, speared the last grape in her chicken salad, dabbed the corners of her mouth oh so delicately, and with her index finger wagging, distinctly opined, “Your problem is, you think you have no value apart from that man.”

Ouch. There it was. That was it. Bull’s-eye.

You feel worthless.

More specifically, worthless without him, a phrase that fits as perfectly as your best little black dress.

That’s not a match for your particular situation, you say?

You’re probably right. It may not be. Perhaps our losses don’t resemble each other’s in the least little bit. But see if completing this sentence with your words offers clarity. Imagine Florence speaking to you. (Side note: it’s helpful to throw in that finger-wagging thing too.)

“You think you have no value apart from _____________.”

That job? That bank account? That relationship? The success of that superstar child? That home? That car? That title? Those dusty trophies lined up against the window ledge? That perfectly beating heart that pumped you through two elite marathons? Those long-awaited and longed-for Louboutin shoes?

Recalibrating your worth when you lose something temporal you’ve attached it to proves debilitating. And it doesn’t really matter which temporal thing becomes the object of your devotion. All will fail because all are, by definition, fleeting.

Working in a local “stone soup” homeless shelter, I recall a day I manned the clothing trailer. I struck up a conversation with a chatty middle-aged client, as we called the visitors, who took his time poring over the donated jackets hanging on the rack. He pulled out a rather natty plaid coat, propped it up for me to see, and announced, “I wore one like this when I was somebody.” My soul tore a little for him as I helped him into the sleeves and reflected on the lesson he was teaching me at that very moment, as I was still stuck searching for that old relationship that I’d worn when I was somebody. Neither of our garments fit.

These spiritual misappropriations and misplaced self-assessments in light of loss happen in all stratas of society — rich or impoverished, privileged or marginalized. I think the marginalized just may be more honest about it. Hence, natty-plaid-coat-man with the easy confession rolling off his tongue, unknowingly calling out the got-it-all-together volunteer hiding her spiritual snags behind a laminated-lanyard ID tag and rows of hand-me-down coats stuffed into a double-wide.

The movie scene running through my mind cuts to Jesus gathering the children to Him, deliberately corralling the littlest littles and placing them center stage while the disciples, clueless, strut around in the wings, jockeying for position and elbowing each other out of the way, so as to avoid tripping over their extra-long egos.

Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the Kingdom of Heaven. — Matthew 18:3

Well played, Jesus.

The upside-down Kingdom of this tough-but-tender Rabbi never fails to flip social structures on their haughty heads."'

Excerpted with permission from I Don’t Know Who I Am Anymore by Carole Holiday, copyright Carole Holiday.

[thegreatluka-69]

Don’t care + Didn’t ask + L + Ratio + You fell off + Canceled + quote tweet + cap + You’re American +who asked + Any askers + No you + Suck on deez nuts + caught in 4k + The hood + Watches markiplier now + soyjak + whipped the nae nae’d + cry about it + stay mad + cringe + literally dogwater + zero earnings + minus 8m social credit + what the dog doin’ + delete this + no friends + no bitches + No job + seek help + beta + cringe + stfu + cope + seethe + ok boomer + incel + virgin + Karen + you’re not just a clown, you’re the entire circus + nah this ain’t it + do better + check your privilege + the cognitive dissonance is real with this one + small dick energy + lol copium + snowflake + those tears taste delicious + Lisa Simpson meme template saying that your opinion is wrong + wojak meme in which I’m the chad + average your opinion fan vs average my opinion enjoyer + cry more + how’s your wife’s boyfriend doing + Cheetos breath + Get real + mald + hoes mad + basic + skill issue + the audacity + triggered + redpilled + get a life + ok and? + touch grass + donowalled + not based + grammar issue + go outside + reported + ad hominem + GG! + ask deez + ez clap + straight_smile + cringe again + mad cuz bad + lol + care more + sex offender + sex defender + not okay + glhf + problematic + yikes + gg no re + you’re random + who are you? + 0 PR earnings + burn in hellfire + golden ratio + irrelevant + chall me + counter ratio deflected + your mother + you smell + assburgers + ratio again + final ratio + still don’t really care + you’re a nobody + go next + next fresh + lmo bald + skill gap + player diff + project + movie + bot gap + pisspoor gaming skills + random irrelevant + mac pc gamer + can’t hear you + final final ratio + alcoholic + angry at word + personality defined by politics + old + bald + manny

Red Delicious Apples

Red delicious apples are my favorite apples ever, they're so yummy and delicious and they taste nothing like cardboard ever. They're the best apples and you all should buy them

[carovolturi]

What if Bella after her turning into a vampire, doesn't agree on Jacob imprinting on her daughter? Does Bella kill Jacob?(After him wanting to abort her daughter, trying to kill Renesmee after she was born, then saying that he will be whatever she wants him to be and not allowing Bella to hold her baby; all this brings Bella to her limit. Don't forget the newborn strength and temper!) What do the Cullens and the pack do? In your opinion, how do the events continue in this alternative scenario?

Hello, dear asker (and apologies for the delay in answering; it has been Quite a busy time!)

If Bella’s “You nicknamed my daughter after the Loch Ness monster,” somehow, does not prove to be unintentional comedic gold but a major plot point, and she manages to kill Jacob despite our pacifist patriarch’s resistance on this matter, IMO it would be…Unlikely, to say the least—but how might this happen?

I would say this happens because her newfound sister Rosalie supports her, Emmett sides with Rosalie, Edward laughs at his old competitor getting his ass kicked and does nothing, Alice for whatever reason thinks this decision of Bella’s leads to the Best Possible World and does nothing, Jasper sides with Alice, and Carlisle and Esme—seeing themselves outnumbered—feebly protest (to no avail) as Jacob is torn limb from limb.

How does this end?

I would say Not Well. Jacob may have defected from the pack, but his death still symbolizes a blatant violation of the treaty, and Sam’s pack gears up for war. Carlisle would attempt to hold peace talks, but since he stood by and let Jacob die, he doesn’t have much of a leg to stand on, and the Pack demands an eye for an eye: Edward’s death for Jacob’s, since they (correctly) assume he had it out for his romantic rival. Carlisle goes full martyr to protect the Prodigal Son and offers his life instead; the Wolf Pack (and Edward) vehemently refuse the terms; and they go to battle in the very clearing where they talk peace. I’m not sure Carlisle—who likely feels immense guilt for letting a (mostly) innocent person die—has the heart to defend himself; he likely is killed in action defending Edward, making the latter the new patriarch (because Character Development), and Esme might die as well (for similar reasons). Because of the Cullens’ gifts, including Bella’s new one (which presents as more physical than mental this time due to the nature of her need & is unlocked, this time, through sheer barbarian rage and not careful practice with Kate), the wolves are decimated. With their leader’s death, any survivors flee.

After that, if the Irina Snowflake Fiasco still occurs…The Cullen-Volturi confrontation does Not go as well. Since Carlisle is not there to gather peaceful witnesses (or reassure Aro through his presence), the “witnesses” that Edward manages to gather are more warhawks than witnesses, and Carlisle’s demise makes Aro less motivated to preserve the remaining Cullens’ lives, there is not a “trial” but rather a battle like the fake one in Breaking Dawn part II. If Bella’s shield, at this point, has expanded to become mental, they might stand a chance, but if it hasn’t (and even if it has), without the wolves the Cullens are likely overwhelmed by sheer force of number. The Cullens are obliterated; the Volturi win (albeit with some casualties) and thereby reestablish their dominance over the vampire world.

All that being said, this would of course never happen in canon…But wouldn’t you love to read a fanfic like that?

[ladykissingfish]

how come you answer some questions but not others? i’ve asked you five questions this week but you’ve only answered one. is there a guideline to what you’ll answer and not answer? just curious.

If it’s a topic I’m tired of or feel no inspiration for, I feel it’s better to not answer rather than fill a screen with a bunch of forced rambling about something my heart ain’t in. And there’s really no “guidelines” except one; I don’t answer excessively smutty questions. Nothing against it, it’s just not something I’m comfortable with answering. And if you were the asker of the questions I’m thinking of, then yeah, that’s exactly why. I’m but a humble little snowflake, please stop trying to corrupt me. Respectfully, keep it off my page. 😊

[sapphic-murder-cats]

Bro I heard you're doing the emoji challenge? Could I have 🐳❄️🌔? Thank you so much in advance! Also your designs are so cool like with all the geometric shapes and colors, like especially your use of colors it's great, I wanted to say that in more detail because I've been watching your art for a bit now 💕💕

ASKER YOU’RE GONNA MAKE ME CRY!!! Ilysm you’re amazing and tysm for your support!!!! Anyways here’s your kiddo!! A big lad/lassie/lax! I couldn’t think of a way to incorporate the snowflake, maybe he has a cold personality or smthn? Or he has like an icey name!!!!

[nonbinaryresource]

hi! i’ve been questioning my gender a lot. i’m afab, and i’m not sure if what i feel is dysphoria or insecurities. i dislike my voice/chest/long hair, but also wouldn’t want a penis or facial hair. i’ve tried out they/them and those pronouns don’t work much either? i think i might be enby but i’m worried it’s a phase. also sorry if something similar has been said-safari wouldn’t let me open the FAQ :(

Actually, I just added something about “phases” in the FAQ! It wasn’t there before you sent your question, but this is a common concern: https://nonbinaryresource.tumblr.com/faq

Q: What if how I feel is a phase?

A: So what if it is? What harm is actually done? Phase simply means: “a distinct period or stage in a series of events or a process of change or development”. Life is full of phases. We are constantly learning and growing and changing. Calling something a “phase” just means it is temporary. Calling something a “phase” is a bit like calling someone a “snowflake” - people’s tone is what makes it offensive, but if you dissect the meaning, there’s nothing inherently negative or bad about it. Question away! Use as many labels, pronouns, titles, names, and fashion styles as you want, changing as often as you want!

Sounds like you may also be interested in this info:

Q: How do I know if I’m really nonbinary?

A: In short, you don’t. There is no way you can get a “permanent” or “proven” answer. Gender is a social construct, and merely a label for a vast sea of experiences, not a math equation or diagnosis, and the way we interpret our gender varies and is up to us individually. That said, you may find it helpful to look through our questioning tag. The most important questions you can ask yourself regarding labeling your identity are: do I want to identify this way, does it make me happy/comfortable to identify this way (even if I’m also scared nervous), does it help me communicate my experiences/feelings to label this way, and/or do I relate to the experiences of others who identify this way? If you answered yes to any of those questions, then it sounds like you’ve found a good label for yourself and may want to think about using it for a while.

While genitalia, titles, presentation, pronouns, etc. are all useful information for how you feel and what, if any, transition you want to pursue to whatever degree, remember that none of these things actually define your gender. Men, women, nonbinary, third gender, other genders etc. can all have whatever genitalia, present however they want, and use whatever titles and pronouns they want. There’s no body or presentation type you have to have/want to be valid.

That’s a part of what makes determining your gender so hard. It really is just something totally internally motivated and decided. It’s definitely a bit of an abstract comment. I just suggested this to another asker, but you may find use in the Gender Quest Workout.

Good luck.

~Pluto

[horror-beeings-artandwriting]

Btw I'm pretty sure I said this before but just incase I didn't...I love your artstyle and designs...they look so awesome and cool! Some are very cute and others are just badass!

Btw if you're still taking drawing ideas...in honor of the HOTY....*throws red velvet to you.*

I’m not taking requests for crk sprite edits right now, Buuut, THANK U SMMM, that means a lot to me that u like my style!!!

[dreadhaus-literature]

{Collection} Countdown to Christmas

Here to wish a very Merry Christmas to my favorite person in the world. ₍՞◌′ᵕ‵ू◌₎♡

It’s still the most wonderful time of the year! 🎄✨

1. “Alright, mister. I know you’re the one who keeps hanging up mistletoe everywhere.” 

Little Walter Sullivan paused, turning to look over his shoulder at Mommi Monica before a smile split his cherubic features. He’d been caught red-handed, the berry twig still in his fingers. Monica put her hands on her hips, pretending to give him a scolding look--one that had him giggling.

“Now what’s with all this mistletoe? Could it be...” Monica moved closer to the little boy perched on top of the couch, sweeping him up in her arms to pepper his face with kisses. “...that you want lots of kisses from Mommi?”

Little Walter’s squeals of excitement filled the room as he clung around Monica’s neck, leaning into each kiss to soak up like rays of sunlight.

“Mer’y Chrismas Mommi!” Little Walter’s speech wasn’t perfect, but his message was--full of love and adoration for his Mommi Dearest, who rewarded him with another kiss.

“Merry Christmas, Little Walter.”

2. “Excuse me—where is my Christmas kiss?”

Monica tried and failed to suppress her giggle at the faux impatient tone. The asker, Rosinante--known much more affectionately to her as Cora, was standing in the doorway, hands on his hips, bent down to clear the mistletoe poised at the top of the frame. His long, heart-adorned hat tassels hung like temptations below his painted, smiling face and Monica moved away from the Christmas cookie-covered counter, laughing.

“You see, I was told it’s tradition to kiss under the mistletoe,” Cora encouraged, bending even further to ensure his towering height wasn’t a problem for the apple of his eye. “But my lips have yet to be kissed.”

��Did you ask Law?” Monica teased, which earned her a laugh.

“Law comes later, you’re always first.” Cora pursed his painted lips as if to demonstrate and drive his point home.

Monica stood up on her tip-toes to deliver Cora’s Christmas kiss, which ended in a squeal as he scooped her up, straightening to his towering height with her in his arms--still giving her kiss after kiss, unable to stop himself.

“WHO THE FUCK STOLE THE KISSING PLANT THING OUT OF MY DOORWAY?!”

Doflamingo’s shouts from the hallway were promptly ignored by Cora and his heart, mostly because he went the opposite direction of them immediately.

3. “I made you some hot cocoa.” 

Augustus Cole grinned, leaning down to press a kiss to Monica’s mouth. His dark skin was cold to the touch, causing Monica to laugh softly as he pressed closer as if seeking her warmth.

“Thanks babygirl, it’s cold as fuck outside.”

Monica reached up, cupping Cole’s face in her hands, giving his cheeks a few affectionate rubs to bring some heat back into them.

“Poor thing! Let me get you all warmed up again.”

Cole grinned, holding the mug of cocoa in one large hand as if it were the Holy Grail itself--and since Monica made it for him, it might as well have been.

Damon Baird rolled his eyes from his spot behind Monica, thoroughly sick of Cole mooching affection off Monica by complaining about a situation he put himself in. “If it’s so cold, why do you always insist on goin’ out and building those dumbass snowmen?”

Cole was spared from answering about his yearly tradition when a pounding on the window caught the attention of the trio. Dot was standing on the other side still bundled up in the snow--and she fogged up the glass with her breath before writing, very clearly and with much conviction--

SHUT UP MEG.

4. “You look even more beautiful in the snow.” 

“I mean,” Peter Parker stammered, cutting himself off with a laugh. “I didn’t think it was possible for you, you’re so beautiful anyway but...”

He paused, turning to face Monica again. The lights from the bridge below caught at the snowflakes in her gorgeous wealth of hair, and though she couldn’t blush, the cold kissed rose on her skin anyway, lending her a glowing, ethereal hue to her already porcelain skin. She really did take his breath away, but under the moon on Christmas Eve, standing with him atop a bridge, thwipped up here just to show her something not everyone could...Peter might be willing to make the argument she’d never looked more beautiful.

“S-Shut up, Peter,” Monica laughed herself, shaking her head and moved to turn away--but Peter wouldn’t let her. He easily caught her face in his hands, pulling her gently up onto her toes so he could press a kiss to her sweet, beckoning mouth.

“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Parker,” he breathed, his own heart racing at the words spoken from his lips to hers. “I love you.”

5. “You didn’t have to get me anything.” 

Monica paused, for a moment or two stunned speechless by the response.

Milano Dastarden didn’t often break expression, but there was amusement dancing in the darkness of his fathomless eyes. “You’re surprised because typically, that line is coming from you. Not being said to you.”

“...I shouldn’t be surprised you’re pinning me to the wall like Dottie does.” Monica narrowed her eyes playfully at the old vampire, who perked a brow at her in return.

“Were I to pin you to the wall, littlest one, it would not be with words.”

Ever grateful she couldn’t blush, Monica cleared her throat and thrust the wrapped gift toward Milano.

“P-Please,” she shook her head and gave the present an enticing wiggle. “Merry Christmas.”

Milano didn’t rise nor did he move from his high-backed chair. Instead, his dark eyes flicked to his lap.

“Bring it to me.”

The tone, typically imperious and demanding, was not with her. It was imploring, beckoning, and though Monica’s legs were nervous she did as he bade. Taking the seat upon his offered lap, once again she found herself dwarfed by the shadow of the Vampire. Her kin in every way.

Milano wrapped long fingers around the present, his other arm sweeping around the prize in his lap to hold her close.

“Regardless of what I find inside this wrapping paper,” Milano’s voice was deep, ever-thoughtful. “It is your heart that I will covet as a gift above all else. Never forget that, little sister.”

Monica didn’t think she ever would.

6. “Go on, open it.” 

“Geez, Tony, don’t pop out of your can.” Carol Danvers teased, leaning against Tony’s bar, the billionaire shooting her a look.

“What? I’m excited, she’s going to love it.”

Carol rolled her eyes, a good-natured grin on her face, but she nodded her blonde head toward the box in front of Monica’s stool. “What do you think’s in there, angelface, one of Tony’s old helmets? His ego keeps growing so his head’s too big to fit in it anymore.”

Tony Stark pursed his lips, his trademark goatee adding a little extra sass to the expression. “You know, Carebear, you don’t have to be in here for this.”

“Oh I definitely do because what I got her will definitely be better than what you did.” Carol took a swig of her beer. “So I’ll shut up and let her open it now.”

Tony slowly dragged his eyes from his long-time friend to soften as they fell upon the love of his life, little Monica, seated so prettily upon his bar stool, her two-foot tall wrapped box a little to the side in front of her. “Go ahead, babygirl. Merry Christmas.”

“T-Thank you Daddy!” Monica reached for the lid, excitement making her tummy flip but she’d barely began to lift the lid when it popped open and one of the Iron Man robots she’d cooed over was peeking out at her, his emoticon screen reading :D before she could even fully register what she was seeing. Once she did, she felt that familiar pinch in her chest, cute aggression running rampant as the round-bodied little robot clamored it’s way out of his box to run up to her and hug her, calling her “Mama!” immediately.

Monica felt her eyes fill with tears as she squeezed the red and gold toddler-sized bot with all her might, and Tony turned a smug expression to Carol.

“Top that, Spaceface.”

Carol didn’t seem fazed, taking another drink from her beer as she pushed off the bar to go get her present for their little girl. “If you insist. I was gonna let you bask in this for a bit longer, but have it your way.”

“...It’s Christmas, Carol.”

“Merry Christmas, Tony!”

7. “Would you like to put the star on the very top of the tree?” 

Jedidiah “Bubba” Sawyer tilted his head, brown curls like a halo around his head as he regarded the beautiful, gilded star in Momma Monica’s little hands. His own fingers, long and thick, twisted in his sugar and flour splattered apron (as he just finished putting another batch of Christmas cookies in the oven!) because he didn’t think he should touch something so pretty! That was...the same way he felt about Momma, too.

Thomas “Tommy” Hewitt was nearby, putting sparkly baubles on the tree, and he grunted an encouragement to Bubba to take the star--or he was going to, because he liked Momma’s attention just as much as Bubba did.

Bubba babbled something incoherent to Monica but Tommy knew what it meant--

‘I’m goin’, I’m goin’! Don’t rush me, this is important!’

Shaking fingers, usually so sure of themselves with bloodier, gorier tasks, reached for the star and Monica handed it to Bubba with a smile--one that turned his heart to goo in his chest, making his broad shoulders turn in as he tried not to shy away. Her smile was brighter than the star in his hands!

Bubba turned toward the tree, more than tall enough to reach it...but he paused, looking down at the star then turning back to his Momma.

“What’s...What’s wrong?” Monica felt herself panicking a little, worried she wouldn’t be able to understand Bubba if something was wrong.

But to her surprise, Bubba bent down, scooping her up to sit on his broad shoulder. Once she was settled, he handed her the star and pointed toward the tree, babbling like a toddler would--only with a voice that sounded as though it were coming from a furnace, deep and rumbling and warm.

Monica understood all the same, gingerly placing the star on the top of the tree with Bubba’s heightened help.

“How’s that?” Monica asked, and even behind Bubba’s mask, she could see flashes of teeth and scarred bone--he was smiling.

8. “Did you spike the eggnog again?” 

Cavon Dreadful didn’t even pause, his whisky bottle up-ended over the bowl of eggnog, his grin all wolf teeth.

“Had to, babydoll, Pops threw out my last batch.”

“He’s going to throw you out if you ruin another batch of eggnog.” Monica made no move to try and stop Cavon, though--she never did.

“I ain’t ruin that one, aight, those were his words and besides, there’s other bowls of this stuff around,” Cavon finished his “special batch” by finishing the bottle, reaching out to snag his lifemate around her petite waist and dragging her into his side--firmly making her an accomplice to his “crimes”. “We’ll just say this batch is for Ewan an’ me, no one else has to drink it.”

“Is that the best excuse you have?” Monica couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re not used to having to explain yourself, yet, are you?”

“No the fuck I’m not,” Cavon admitted effortlessly, leaning down to rub noses with her. “But that’s why I got you, babydoll, you distract Pops for me just fine.”

“You’re literally throwing me to the wolves.”

“Naaaah,” Cavon scooped her up, carrying her to go find his Father to do said distraction. “That’s what Dot did when she introduced ya to us. I’m just feeding ya to a Lion.”

“...How is that any better?”

Cavon paused, before thoughtfully replying, “You like when he eats ya? I hear ya screamin’ all the way out in Ewan’s shed--”

“I’m telling Poppy what you did.”

“...But it’s Christmas, baby.”

9. “Ho ho ho, you idiot.”

“Nope, no, you’re still being mean.”

Namor McKenzie sighed from his position, wearing a Santa hat, looking entirely unamused and somewhat annoyed, while Arthur Curry, wearing over-sized elf ears, was trying to get the Sub-Mariner to be ‘jolly’. It was not going well.

“I don’t see why we’re doing this--”

“Because Monica will like it if we get a picture dressed up like this!” Arthur exclaimed as if that were the answer to all of life’s questions--ask anyone in the Haus and it really was.

“Then why am I Santa and you’re the elf?” Namor flicked the fluffy bauble tip of the hat out of his face, his long dark hair framing heavily displeased features. “Monica does not even like Santa.”

“...Well that’s true.”

“And she likes elves,” Namor gave Arthur a pointed look. “So I ask again, why are you the elf and I am the fat man she does not even like?”

Arthur could answer that question but Namor was known for throwing fits and Arthur really wanted this Christmas picture present to go over well.

“What if you’re the one to get her to like Santa?” Arthur asked, heavily muscled arms out enticingly. “Think about it, what if you’re the exception to her dislike of Santa, rule?”

Namor paused, looking thoughtful. “...That would put me ahead of everyone else...”

“Yes it would.” Arthur scooped up his smart phone, bringing it over. “So, picture!”

Later, Monica would receive a framed picture of Namor as Santa and Arthur as his Christmas Elf--and it would be the first picture on record of Namor actually smiling and looking jolly, all for the Christmas Angel in their lives.

10. Make a wish.

For the Haus, it was simple. A Christmas wish may not be tradition for other Families but this was no ordinary Family; this was a Family that had survived it’s fair share of struggles and hardships, it’s fair share of bad weather and worse storms but come through to the sunshine and rainbows on the other side. This was a Family who supported one another, who loved and lost together, who faced each new day one foot in front of the other, together.

All of this was done to make a safe, happy, loving home for the woman they loved more than anything else. Monica would never have to wonder what next Christmas would bring because the Family had proven, time and time again, it would always be here. Through thick and thin, sickness and health, life and death, forever meant forever when said in the halls of the Haus.

For her, every, “I love you,” “I’m here for you,” “I need you,” every word said was meant.

And so when the clock struck midnight and Christmas officially came, the Haus wish was a unanimous one, and the same wish uttered in the halls every single year.

“May this year be the same as the last.”

Because Christmas isn’t Christmas without Monica at it’s heart.

Merry Christmas Monica, we love you!

[habaritess]

A chunk of your askers recently seem to really hate Mackie. It happens every year with people wanting to 'replace him' but this year especially. They think Seb likes Chris Evans more, someone on YT wants Letitia to replace him, now Winston, Pom, Chris Hemsworth, etc and no matter how many moments Seb and Mackie share, many will ignore it. A lot of people are really against Sebastian loving him and I don't get it. Sebastian can get along with all their faves without needing Mackie less.

Great observation and good point. I suspect it has to do with a couple of reasons. One, Anthony being so out there and unapologetically about it. He is an opinionated, talkative loud guy who adores being the center of attention. For that reason, he is the kind of person that it easier for people to make up their minds if they love him or hate him because what your seeing is truly him, while most people filter their true selves to people in order to be liked by most. People see Mackie and don’t like what they see. So when their fave Seb is all over this guy who they don’t approve of, whenever they see him having good chemistry with someone else, there is a hope that it will be the Seb/Letitia or the Seb/Winston show rather than the constant Stackie show, which Seb loves to keep alive by mentioning him a lot when they aren’t together.

Than you have the people who view Seb as this precious little snowflake who can do little wrong and Anthony as this contagious virus who is trying to corrupt innocent sweet Seb. Seb acts differently when he is with Mackie and has said some things while with him that some fans blame on the influence of Anthony Mackie. Him showing chemistry with people who are calmer and more level headed than Mackie give them hope that he will become better friends or partners with people they view are more on Seb level.

[acuppellarp]

If you’d like to participate, simply reblog this post. And please remember to send asks and not just answer them! If, say, 10 people reblog it, each of them should have received at least 10 asks by the end of the week. It’s easy enough to open it on the main blog and just go through the reblog list!

Meme Monday: Snow!

Text Messages

❄️ [ TEXT ] Do you wanna build a snowman? ❄️ [ TEXT ] I’m fighting ______ with snowballs. I need reinforcements. ❄️ [ TEXT ] Baby, it’s cold outside. Bring coffee. ❄️ [ NUDE PICTURE ] To keep you warm ;) ❄️ [ TEXT ] Send nudes, it’s super cold. ❄️ [ TEXT ] Asker’s choice!

Scenarios

❄️ [ SCENE ] Your character and ______ get snowed in at ACup. ❄️ [ SCENE ] Your character is walking down the street when ______ throws a snowball at the back of their head. ❄️ [ SCENE ] Your character is walking down the street when they see ______ throw a snowball at the back of ______’s head. ❄️ [ SCENE ] Your character and ______ share a kiss (of any kind) in the snow. ❄️ [ SCENE ] Your character and ______ share a cup of hot cocoa while it snows outside. It wasn’t supposed to be romantic, but... ❄️ [ SCENE ] Asker’s choice!

Starters

❄️ [ STARTER ] “Do you always have to be such a special snowflake?” ❄️ [ STARTER ] “It’s too cold outside. Let’s stay in and ______.” ❄️ [ STARTER ] “Don’t you dare throw that snowball.” ❄️ [ STARTER ] “Snowy weather always makes me feel ______.” ❄️ [ STARTER ] “I have an idea to stay warm: ______.” ❄️ [ STARTER ] Asker’s choice!

Questions

❄️ [ QUESTION ] What’s your favorite thing to do in the snow? ❄️ [ QUESTION ] You’re snowed in for a weekend in a very warm and cozy cabin up in the mountains. Who is with you? What do you do? ❄️ [ QUESTION ] If your heart was frozen like Anna’s, whose kiss would make it beat again? ❄️ [ QUESTION ] What’s the best thing about snow? And the worst? ❄️ [ QUESTION ] Fuck to stay warm, Marry in a Winter Wonderland, Kill during a snowstorm: ______, ______, ______.  ❄️ [ QUESTION ] Asker’s choice!

[luciferneedsconsent-blog]

Cookies

Destiel Christmas AU

Characters: [Dean Winchester, Castiel Novak, Sam Winchester {mentioned}]

Word Count: 1971

Pairing: Destiel

Rating: PG

Type: Fluff//Drabble

Read on AO3

So Castiel wasn't the cleanest roommate. But he was small and cute, and he easily had Dean wrapped around his little finger. It was almost as if he had ‘SUCKER' written on his forehead, and in the fine print it would read ‘for Castiel Novak only.’

Castiel's name was a household term to the Winchester brothers. His infamous ideas constantly got them into trouble. Sam would always raise his eyebrows towards Dean when Cass would visit with him and have “An epiphany, Dean!” And all it would take to make the older Winchester give in would be the famous grin and bug eyes from the smaller male. It drove Dean insane. Cass knew he was cute. It wasn't a secret. And more importantly, he could read the fine print of Dean's invisible SUCKER tattoo on his forehead.

To be fair, however, Dean wasn't the best at keeping his crush a secret. He would always steal glances at Castiel and get caught in some sort of trance. His heart would freeze and go a thousand miles an hour whenever Cass would hold his gaze. And the way Cass would lick his lips and look Dean's body over slowly-well, that was cruel. Not to mention all of the ‘accidental' touches Castiel would just-so-happen to graze across Dean's skin whenever he walked by. And yes, it was always on skin. Cass made sure of it. Even the ghosting of Castiel's movements around Dean's body was enough to send shivers down his spine, and fire coursing through his bones.

Enter now, a crisp December evening, while gentle snowflakes floated against the windowsill. Dean and Castiel were intertwined on their sofa underneath a thick, wool blanket. Castiel was positioned between Dean's legs with his back pressing against Dean's chest. Dean was propped against the armrest of the sofa, his arms lazily wrapped around Castiel's waist while his face was nuzzled into the smaller man's neck. Somehow, Castiel had managed to get Dean to wear an ugly Christmas sweater. It was red with a white and grey etched Grumpy Cat in the middle. It had ‘Meowy Christmas' stitched in white, and Castiel decided to add his own ‘personal touch' by stitching a Rudolph nose over Grumpy Cat’s and some Christmas lights. Needless to say, Dean would be caught dead wearing it in public. On the other hand, Castiel was wearing a ridiculously bright green Christmas sweater. It had red reindeer lining it, with snowflakes separating each row of the deer. Some white and silver pom poms were placed around the sweater as well, possibly supposed to be snowballs. Dean didn't know. Not to mention, Cass had on an elf hat (complete with the ears), and managed to get Dean to wear a Santa one. They were cuddled in front of the television, watching a rerun of It's Christmas Charlie Brown! while a fire cracked beneath the screen. The room smelled of fresh pine, since Castiel insisted that they have a tree in their small room. It had been decorated in blue and silver tinsel with an assortment of glass ornaments. It also had rainbow lights since, “Rainbows make everything better, Dean. It's been scientifically proven!”

“Yeah? By who?”

“By me.”

“Well then, guess I can't argue with that logic.”

“You really can't!”

Dean was listening to the movie while it played on the screen. He was much too focused on taking in Castiel's scent of gingerbread cologne. He didn't even know gingerbread cologne existed. Regardless, the scene might have seen a bit too intimate, but the heater was broken (it really wasn't, Dean just turned the dial all the way down and insisted they cuddle “For survival , Cass”). It was the least they could do, right? Whilst Dean accidentally-on-purpose lightly left kisses on Castiel's neck, Castiel was editing on his computer. He had gotten Dean to film ‘ A Night Before Christmas ' with him so he could send it to his family as a Christmas gift. They made a rather incredible acting duo. If however, incredible meant disastrous. The pair had printed out copies of the story and made their own cardboard set to act around. Since they couldn't quite remember everything, they made cue cards to help them with their stage directions so they would know where to be when said line was read. Which, of course, explains the fancy sweaters. They needed costumes, and it was as close as they could get. Dean wouldn't have done it if it weren't for the asker being Castiel; but at the end of it all, he thought he was a kick-ass Saint Nicholas (and about eight cardboard reindeer-what? Cass gave him puppy-dog eyes and a lip quiver. What was he supposed to do? Turn him down!? Absolutely not). During the middle of Castiel's editing process, his stomach had emitted a low growl. Dean smiled into Cass' neck when he heard it, the vibrations had rattled against his own body as well.

“I think someone's hungry.” Dean teased, lifting his nose from Castiel's gingerbread skin.

Cass saved his document and closed the lid to his laptop. He removed his headphones from his ears and shifted the machine to rest on the coffee table. “I can't work on an empty stomach.” he stated. Why couldn't he just say he was hungry? Don't dodge the statement, gosh. Castiel pulled the blanket off of their bodies, making them shiver. He slipped his feet into a pair of bee slippers while Dean stood up. Dean wasn't going to just bare the cold. And he especially was not going to let Castiel do it either. Being the noble Winchester, he tugged Cass back by his wrist and wrapped the blanket around their cold bodies. They weren't wearing pants, only fuzzy socks to keep their toes warm. The blanket was needed.

“Dean…” Castiel hummed. Dean had wrapped an arm around his waist as they carefully sauntered into the kitchen.

“Mhm?” Dean responded, hot breath panting onto Cass' rosy cheek.

“What're you doing?”

“Keeping you warm.”

“It's not that cold.”

“Baby, it's cold outside.”

“We can use the oven to heat the kitchen.”

“Baby, it's cold outside.”

“That's why I'm staying in.”

“Mind if I move in closer?”

“You're already in my personal space.”

“At least I can say that I tried.”

“Are you hitting on me?”

“What's the sense in hurting my pride?”

“Well if you don't ask, there's no way of getting an answer.” Castiel pointed out with a smirk. Dean froze, figuratively of course, and Castiel stepped into the kitchen. After he recomposed himself, he followed into the kitchen after Castiel, who was pulling numerous bags and packages out of the pantry and refrigerator. Dean leaned against the doorframe as he watched Castiel finish putting everything on the counter.

“Heya!” Cass grinned.

“That's it?” Dean questioned. Castiel ripped open a bag of flour and poured some into a bowl.

“That's what?” He asked innocently, cracking two eggs in the bowl as well.

“‘ If you don't ask there's no way of getting an answer .’” Dean mimicked, watching Castiel with a raised eyebrow.

Cass poured some milk and sugar into the bowl and grabbed a whisk with a blush. “It's not like what I said was a lie.”

Dean took a step closer. Cass blushed harder and looked away as he ripped open a bag of chocolate chips.

“Cass?”

“Hmm?”

Dean was now standing right next to him. “What did you mean by that?” his voice was low.

Castiel squirmed beneath his breath. Dean took this as his chance to put an arm around him. “C-ould you whisk the chocolate chips in? I'm not strong enough to mix it all in completely.”

Dean didn't hesitate to push Castiel into a corner. “What did you mean by that?” he repeated.

Castiel bowed his head sheepishly, trying to hide the profound blush that had now spread from his cheeks to his entire face. “I just-uhm…” Cass paused to clear his throat. Dean's eyes scanned over Castiel's movements carefully. “I've been waiting for you to ask me out.” He barely managed to squeak. Dean froze once more. His eyes darted to anywhere besides Castiel, who was now scratching the back of his neck nervously. “Oh..” was all that Dean could conjure to speak. He definitely didn't expect to hear that. Castiel bit his lip. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything I thought you were-” Cass' sentence was cut short by Dean's index finger tilting his chin up so they could stare into each other's eyes. Now it was Dean's turn to smirk. Castiel squirmed underneath his now loving gaze. “I am.” Dean responded, answering the question. Castiel smiled in relief, standing up on the tips of his toes to lean in and close the gap between them.

“So would you like-”

Dean nodded, leaning his head in to be closer to Cass'. Their noses were just barely touching. Cass decided that he should make the final move, and was met by a snowball of flour being squished against his mouth and a smirk to rival his own.

“Dean!”

Dean giggled and pulled apart from him.

“We were having a moment!”

More giggles.

Castiel stomped over to Dean, who was now mixing the ingredients in the bowl.

“That wasn't fair!” he argued.

“Neither was leading me on for months and months knowing damn well that I liked you.” Castiel blushed profoundly.

“I didn't.” he bowed his head.

“And by the way your head moved like that, I know that that's a damn lie.”

Castiel blushed more and Dean grabbed a cookie sheet and spread some aluminum foil over it. Cass rolled the dough into balls and placed them evenly onto the sheet before slipping them into the already preheated oven.

“Soooo..” Castiel hummed once they were in, rocking back and forth on his heels.

“So.” Dean repeated, stretching his arms so that his palms rested on the counter. Castiel took a cautious step towards him, an innocent smile on his lips. Dean watched Castiel step towards him, and smiled down at his roommate, who was now wrapping his arms around Dean’s waist.

“So I was thinking…”

“-Well that’s not a good thing.” Dean joked, earning a nudge.

“I was thinking that since we already like each other we should probably-”

“-Be boyfriends? I agree.” Dean smiled down at Castiel, who was returning the same smile, cheeks rosy as ever.

“I was going to suggest going on a date.”

“Dude, we were just cuddling on the sofa. I think we’re way past dating.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “Well if this makes us boyfriends, I think we should seal our relationship with a kiss.”

Dean pursed his lips as he pretended to consider the option. When he deemed it a good idea, he grinned. “Come here then.” He blushed.

Castiel leaned into Dean, and soon threw a flour snowball against his lips just as he had done previously.

“Cass! -oh you’re definitely getting it!” Castiel tried to run away, but Dean had quickly grabbed him by the waist and spun him around so that his back was pressed against the wall.

Castiel squirmed beneath him, but Dean didn’t let him go. He kept Cass in the corner while he grabbed the bag of flour and poured it over Castiel’s head.

A few minutes later, and both of the men were covered head to foot in flour. Along with their skin, the cupboards, floor, and practically the whole entire kitchen was now decorated in flour. Dean was now laying on the floor with Castiel on top of him, almost as if he were a mattress. Cass had his arms wrapped around Dean’s neck, and Dean had his hands resting softly on Castiel’s sides. Their eyes were closed, and their lips were moving softly against each other. Christmas was pretty good with Cass

[autism-asks]

Concerning the sex ask. As an autistic ace, I wanted to point out that I think it's a dangerous conclusion to draw there as it might mislead others. What was described sounded like sex repulsion, but with insinuations of sexual attraction. Maybe the anon is a-spec, but I don't think there was information there to lead to that conclusion and it's harmful to equate sex repulsion to being a-spec, as all orientations can experience sex repulsion and many a-specs don't. It perpetuates ideology of --

– aphobia. A common attack is calling us special snowflakes who just want a special label because it “doesn’t make sense” for a-specs to engage in sexual activity or have a sex drive. Asexuality is based only on how one experiences attraction, NOT on actions. I don’t think this was intentional and the mods may already know this. Misspeaks happen. But, because there’s so much overlap between autistics and a-specs, I think it’s important to not draw the wrong line.

Thank you for this. I should not have drawn the conclusion that the asker is on the asexuality spectrum. I do know that sex repulsion is not exclusive to aces and not all aces are sex repulsed but I misspoke when I answered that ask. I apologize for any harm that the ask caused to anyone reading. Thank you for letting us know that our answer was out of line. 

-Sabrina