almost flooded !

leia and poe discussing the finalizer after he gets back to d’qar

leia: can you give me a description?
poe: Yes ma’am. this man, see, he had beautiful eyes - you know, the kind you sort of want to lose yourself in because they make you feel safe - I only properly saw him smile once but it was full of hope, almost flooding with light, that was him, he really shone, i so wish i could see him again, i’d tell h
leia: i meant of the battlecruiser, commander, but he sounds lovely

Batjokes Handling Alfred's Time off Headcanons

- Bruce and the kids can’t cook to save themselves from starvation; at some point, after days of Alfred’s absence and takeaway, they’ll even eat Dick’s infamously teeth-rotting pancakes if it means putting something handmade in their stomachs.

- J. finds all of this hilarious, of course, but he offers to make food for them; mind you, it’s not French cuisine but he can do mean toasties and pasta.

- The deal though, is that everyone else has to do the washing up.

- Once Bruce almost flooded Alfred’s precious kitchen so, he was exonerated from the task.

- The kids set up some weird and mildly violent competitive game involving squirt guns filled with dish soap (the idea was Tim’s)

- Jason is disgustingly competitive and not above maiming if it means winning (he’s known for squirting soap in his brothers’ eyes)

- Dick and Damian are the Terrible Duo

- They even set up teams and hung up a score board behind the fridge, well hidden from Alfred’s disapproving gaze.

- The system with which they assign points is not exactly clear and they take every chance to cheat as if there is no tomorrow (Bruce is appalled by their lack of fair play, while J. is not-so-secretly proud)

- Deep under Bruce is pretty happy, though - not only this is a good bonding exercise that makes them have fun and train some of their reflexes at the same time, but it’s also a small accepting step towards J.

- They lost count of the times someone got seriously injured after slipping on the suds covering the floor.

- At the end of each game, J. ends up making hot chocolate (or smoothies, it depends on the season) for everyone.

- Everytime Alfred comes back from his holidays, the kitchen is spotless but he knows his scoundrels well and always goes to check on the score board hidden behind the fridge.

- Because he’s an evil man, he changes the scores and grins at the idea of the boys screaming murder at each other.

- They’re a big happy family.

anonymous asked:

Does HBO John Adams miniseries have any historical inaccuracies?

  • There was a incorrect, wrong-headed depiction of Samuel Adams as a dangerous and corrupt mob-master, complete with a fictitious schism between Sam and his more moral cousin John. 
  • John Adams is depicted as still suspicious of his cousin Samuel and Samuel’s allies, worrying they are plotting to take over the government for their own ends.  In reality, John in these years was a consistent political ally of Samuel.
  • When Adams joins the delegates to the first Continental Congress in 1774, the delegates listed are actually those sent to the second Congress the following year.
  • Adams is shown riding into the immediate aftermath of the bloody fighting at Lexington and Concord on April 19, 1775; this is false- by his own account, he only rode out some days later to the militia encampment at Cambridge.
  • News of Bunker Hill, sent by Abigail allows John to rally the Congress and achieve the establishment of a continental army, with George Washington as its commander. In reality, Adams was central in urging the creation of a continental army, but Congress voted to do so on June 14, appointing Washington its commander on the 15th- two days before Bunker Hill even happened. 
  • The militia, withdrawing from Bunker Hill, passed directly by Abigail Adams’s door and she sees the mutilated body of Joseph Warren drawn by in a cart. But, Bunker Hill was on the opposite side of Boston Harbor, and the Adams home was entirely off the militia’s line of march.
  • General Henry Knox rides by Abigail’s door with the cannon captured from Fort Ticonderoga when in fact, his route took him nowhere near her.
  • The committee to prepare a declaration of independence is shown being created as a casual afterthought: in fact, this committee was established by a proper vote of Congress.
  • Dickinson did oppose John Adams, but the New York delegation- shown as violently hostile to Adams and his opinions- actually supported independence, though they still lacked authorization to vote for it.
  • The initial vote was not 9-4, but 9-2 with two abstentions (New York and Delaware).
  • Abigail and her children did not undergo the smallpox innoculation in isolation, but with relatives in Boston. The virus was not taken from the gory pustules of the dying but from those less severely afflicted, in hopes that inoculation would produce as mild a reaction as possible.
  • The hostility of South Carolina’s Edward Rutledge is exaggerated.
  • Adams did not fire the first shot in the engagement between a ship pursuing his in the Atlantic crossing. The officer shown dying was actually wounded later, when a cannon exploded while saluting a French vessel, and the stricken officer only died a week after that.
  • Adams’s lack of French: while this was true at first, he quickly became proficient.
  • He did not go to straight to Holland in search of loans: he instead returned briefly to Massachusetts.
  • October 1779, after John completed his service with the Massachusetts constitutional convention, he was sent back to France by Congress, appointed to negotiate peace-terms with Britain should opportunity arise.  He took his son John Quincy with him, as he had in 1778 and he also took Charles.
  • In 1784, it was not just Abigail Adams who joined her husband in Europe, but also their daughter Nabby abandoned.
  • In reality, she first rejoined him in London. Only later did they take a house in France and go there together, along with Nabby and John Quincy.  
  • Nabby’s presence in England is omitted (John Quincy had now returned to America), as is her courtship in London with Adams’s aide, Colonel William Smith, whom she in fact married there in 1786. 
  • The “Citizen Genêt” affair is exaggerated, made both a factor in the 1792 election (Genêt actually arrived in the Spring of 1793).
  • The ratification of the Jay treaty was distorted not only of fact. In the series, the Senate is deadlocked 15 to 15 on ratification. Vice President Adams is thus forced to step in and cast the tie-breaking vote, saving the treaty for the Washington administration. But according to the Constitution, then and now, treaties must be ratified by two-thirds of the Senate. There was not and could not be a tie. The Jay Treaty passed with exactly the required two-thirds, 20-10.  Adams had no vote. 
  • Adams, for example, is shown after his inauguration, suggesting that Jefferson serve as a special emissary to France. In reality, Adams made this proposal months earlier, before his inauguration.
  • Adams is shown as being caught off guard by the Alien and Sedition Acts. Congress sends to him the bills for signature; he seems anguished, reluctant to approve such harsh employment of government power. Finally, urged on by Abigail, he signs them. While it is true that Adams did not specifically urge the Alien and Sedition Acts on Congress, he was aware of them while they were under discussion.
  • In the series, Adams angrily rejects Smith’s requests for posts in the new national army, declaring openly that he has lost all confidence in Smith due to the latter’s financial speculations. Despite reservations about his son-in-law’s character, Adams did recommend Smith for the new army’s general staff: it was the Senate that rejected the appointment because of Smith’s questionable private affairs. Despite the embarrassment this had already caused him, Adams then pressed to get Smith a colonel’s commission, which the Senate reluctantly approved.
  • The last episode depicts the death of Nabby Adams from breast cancer.  An on-screen caption marks the start of Nabby’s ordeal as “1803.”  In fact, the cancer was diagnosed in 1810; her mastectomy followed in 1811.
  • It also emphasizes Benjamin Rush’s personal examination of Nabby in Quincy, and his personal performance of her mastectomy.  In reality, the tumor was diagnosed before Nabby returned to her parents’ home, Rush consulted on the case only by letter, and the surgery was performed by local Boston doctors.
  • What the series shows is Abigail Adams dies in 1818; John’s friend Benjamin Rush urges that he write to Jefferson about his loss, hoping the two elder statesmen can provide each other with comfort in their final years; Adams does so; Jefferson’s first reply is dated to 1819; the correspondence flowers, friendship is renewed. This entire sequence is very untrue. Rush was indeed was instrumental in renewing contact between Adams and Jefferson, but he was definitely not available to counsel Adams after Abigail’s death in 1818: Rush had died five years earlier. Rush had, in reality, worked carefully to bring the two former presidents back into harmony, but his efforts had culminated in 1812- it was then that the Adams-Jefferson correspondence actually resumed, and Abigail herself was personally involved in the exchange for its first six years.  
  • John Adams never went to see John Trumbull’s painting. “Do not let our posterity be deluded with fictions under the guise of poetical or graphical license.” This scene itself is actually partly fictionalized: the quote comes from a letter written several years earlier, when Adams first heard of Trumbull’s project.
You charge me up

Originally posted by looking-over-my-shoulder

Fandom: Marvel
Pairing: Pietro Maximoff x (nurse)reader
Genres: mild angst, romance, fluff
Words: 2.585
Summary: based on an imagine “Imagine being Pietro’s nurse and him falling in love with you” - requested by Anonymous

Keep reading

3

Hey guys this is based loosely off of the movie Practical Magic, if you haven’t seen it, please please watch it. It’s ahmazziinnnggggg.
****

They had been locked away, kept hidden in the large, old mansion since they had discovered the gifts each girl held. Watched over by the two older woman they called their aunts, it was safe here, no one could get in, the house was charmed and barricaded.

They weren’t alone. No, they would never be alone, they had each other. Each girl carrying a vastly different personality,

There was Josie, fiery and determined. She loved to sing and would often use her powers to put on elaborate shows in the attic, her aunts and sisters, her always captive audience. Josie was African American but it made no difference to the other two little girls, she was their sister. Her mother had practically thrown her to the witches when she discovered her daughters unusual gift.

“You’re gonna be famous one day Josie, and I’m gonna create all of your costumes, you don’t even have to pay me!”

Veronica, classy and composed but also the silliest of the three, she was constantly playing pranks on the other girls with her powers, flying coffee cups, slamming doors. She was fun but she could be brutal when necessary. Her story was actually the most normal of the three, her mother and her had had an emotional goodbye when she was dropped off, it was for the best, hermione couldn’t handle her, but she never stopped loving her.

And than there was Betty, the beautiful blonde witch with the piercing green eyes. She was sweet and good, only using her powers for good, hardly ever for fun. She helped the animals outside, grew bountiful gardens in the green house and made potions for healing. Her story was probably the saddest. Alice cooper was her mother and she had died when Betty was six, she was the only mother who shared the wicka gene, rumors flew that she had died of a broken heart.

When Betty and the girls were twelve, Betty had vowed to never fall in love. As they stood in the attic, flowers and potions surrounding them, Betty brewed together a spell.

“I’ll never fall in love. I’ll never die like my mother, girls. I won’t do it.”

She chanted something slowly, as a spark lifted in the air.

Veronica and Josie came around and wrapped their arms around the watery eyed blonde.

While the girls weren’t permitted to leave the grounds, it didn’t stop them from sneaking out and finding solace in a back booth at Pops Diner. Giggling over burgers and milkshakes as they tried to hide from the other customers. The little witches weren’t welcome in the town and if anyone spotted them they wouldn’t be treated quite so simply.

They did this every week on Saturday’s while their aunts were out at solstice. The third week in, a group of three boys strolled to a stop in front of their table. Veronica was quick to turn on the defensive.
“Can we help you.” She said sassily.

All three girls were on edge, fingers sparking ready to fight.

The redheaded boy smiled
“I’m Archie, this is Reggie and this is Jughead, they’re my best friends.”

Reggie nodded his head

“We know you, you’re the witch girls who live in that huge mansion.”

Betty’s eyes caught onto the dark haired boy, behind the other two, his ears were bright red because of the bitter cold and she caught herself giggling at his messy hair. as josie, Reggie, Veronica and Archie conversed, she smiled softly at the nervous looking boy.

His eyes widened at her smile, but he returned it , a little shyly.

“Why don’t you sit with us? We don’t get a lot of visitors and we have like no friends” josie giggled.

The boys slid in, Jughead squeezing next to Betty.

The group talked and laughed, sharing stories and eating fries, until it was time to go. Promising to return next weekend.

Betty walked beside Jughead and smiled
“I’ll see you next weekend?”

He nodded smiling
“You got it bets.”

She giggled, turning to catch up with her sisters before turning back to him and smiling
“Oh and jughead?” He turned her way and smiled raising an eye brow.

Suddenly her hand was moving in the air and he was holding a dark grey beanie shaped like a crown.

“Stay warm, Jughead Jones”

And then she was off, skipping next to her sisters, her long, white skirt flying behind her.

He swore he fell in love with her in that instant.

Unfortunately for the three boys who had become smitten with the girls just after one short meeting, they never saw them again. The girls had been caught sneaking back in and were never allowed out again. Leaving three heartsick twelve year olds.

Years passed and the six children grew older, each bond growing stronger and stronger.

Every night Betty would stare at the flowers littering her bedroom, her room almost flooded with flowers, it seemed to be all she could do with her powers now, she always thought of the handsome boy she had met years ago. What was he doing now? Did he think of her often?

He did. Jughead thought of her almost all the time, no girl had ever had an impact on him. No girl ever made his heart flutter the way she did. They three boys had gone up to the old mansion so many times but it was impossible to get in.

Now they were eighteen , The tradition of going to pops on saturdays still rang true, and he caught himself staring at the back booth every time.

“I think about it too.” Reggie said, settling next to him. “The way they talk about them, the horrible things they say. None of its true, we know that. But we seem to be the only ones.”

Jughead nodded slowly, sinking into the booth and adjusting his beanie.

Something was different in the air tonight, everyone felt it, it was obvious. The tension seemed to grow thicker and Archie rubbed at his neck.
“It’s weird man, I just feel like something big is about to happen ya know?”

Both boys nodded as Jughead but into his burger.

Suddenly the chime of the doors rang and Archie’s dropped jaw caused him to turn around.

Oh.

There they were, the three witches of riverdale. Standing in the doorway of pops.

They were beautiful, enchantingly so. It was almost unreal how gorgeous they were. They swept past them, taking the familiar booth they had sat in years ago. All three boys eyes were glued to that table.

It was deja vu in the best way, closing his eyes he could almost see the three tiny girls they once were, now replaced by beautiful women dressed in gorgeous gowns, clearly having come from somewhere not in riverdale.

Suddenly her sparkling green eyes caught on to his and realization lit them up, as she motioned to her other friends.

The three girls stood up and made there way over to the table Veronica smiling

“I’m Veronica, this is Josie and Betty, they’re my best friends.”

He caught her eyes one more time and she smiled.

Dead Girl Walkin’.

A/n: Yay! My first marvel fic, and of course it’s Frank, who else would it be? (Maybe Bucky….or Sam..) Points aside, I’m glad he’s the one to kick off this blog. Also big shoutout to @murdochinthetardis For beta-ing some of this. Anyway, Reqs are open, send in ask, blah blah blah.

Summary: (Set pre-season 2) After you get caught trying to do the unthinkable you get a thirty hour ticking time bomb of a punishment, and, yeah, It’s a miracle you’re not dead, truly, but come on.Thirty hours?That’s not enough time to do anything, well…maybe go see Frank. There’s time for that. Or, the one where the reader seeks a friend at the end of the world.

Word Count: 4.9K

Pairing: Frank Castle x Reader.

Rating: E (for explicit, not everyone.)

Warnings: Violence, blood, Cursing, Frank is his own warning, Smut, I’m talking the freaky deaky. It’s rough, and Frank, bless his heart, is a dominant man if there ever was one. But also fluff, because he’s a sweetheart. Pining, God, you two are a mess of it I swear.

Author: Jada.

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It was an absolute fact that you weren’t gonna die a peaceful death. Yeah no, you were gonna go out one of two different ways. One, a Bruce Willis, Die Hard type thing with

at least

two explosions. Or two, someone else is gonna punch your card for you. Full stop. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars, that’s it.

Frank threw a guess in once. Said you’d probably go out saving a bunch’a kids from a burning building or something, because you’re a soft ass like that, Sunshine, that’s why. He was three stitches deep on his right arm, and shooting you looks from his side of the couch. Ain’t that right, Sunshine?

Nope. Nuh-uh, not even close. You get a grand total of thirty hours, all Courtesy of Mr. Kingpin himself. Fisk. What kind of name is Fisk anyway? It sounds too much like Fist, or fish, either way it’s awkward. You’re just being pissy, because you got caught, and Fisk is rubbing it in your face.

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Flood (Haechan x Reader)

Ayyyy baby gals and baby guys ;^) ya girl ry ry here is back with THE FLUFFIEST HAECHAN I COULD POSSIBLY MUSTER. LISTEN. I love him so much, he is my son, my beautiful, golden, shining, angel vocals, talented absolutely stunning son. APPRECIATE HIM. And I hope you like this! c:

p.s. Y’ALL HE IS MY BOI AND I WILL PROTECT HIM.

Originally posted by nctinfo

You don’t know how it turned out like this, Mother Nature was a mysterious woman. One moment it was a lovely spring day and you were hanging out with your best friend and enjoying each other’s company. Then suddenly it was apparently monsoon season and a flash flood warning scrolled along the top of the television monitor when you scrambled inside.

Your shoulders sagged, feeling annoyed as you turned over to your friend, “Now what?”

Haechan, your closest friend, shrugged dejectantly, mocking your despair, “I don’t know, it’s your house, not mine.” His hair was dripping down his cheeks, making his golden skin glisten wondrously in the dim light.

You rolled your eyes at him and he snickered, covering his mouth as you stood up from the couch and peered out the window, “Well it looks like we’re not going out there anytime soon. The road is almost completely flooded, check it out.”

You beckoned him over, blushing when he took the curtain from your hand and rested his chin on your shoulder. You hoped he couldn’t feel your body trembling as he pressed against your back, the heat coming through his shirt stifling. His brown eyes filled with worry, “Good thing I didn’t drive here, my car would be drowning.” He turned his attention to you, tilting his gaze toward yours, “What about your parents? They’re both still at work right? How’re they gonna get home?”

You suddenly realized that and your heart sank, anxiety bubbling up in your stomach as you fumbled in the back pocket of your jeans for your phone. You called your mother and father swiftly, inquiring about their safety and asking if they had a plan. They said they had already met up together and were planning on staying at a nearby hotel, the city streets far too flooded to drive safely on.

“Is Haechan still there, sweetheart?,” your mother asked, her gentle voice a comfort as a lightning bolt arched through the sky with a loud clap.

You flinched at the noise, “Y-yeah, he’s still here.” Damn the weather, you thought, eyeing the sky with distrust.

“Good,” your mom sounded relieved, seeming much more relaxed. “Tell him I called his mother and talked, we agreed that it would be safest for the two of you to stay put for the night until we can drive again, okay?”

You looked over at your friend, who’s eyebrows rose at hearing the plan, as you replied, “Okay, well, I’ll let you go now, I love you.”

“I love you too, honey,” your mom cooed, “Stay safe and don’t stay up too late! Bye, sweet pea!”

“Bye,” you answered with a grin on your face, one that mirrored your best friend’s as you ended the call. The two of you remained silent for a few moments, then it was like an explosion of energy as you both flipped out.

“We’re gonna stay up late~,” Haechan chanted in a song song voice, pulling you into a ridiculous tango position as you strutted across your living room cackling.

The two of you collapsed back into the sofa, dizzy and panting from laughter as it faded into silence again. You spoke, staring up at the ceiling, “So what do you wanna do? We can make food, we could watch a movie, you could let me do your makeup….”

“Nope, nuh uh, ______,” Haechan shook his head rapidly, interrupting you as he cleared his throat. “I still haven’t recovered from the last time you did my makeup. I was picking waterproof mascara from my eyelashes for a week.”

You huffed, lifting a finger to poke his tanned cheek, “Fine, what do you want to do then?”

“Hmmm,” he hummed, leaning his face closer so his cheeks squished in more, “Let’s play Truth or Dare.”

You paused, giving him a look, helping him connect the dots, “You want to play Truth or Dare with only you and me….two people, where it could be just one or the other-”

“We don’t have to,” he exclaimed, pouting as he crossed his arms. “It’s just funny when you decide to pick dare and I tell you to lick the toilet seat or something.”

“Is that supposed to make me want to play?,” you raised an eyebrow, watching him sulk for half a minute before your caved. “Fine. We can play it.” There wasn’t anything better to do anyway, and you were just a little curious.

Haechan smirked, making your heart flutter even though you were annoyed with the fact he could always make you agree with him. You couldn’t deny him anything, he was your best friend and you’d do anything for him, but those weren’t the only motives you had.

Your crush on him had been a long time coming, ever since the two of you first met back in elementary school. At first, you didn’t see him as anything more than just a friend, but slowly, as the years rolled by, that began to change. Suddenly Haechan sprouted up, grew a foot over one summer and left you in the dust. He developed all different kinds of muscle and was suddenly able to pick you up in a hug and toss you around like a rag doll. He grew into his features, becoming more handsome day by day but never letting the fact that he was gorgeous get to his head. Haechan also grew more confident, a bit more flirty and touchy with you as well. You blamed hormones and nothing else, he couldn’t ever like you the way you liked him. Haechan was Haechan and you were…you.

“Okay,” he said, jumping right into the game and turning toward you. He slung his arm over the sofa and crossed his legs, “_______, truth or dare?”

You pulled a blanket from under his leg and wrapped it around yourself, “Uh, truth.”

“Do you like Mark?,” he said, watching you carefully as you nearly choked on the glass of water you had taken a sip from.

You wiped the corners of your mouth with the back of your hand, furrowing your brow as you scoffed, “No? Why would I like Mark? He’s our friend and nothing else.”

“And you’re sure you’re telling the truth right?,” Haechan pressed, face still serious as he watched you sit up straighter.

“Of course I am,” you replied, confused by his expression. “I would never lie to you, Haechan.” Your felt your stomach churn, knowing that you constantly lied to him about your feelings.

He seemed relieved to hear that, shoulders that you realized were tense relaxing as he murmured, “Good, just making sure you’re not keeping anything from me. Your turn.” He bounced back to his cheery demeanor, awaiting you to ask him.

“Okay, truth or dare?,” you asked, smirking because you knew what you would ask him regardless of what he chose.

“Hmm,” he hummed, watching you carefully as he tried to gauge just how nasty of a dare you’d make him do. Obviously thinking you were going to go easy on him, he chose the latter. “Dare.” Maybe he was a little cocky.

You chuckled evilly, rubbing your hands together as you beckoned him to follow you deeper into your house, “Kindly follow me, good sir.”

You could already feel the sudden dread coming from Haechan as you approached the bathroom, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly, “You’re not gonna…”

“Oh, I sure am,” you grinnned, opening the door and allowing him to walk in first. You pointed to the toilet, “Lick it.”

“_______, wait,” he almost began to sweat nervously, eyeing the toilet as you grinned at him. “Can’t I do anything else?”

“Nope,” you shook your head, zero sympathy for him as he knelt down by the toilet. “You made me lick it last time, so now it’s your turn.”

Haechan shuddered, shaking himself as he took a huge breath, “Fair enough. Just know that for the rest of the game, you should definitely not pick Dare when it’s your turn.” He glared at you weakly, a not so intimidating sight as he bent over the toilet seat and quickly touched his tongue to the porcelain. He recoiled rapidly, his face scrunching up as he held his tongue out in disgust. You tried to hold on your laughter, but a small giggle slipped out, causing your friend to whip around at you and stand up to his full height. You began to back out, knowing that a counterattack was already in the midst.

With his tongue still comically sticking out, Haechan came after you, hands outstretched as he tore at his pullover that you had stolen from him a long time ago. You squealed and slipped away from him, wriggling out of his grasp by a hair’s breath as you ran into the living room panting. You fruitlessly looked for another way out, but he was already upon you, wrapping you up in his arms and spinning you wildly. You hated to say how much just the feeling of him holding you like that made your heart sing, he could lick you with his toilet tongue and you’d probably swoon.

You screamed in amusement as you pulled away, only to find that he was much stronger than you as he pushed you down to the ground. With a devious grin, he pinned your arms and straddled your waist, crushing you under his hold as you wiggled in defeat. You could tell by the look in his eyes he had something nasty up his sleeve, so you pleaded, “I give in! I’m sorry!”

You struggled against his hold as he tsked at you, seeing the distress on your face, “Are you trying to make me feel bad?” He smirked, leaning down close enough so that your foreheads touched.

His hair tickled your skin, causing you to blush at the closeness of his face. You avoided his gaze, seeing something foreign and strange in there, nothing you’d ever seen before. This Haechan seemed different, like the one that flirted with other girls that weren’t you and made you jealous, made you realize how much you really did like him.

“No, I just don’t want you to lick me,” you persisted, eyebrows furrowing as you tried to mentally prepare yourself for the oncoming attack. Something told you though that he didn’t plan on licking you at all.

He laughed and you could feel his breath ghost over your skin, “Why would I lick you? I may be gross, but I’m not that nasty. I had something else in mind…” His voice trailed off as he swallowed almost nervously, glancing down at your mouth once before gazing into your glossy wide orbs again.

“Well then,” you huffed, still struggling against him as you interrupted. “Why are you still sitting on me? You’re not the lightest you know-”

Haechan was swift, smoothly pressing his lips against your own, capturing your words with his mouth and taking them prisoner. Your eyes widened to the size of plates, freezing up as you realized that your best friend was kissing you. Shouldn’t you be elated? This is what you wanted right? So why were you so scared to kiss him back?

He tried several times to persuade you to kiss him back, going so far as to release your wrists and clumsily cup your cheeks. But you were in such a great state of shock, even then you couldn’t move and you hated yourself for it. You were breaking your best friend’s heart with each kiss and you didn’t know what to do. What if you kissed him back and he didn’t want you to?

Haechan gave up and pulled away with a hurt expression, a blush already dusting across his tan cheeks as he climbed off of you. You could barely hear him as he mumbled, “Sorry.”

“Wait, Haechan-,” you fumbled with your words as you watched him get up dejectedly, a sag in his shoulders. He walked out of the living room, mumbling something about going to go lay down in your bed for a bit as you sat there on the floor in shock.

Did you just accidentally reject your crush?

Your best friend?

When you heard the clean click of your bedroom door closing, you groaned, flopping back on the floor. You stared up at the ceiling and wondered how much more stupid you could get. You couldn’t even tell him that you felt the same way, and now you weren’t even sure he wanted to be friends anymore, let alone your best friend. It felt like your whole world had just come crashing down and you had no idea how to mend it.

You looked out the rain spattered window and saw lightning flash over the darkening sky, realizing that the sun would be setting soon. You couldn’t go see him now, you had to let him cool off and get back to a better place first. Seeing Haechan that gloomy and sad made you more upset than you cared to admit. Couple that with the fact that you were the reason for his sadness made you feel like a world class jerk. To console yourself, you went into the kitchen popped some popcorn in the microwave, sulking to yourself as you ate the buttery kernels on the couch. About an hour had passed and the sun had set, leaving the world in a rainy darkness, save for the occasionally flash of lightning. You yawned, suddenly feeling tired, but still uneasy by the fact that Haechan was still in your room, probably sleeping in your bed. He wouldn’t mind if you crashed too right? Or would that be too awkward after what happened?

Regardless, sleep called your name and your eyelids were heavy so you waddled tiredly to your room. You opened the door quietly, a slit of light filtering into the room and revealing the sleeping form of your best friend. He was turned away from the door and was curled up with your blanket tucked up to his chin. You walked over and knelt beside him, gently brushing the hair away from his eyes as you looked at him in sadness. Feeling remorseful and daring, you carefully pressed your lips to his forehead before you stood up, already feeling foolish. You sighed and crept over to the other side of the bed, shutting your door and leaving you in a dreary darkness.

He had taken almost all the pillows and piled them down the middle, creating a divide like a downy wall. It made your heart break as you realized he probably did it on purpose, wanting to put some space between the two of you. Tears bubbled in your throat, wondering if when you woke up the next morning if your best friend would still be your best friend. You drifted off into an uneasy sleep, wanting nothing more than to reach over to Haechan and hold onto him.


You awoke in the middle of the night with a jolt, bolting upright with a gasp as another crackle of lightning struck the clouds. You didn’t know why it scared you like this, thunderstorms never used to affect you. Beside you Haechan also stirred in his sleep, waking up slowly as his eyes tried to adjust to the darkness.

His voice was rough from sleep, “_______?” He sat up, rubbing his eyes as he tried to locate you on the bed. Finding your shaking form as you yelped again, another flash of lightning illuminating your tear streaked face.

He immediately sobered up from sleep, a determined and concerned look in his warm brown eyes as he flicked on your bedside lamp. You blinked at the soft glow, too bright after the pitch dark, “Sorry, I…”

Your words failed you as Haechan suddenly pulled you into his arms, burying his face into your neck as he embraced you. You broke down, sobs racking your body as you hugged him back, wanting nothing more than for him to tell you everything was okay, that everything was fine.

His voice was soft as he tucked your head underneath his chin, kissing your forehead gently, “It’s okay. You’re okay.” He rubbed circles on your back soothingly, closing his eyes as he savored the feeling of you in his arms.

You hiccuped, pulling back to look at him, eyes bleary, “Haechan…I’m so sorry, I wanted to kiss you back! I just-.” Your words died making you stare at the wet tear marks you’d made on his shirt, “I didn’t know what to do because I-I’ve been wanting that for so long.”

You felt Haechan tense up, his eyes widening in surprise as he cupped your face and tilted it up to look at him, “You’re serious? You’re not messing with me?”

“Of course not!,” you exclaimed, frustrated tears still drilling down your cheeks. “I like you, you idiot!”

His lips parted, his breath catching as he processed your words. He couldn’t find a way to respond, couldn’t find his voice, so he did the only thing he could do.

He kissed you.

This time, the moment his lips pressed to yours, you kissed him back, doing what you had wanted to do before. It was a new feeling, strange and wonderful as he kissed you chastely, his mouth sweet against yours. His kiss was filled with all the adoration he’d been holding back, and you tried to put all your feelings into the kiss as well, knowing your words weren’t enough.

After a few minutes, you pulled away, breathless as you both looked at each other like it was the first time. Your matching looks of wonder made the two of you crack up, laughing nervously as you exchanged kisses again. You felt so relieved, when you looked down, you found that all the pillows had been kicked down to the footboard. You realized that Haechan had woken up facing you, and you him.

Your best friend noticed too and smiled sheepishly, “Guess dream me really wanted to cuddle.”

“You’re such a dork,” you giggled, pulling him into a hug and flopping back on the bed with him caging you under him.

He laughed and held you close, nuzzling into your neck as he realized it was three in the morning, “I also guess that means we can actually snuggle for real this time?”

You nodded happily, letting him kiss you sweetly on the nose as you both tried to drift off to sleep. It as slightly impossibly though with the fact that the two of you couldn’t stop just looking at each other in amazement and kissing, a rather good problem to have. Regardless, you felt relieved and content knowing that your best friend was still your best friend (and also your boyfriend now!).

"Try to limit your movements..."

McHanzo prompt from a kind anon~

——

Jesse should have guessed the Talon mercenaries would have triggered the set of explosions- even with a dozen of their own inside the warehouse. The casualties on their side did not seem to matter, as long as they took an Overwatch agent or two down with them.
He’d awoken in the collapsed section of the building, unable to tell much of anything besides the burning in his lungs and the feeling of having been hit by a truck. One of those big ones.
The smoke and dust sent him into a coughing fit, but his lungs were the least of his worries.

Where was the archer?
“H-Hanzo?” The name left him as little more than a wheeze, and he tried again, his voice a bit stronger this time. “Shimada, where are you?” There was nothing but static through the comm device in his ear, and it wasn’t quite panic that settled within him, but it was close enough.

“Right here.” The response was a bit weaker than Hanzo had intended, but the dazed feeling that clouded his mind with a fog had not yet left him.
A hand came up to address the tacky warmth that coated part of his forehead, only to come away with a coat of blood.

“Shit, Darlin’, I thought-” Jesse tried to get up, only now realizing his mechanical arm was pinned under a rather large chunk of concrete. “Damnit, I’m stuck…” He tugged again, only to feel the nerve endings at his stump light up in pain. A small gasp escaped him, and he swore he could see a few sparks shoot out from under the rubble.

“Try to limit your movements. You will only make things worse.” Hanzo grated out, his breathing aggravated by the smoke as well.

“What’s taking you so long?” Jesse tried to make light of the situation, after recalling they’d only been a few feet apart when the explosions went off.

“….”

“Shit, Hanzo, you ain’t hurt, are ya?” Another wave of almost panic flooded Jesse’s mind, and he looked around him a bit more frantically now.

“I’m fine.” A default answer, and with its quickness, the facade of truthfulness was seen through.

“Sure you are. Right as rain. I think I’ll give a second opinion when I see you.” Jesse strained his ears now, trying to differentiate the sound of falling debris and shifting remnants of building to the familiar tap-tap-tap of Hanzo’s prosthetic feet. When he finally did pick up on it, the pattern was more of a tap and a short scrape, repeated until he heard Hanzo in person and not through the comm.

“…You are not a doctor.” Hanzo finally managed, looking a bit off balance with how he was favoring one leg.

“And you are not fine.” Jesse shot a concerned look at the archer, his figure making its way over a small pile of rubble in an uncharacteristic gait.
Half dried blood ran down the side of Hanzo’s forehead, and one of his prosthetics was looking more like the now scrap metal scattered around them than the perfected piece of technology it should have been. With the mangled inner workings and sparking wires, it was a wonder Hanzo could even bear any weight on it at all.

“Can’t believe you came all the way over here to see me, with your leg like that.” Jesse forced a chuckle, trying to lighten the mood. “I should have- woah, hey, you’d better rest a moment.” The gunslinger had only gotten halfway through when he saw Hanzo waver unsteadily, more than likely dealing with a concussion. He motioned for the other man to come and sit, though his attempt to reach out was stopped short.

Jesse gave a little curse, trying and failing to release the lock on his mechanical arm. The mechanisms had been damaged, and would not let him free of the rubble. “Well shit.” He gave a heaving sigh and looked towards Hanzo again, glad to see the archer had gotten close enough to get a better look at.

“How’re you holdin’ up?” Jesse’s voice was softer this time, and paired with a concerned smile, it seemed to have prompted the truth from Hanzo.

“A piece of the ceiling hit my head. My vision is still a little blurry, though that could be the smoke.” The archer replied, generally looking uncomfortable. His stomach twisted, and churned, threatening to expel whatever was left in it.

The gunslinger’s thoughts were confirmed, definitely a concussion.
“Well you just wait right here with me and the others will find us soon. Just don’t fall asleep on me. Got that?” He hid the frustration in his voice, wishing he could be up and taking proper care of his teammate.
“Hanzo?”

“I heard you.” The other man nodded, slowly, and quietly busied himself with wiping the remains of blood from his brow.

“Good, good.” Jesse replied, toying with the idea of shooting the remnants of his prosthetic arm off just to be free of it. He felt like a animal trapped in a snare.
It was the cold shiver that shot up his spine that stopped him, however, as he remembered how he’d lost his arm the first time around.

“…keep talking.” Hanzo spoke again, looking a bit pale despite the soot and blood on his face.

The two words worried Jesse the most, usually expecting his constant talking to annoy the other man more than anything else. Still, he kept his voice calm, and thought for a moment.
“Well, alright then. Did I ever tell ya about the time Reinhardt challenged me to a drinking game and I woke up in a different city in clothes that didn’t fit me?”

Hanzo shook his head, his movements more subtle now than before.

Nearly an hour had passed, or at least that was what it had felt like given the circumstances. Jesse had encouraged Hanzo to stay awake more than once, and each time had him reconsidering taking his arm off again.

When the archer began to shiver, Jesse had pulled out Peacekeeper and found his resolve.
He hadn’t wasted time calling for help. Talon clearly had set up some sort of interference. It was exactly the reason why he had not heard any chatter or calls over the comms, besides Hanzo who had only been a few feet away. Anything farther than that had been blocked.

He cocked the hammer back and was about to fire the first shot when he heard a bit of rumbling, and some huge slab of concrete falling away. His first instinct was to shield himself from whatever debris that would surely come raining down, but it proved a far more miraculous sight.

“Speak of the devil.” Jesse cursed again and shook his head, looking up to see Reinhardt- with the aid of his armor suit- pushing more rubble out of the way.

“Stuck between a rock and a hard place. You did always have a knack for getting yourself into trouble.” The older man boomed, stepping aside to let the golden winged Angela glide over to them.

“Ain’t you two a sight for sore eyes.” Jesse breathed a sigh of relief, and immediately waved Mercy towards Hanzo.

“He’s got a bad concussion. I’ve kept him awake, but just barely. Couldn’t do much else on account of my arm here.” Jesse explained, glad to see Angela going straight to work to stabilize Hanzo.

-

Free of the destroyed warehouse and recouperating in the med bay, Jesse sat beside Hanzo’s bed. With his own prosthetic finally removed, he watched the archer sleep. Under the watchful eye of Angela and all her machines, the Shimada was stable and could now rest unhindered.

“He’ll make a full recovery, though the headaches might linger for a little while. It could have been much worse.” Angela had laid a hand on Jesse’s shoulder and gave a gentle pat.

The gunslinger nodded, but couldn’t help to give a little laugh. “He came and found me, with that busted up leg of his. You guys can get him a new one, right? I’ll pay for it myself if I have to. It’s the least I can do.”

“Jesse, relax.” Angela laughed, shaking her head. “Everything will be taken care of in time. Besides, you need a new arm, as well.” She reminded him, with a look.

“I can wait.” Jesse smiled, giving a fond look at Hanzo, who had just begun to stir.

You’re A Sinking Stone

Originally posted by kareligomleeek

Michael Gray x Reader

Request: 

-“Don’t. Just don’t. I don’t want to hear you say what I think you’re going to say. Don’t speak.”

-Can I request one where you’re dating Michael and the whole Charlotte thing happens and you end up turning to Tommy for comfort?

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280 Days

Finally finally the fic you all requested…Pregnant!Emma galore. It’s a long one folks. I hope you enjoy it!! 

@justcheckingstuffcs @dark-ones-dont-need-sleep @losttalongthewayy @leatherjacketsandrum @mrandmrsswan @naiariddle @raggedyclaraa @mayquita @thegladelf @flslp87 @onceuponiwishmytime @galadriel26 @captainswanslay @captainswan710 @allofthismatters @mxltifandoms @caaptain-swan @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @justcheckingstuffcs @blowmiakisscolin 

Don’t forget, if I missed you in the tags, just shoot me a message and I’ll tag you from now on. And if you just got here, this piece is a companion piece to this, but you could still enjoy it if you haven’t read anything from the Nth Time Series.(But if you want to read all the parts, just go to my blog and check the cs ff tag.)

Enjoy this big fat heaping dose of CS family fluff!

~ Jenn 

*************************************************

~ Day 78

She hates it. She forgot how much actually being pregnant sucks. 280 days of pure, undiluted torture. She’s queasy in the mornings and sweaty at night and she’s only known she’s pregnant for two weeks but god, it already feels like it’s been an eternity. Today is especially bad because this morning she woke up and she wanted eggs and Killian, of course, because this is Killian, made her eggs but then the smell made her sick, which made him feel bad which made her feel bad which made her cry which made him feel even worse which made her feel even worse. And her belly is already so round and in charge, and god, she’s 11 weeks pregnant and how dare her stupid perfect husband pump her full of so many babies?!

~ Day 83

They find an obstetrician that specializes in multiples at a Children’s hospital in Boston. The drive there is a little too far for Killian’s liking (45 minutes, 40 if you speed) but Emma assures him that it’s worth it and that she’d rather make the drive than trust Frankenstein to deliver their twins. Their first visit there is a Tuesday, and they’re delightfully surprised when the friendly obstetrician offers to get out her ultrasound machine. It’s the first time Killian’s seen the babies and he’s transfixed on the screen, watching those little blobs dance with the happiest of expressions. He cries when he hears their heartbeats for the first time, and before they leave, Dr. Cameron whispers to Emma about how lucky she is to have such a supportive partner. “Oh believe me,” she agrees, offering a smile, “there’s no way I could do this with anyone but him.“

~ Day 90

Today is lovely in every sense of the word. It’s a lazy day, that Saturday, a perfect day off. Emma sleeps in and misses the morning sail, waking only to the patter of little 3-year old feet and the feeling of sea salt dusted lips against her hairline. She opens her eyes just as Leia clambers up on the bed, intent on telling the babies about her morning even though they can’t hear her really, not yet. “The wind was perfect, little loves,” the three year-old explains, and Emma watches Killian quietly sigh on account of Leia’s now-perfect “L” sounds. His only consolation is that his heart is warmed by the fact that she’s mastered the sound by using her own special nickname on her brothers ("or sisters, Killian.” “No, Swan.”).

Keep reading

Malec Week Headcanons

So I almost missed Malec week this year but luckily I found the post just in time phew anyways here we go:

  • Who hogs the duvet?

Malec. No seriously. They both fall asleep on different sides of the bed, but in the morning, Magnus is always on top of Alec’s chest and Alec’s chin on top of Magnus’ head and all the covers are just bunched up around them. 

  • Who texts/rings to check how their day is going?

Both of them. When Alec is away at the Institute and on missions, Magnus worries about him a lot and so he either calls Alec or texts him. Alec doesn’t mind though, he looks forward to Magnus’ messages. Alec’s at that point in their relationship where he acts like a fluffy, moony-eyed, love-struck puppy. So when Alec randomly messages Magnus goofy stuff like I love you, Magnus. Hope you have a lovely day. Magnus knows Alec is missing him. He secretly loves it and both of them finally experiences what’s it’s like to have someone love you unconditionally, and ultimately that’s what they both need.

  • Who is the most creative for gift giving?

Both of them. Due to their competitive spirits, they are always striving to see who can give the other a better present. Sadly, Alec is yet to beat Magnus’ outlandish creativity.

  • Who gets up first in the morning?

Alec. He’s totally acoustomed to getting up really early, sometimes before the sun rises. This because of his Shadowhunter training. But when he makes up, he likes to prepare breakfast and coffee for his boyfriend.

  • Who suggests new things in bed?

Alec. Despite his innocent façade, our boy Alec is really, really kinky. This is partly due to Magnus, who more than encourages Alec to embrace his inner nymphomaniac and partly due to Alec’s stamina rune (he can’t seem to ever get satisfied) 

  • Who cries at movies?

Both. The first time they had a movie night, they watched Titanic and the loft almost flooded. Alec was crying so hard that his voice went hoarse and he refused to answer his phone when Jace called. Magnus lost it at the part when Jack died, because come on, who doesn’t want an epic love story like Rose and Jack.

  • Who gives unprompted massages?

Magnus because Alec comes home sore and grumpy and Magnus doesn’t like seeing his boyfriend like that. Alec enjoys them a little too much though and one thing leads to another…

  • Who gets jealous easiest?

Alec, of course. In fact, his jealousy sparks unnecessary arguments between the couple, but he’s working on it; too much jealousy isn’t attractive and can lead to bad things. He learnt this lesson the hard way from Camille.

  • Who collects something unusual?

Both of them. Once, Isabelle stumbled across Magnus’ large collection of nail paints. She couldn’t believe he had so much nail polish (over 2000 bottles, I swear) and she uses them, but Magnus is a good sport and lets her. Alec on the other hand, has a collection of steles he broke, dating back to his practice stele from when he was eleven. (Practice stele- a stele used by young Shadowhunters to learn how to properly draw runes, without the adamas)

  • Who gets most excited about the holidays?

Magnus! He likes to go overboard and completely decorate his loft! You should see it for St. Patrick’s Day.

  • Who is the little spoon/big spoon?

Alec is the big spoon because he’s taller. 

  • Who starts the most arguments?

Alec, because of his jealousy issues. But he tries to control himself because he feels physically ill when he and Magnus fight.

  • Who suggests they buy a pet?

Well, they do have a pet right now, the Chairman, but Magnus would suggest they get another pet to keep Chairman company. Sadly, Alec is allergic to dogs, so most likely get another cat (Magnus might call him Prince of Purrsia)

  • What are their couple traditions?

They have many couple traditions. They drink hot tea in the living room every night before bed, just talking. On Sundays, they have their friends over so they all can get at least an hour to catch up. On Max’s (Alec’s brother) birthday, they send up blue balloons in the air. On their anniversary, they stay at home, making out, cooking dinner, sipping wine. They kiss under mistletoe at least once every Christmas.

  • What TV shows do they watch?

Supernatural, Sherlock, Glee, Gotham and the likes. Honestly, they’re not really into television, but they like to make fun of and judge the shows together.

  • What other couples they hang out with?

Jocelyn and Luke. Reason being, Jocelyn and Luke are parents, and being new parents, Alec and Magnus need all the help they can get. But they also hang with Simon and Isabelle and Jace and Clary on Sundays, and on random occasions,Tessa and Jem.

  • Who brings flowers home?

Magnus. Alec’s not the one to do grand romantic gestures because he’s awkward enough as it is.

  • Who does Alec talk to about relationship issues?

Isabelle and Clary. They’ve always been there for Alec and he knows he can trust them with anything. Plus, he knows that Isabelle has plenty of experiences with guys and he can’t keep anything from his little sister. She’s never given him bad advice and she’s always been there for him ever since she figured out his sexuality. Clary talks to Magnus, so therefore she helps them resolves most of their issues.

  • And who does Magnus talk to?

Catarina and Tessa. They both keep him in line and tell him when he’s the wrong one. He often talks to Clary and Isabelle too.

  • How do they make up after arguments?

SEX! HOT, ANGRY SEX! Lmao According to Magnus, this is how they’re free to take out their anger on each other in a way that’s pleasurable for both of them. Besides that, they each do something sweet for the other, whether it’s Magnus doing his usual grand romantic gesture, or Alec just subtly doing something sweet for Magnus.

“Stressed”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (ModernAU)

Summary: You’re stressed to the point of tears, but your boyfriend Bucky comes up with the perfect way to alleviate it.

for @bovaria

A/N: I’ve never shown anyone my writing, so I’m pretty nervous. Please forgive me for grammar mistakes; English is hard, but I’m working on it! Also this was inspired by a “Parks and Recreation” episode.

“You’re stressed.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re stressed.”

Your eyes flash with annoyance as you glare at your boyfriend. “I’m not stressed, so stop saying that I am! God damn it, Bucky. I’m not stressed!” you snap.

As soon as those words leave your mouth, you’re immediately flooded with guilt. Bucky was just making a correct observation, and it definitely wasn’t his fault that work left you feeling high and dry. Tears begin to pool in your eyes, but you quickly rub them away. Bucky hadn’t done anything to make you feel wronged. So why were you crying?

You take a deep breath and once again face your boyfriend. “Bucky, I’m sorry I snapped. I just…” You take another deep breath, hoping it’ll stabilize your now-shaking voice. “I just, I’m -”

An understanding expression crosses Bucky’s face and he reaches out for you, pulling you close to his chest and encasing you with his arms. “Hey, I get it, don’t worry,” he whispers before lightly kissing your forehead.

The tears you’d tried so hard to stop from falling now freely pour down your cheeks, and you bury yourself deeper into his embrace. Bucky rocks the both of you gently and continues to stroke your hair as you release all of the pent-up emotions you had been bottling away.

Keep reading

Bohemian rhapsody gone wrong

Ok so trigger warning before we start, there are mentions of PTSD, it’s not specifically said but symptoms are talked about, not sure how many words it is

Prompt: Hey if you’re taking prompts can you do a stafou (stanfou?) Where LeFou is afraid of thunder (it reminds him of the war) and doesn’t tell Stanley so one day thunder wakes Stanley up and LeFou is just like sobbing or freaking out on the floor so Stanley comforts him. If you’re not taking prompts than just ignore me

Thank you for the prompt!!!

Ok so here we go


Stanley is sleeping and when he wakes up finds that Lefou is no where to be found, after investigating, he finds him afraid


Lefou had always been afraid of thunder, it was something he just couldn’t seem to stand, even before he had gone off to war. When he came back, it seemed to have become a mimic of sounds he wished he could forget. Every crash reminded him of the sound of the mighty cannons ripping their troops apart, and the rumbles and growls the rattling of the drums.

Of course this didn’t seem to be such a problem when he slept alone, his sleepless nights being only noticed by him, Gaston didn’t really pay attention to anyone but himself as it turned out, and of course when Stanley asked Lefou to move in with him, Lefou jumped at the offer, forgetting completely about his fear, however whenever thunder struck he was all too aware of the sleeping man who rested himself just inches away from him.

On one night, the thunder got particularly bad, with rain almost flooding the village, and rattling the windows like small bullets hitting the glass, each of them with as much force as the last, however Stanley didn’t seem to stir. It was only when a large crash emanated from right above the small cottage was he finally woken from his deep sleep.

Blearily, he wiped his eyes to rid them of the slumber which had just left him, trying to fully gain function of his brain.

He yawned and stretched his arms across the bed, expecting to find a torso, hand or hip blocking him, however when nothing seemed to greet his extending arm, he halted. Wasn’t Lefou living with him? Of course he was, he had been since Noël.

Stanley shook his head gently and yawned once more, pushing himself to turn away from the comfort of his bed in order to investigate the mystery of the missing lover. The wooden floor beneath his feet felt colder than usual, yet he was glad that there was the comforting trickle of rain that would gradually lull him back to sleep when he finally found Lefou.

As he opened the door to the main room, he became aware of a sort of whimpering sound which seemed to carry from the kitchen, almost like a lost child trying to dull their cries.

Curious, Stanley crept past the bookcase and slid between the dining table and the wall, as the steady whimpering grew louder. Just as Stanley was about to enter the kitchen a loose floorboard creaked.

Silence.

A shaky breath from around the corner.

“Hello?” A hoarse voice muttered from just out of sight, a hiccough following suit.

“H-hello? Is, is someone there?” Stanley let out a breath he was holding in, it was Lefou.

Turning the corner with a smile, it was instantly wiped off his face when he saw where Lefou was. Hiding between the meeting of two walls with a blanket covering his shoulders. His eyes were bright red and puffy whilst thick streams of tears fell freely down his face. His bottom lip, as well as his left hand, seemed to be shaking uncontrollably and his right was gripping the blanket in such a desperate way that stanley was surprised that it hadn’t split at the seams already. When their eyes met Lefou’s seemed to widen in panic and he pushed himself further into the small nook, and began whispering under his breath erratically, whilst also avoiding looking stanley in the eyes.

Stanley took a step forwards and saw Lefou visibly pause, holding his breath and tightening his eyes shut, as his body went rigid, as if expecting a blow.

“Mon amour?”

Lefou’s eyes opened gently, yet still faced the blackened window which showed the pair a view of the village centre.

“Mon amour are you ok?” Stanley whispered, trying not to alarm or scare Lefou in any way, afraid that he might go back to muttering under his breath.

Lefou replied with a soft mumble.

“Lefou, are you alright?” Stanley got down onto his knees and sat a short distance away from where Lefou was, just within reach if necessary.

“I’m sorry.” Lefou said, looking down in, was that, shame?

“Why on earth would you be sorry?” Stanley replied, gently inching towards him, as if trying not to startle a deer.

“For waking you.” Stanley paused, stunned,

He had just walked in on Lefou crying in a corner, clearly distressed for one reason or another, and instead of seeking comfort, he apologised for a small inconvenience which he may not have even caused.

“Darling, you didn’t wake me, L'orage did.”

Just in that moment, a brilliant arch of lightning illuminated the sky, twisting and turning through the clouds as if it had a mind of its own. Each tendril extending further and further until finally, the longest of them all reached Père Roberts steeple, and met with the metal on the top, flashing dangerously. Just as it made its way to return to the heavens, a momentous bang was heard from above, thundering above the clatter of the heavy racing which hammered against the roof and windows.

In that moment, Stanley felt Lefou tense up next to him.

Turning to look at him, Stanley noticed Lefou’s face had gone sheer white, whilst his eyes held a vacant expression, yes also seemed to move faster than he had ever seen. His breathing had become erratic and his hand had begun shaking again, this time joined by his right. Sweat had formed above his brow and his bottom lip trembled dangerously. The tears which had previously formed a trickle now flowed faster than before, dripping onto Stanley’s hand.

He had never seen anything like this.

Of course he had heard of the wive’s in the village talking about how their husbands didn’t seem right when they returned from the war, how they sometimes got angry outbursts and how they seemed to be unable to focus completely when perhaps a door slammed or a horse whinnied. What had Madame Michelle called it? Being triggered.

It slowly dawned on stanley what was happening to Lefou, and panic began to settle in. No-one ever said how they solved this problem or if it could be solved.

Turning back to Lefou he gently pushed his hand under his trembling one, whilst also placing another hand atop it. He gently moved them up his arm, wrist, elbow, shoulder, before both his hands came to rest on Lefou’s frigid cheeks, tear-stained and pinked than usual, and looked into his eyes, before letting out a breath, and humming.

For all Stanley knew, he could have just made it worse, as he began to hum the tune to Au Claire De La Lune and Lefou seemed to hold his breath, for all stanley knew, he could have been trying to block him out by causing himself to faint, however he did know that the trembling of his lip had slowed slightly, and the tears that had flowed so freely seemed to be holding back ever so much. So he continued.

By the time he reached the second verse the hands had stopped trembling, by the time he reached the last chorus Lefou’s breathing had resumed at a normal pace, and by the time he reached the last note, the only sign of any problem was the slight shake he had in his breath, and the pinker than usual cheeks. His head was hanging slightly and his eyes were barely open, only just letting the last tear fall before shutting with finality.

“I’m sorry, it’s usually not this bad.” He whispered, his eyebrows furrowing in anger towards himself.

He felt a sudden warmth on his forehead, as well as a pleasant fanning of air across his face, and as he opened his eyes, he saw a concerned pair peering into his, forehead to forehead.

“Lefou, if you are afraid of thunder, tell me, I can help.”

Lefou have a small chuckle and purses his lips slowly, before letting out a sigh of relief, and letting himself finally relax.


Stanley brought Lefou closer to him, his hand sliding behind his neck, before his lips met Lefou’s and tenderly embraced each other.

The rain may have been silenced to the pair, yet outside it still thundered on, howling and wailing, thrashing and thrusting through opened doors and windows, yet the inside of that cottage remained silent, comfortable and isolated to the world of misery which the elements gave to the world.

Shifter

@thesunlester requested: Hey! Could you do a one shot or maybe a series about you being rescued by the avengers when you were a little kid from hydra and you are capable of like shapeshift and mess with people’s minds, you are also in team cap but you get really sick an Steve prefers you to go to Tony because he could help but cap is really worry. There you meet Peter and discover that you are dying because of all the weird things that hydra did to you. You also fall for Peter. It’s just a dumb idea I had.

Author’s note: DUDE I LOVE THIS IDEA SO MUCH - also apologies that this took me actual YEARS to write, i’m slowly making my way through all my requests (BC NO ONE IS SENDING IN ANY AT ALL) :)) anyway, hope you enjoy - the summary is basically the request, so um - yeah. 
THIS WILL BECOME A PETER PARKER X READER, BUT FOR THE MOMENT SHE IS JUST WITH THE AVENGERS.

|| Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four || Part Five || Coming soon!

Platonic!Avengers x Reader


The cell at the end of a dark concrete hallway, behind a thick steel door guarded by soldiers and locked with a keypad. This is where you wake up. Your heart beats erratically, eyes frantically taking in the room as memories from almost eight years ago flood into your brain. This can’t happen - S.H.I.E.L.D. had rescued you from this room, you aren’t there, this isn’t real. You rock back and forth, clutching your knees as you repeat those words. “This isn’t real, this isn’t real, this isn’t real” You mutter, squeezing your eyes shut. 

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No Surrender | Chapter Three

Cassian Andor/ Reader

Words: 1,982

Summary: All your pent up emotions come rolling out when you finally see Cassian at the medbay. You never expected him to remember what you said.

Tagging: @kwaiky, @ly–canthrope

Author’s notes: Thank you guys for being patient and kind to me. Finishing this chapter took me a few days because I would run into writer’s block then school clocks me in the damn jaw. I am sad to see No Surrender come to a close but it’s been a great ride. 

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Chapter 3: Rise

A chill goes down your spine as you enter the medcenter. You were never fond of the place but they saved you in more ways than one. The idea that so many of your fellow rebels have wound up here…death is always around the corner.

Your heart beats a little faster when K-2 stops at a closed door.

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Monochromatic

A/N: Kara x reader based on the Mary Lambert song Monochromatic. (**gif not mine**) This is a sad piece, with the implication of attempted suicide (as a warning). Any mistakes are my own.

“Every morning, it’s the same thing. Sidewalks of people with who care stares. My heart’s too big for the city. My heart’s too big for my own body. My heart’s too big for you to understand me.”

Blurs of black and white, mumbles of conversation passed you, uninterested you for no one would understand nor care for the tears streaming down your cheeks, stripping away your makeup without hesitation. The clothing covering your skin deemed suffocating, trapping you within a body you did not know anymore, a body of which ached and trembled. You tugged at stretching sleeves of a now tight cardigan, painted lips quivering. The animal within your chest had surely died, you concluded, for it was no longer thrashing, no longer laced in excruciating pain, no longer anything; it was absolutely still.

No matter the amount of people you dodged through or passed on the crowded city sidewalks, they were infinite, and you craved blindness, never wanting to see another being for the remainder of your life. Each person whom passed you had passed in black, had passed in white, their colors meaningless and empty in your eyes. The city around you lacked its colorful demeanor, a dreary reminder of the life you sought of for, a life you no longer wanted, a life you no longer had. And as you rushed toward your house, you realized you no longer had a home; your pace slowed, bumping shoulders and elbows of several by-passers.

She was your home.

She was your everything.

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anonymous asked:

If your requests are open, would you write a fic where jay forgives bruce? Like maybe he has forgiven for a long time he just didn't say it out loud?? idk just forgiveness pls!!

Thank you for such a lovely prompt! This one was a lot of fun to write :)

His mouth tastes like ash and metal. His head feels like it’s full of water. Everything dips and swirls when he shifts to look to the side. A black and grey blob beside the bed (gurney?) is probably a person.

Person.

Someone in trouble.

Need to help-

Bruce!

Bruce is in trouble!

Jason tries to sit up but the movement becomes a groan as injuries - new and not-so-new - announce themselves with prejudice. His chest hurts. His left side is on fire. His head is fucking pounding. His hand is heavy, weighed down by a blur of white that is probably a cast, refusing to support him in his attempt to push himself upright.

“Woah, easy Jay.” The grey and black blob - Person. Concerned. Dick? - is suddenly leaning over him, hands pushing his shoulders back down into the mattress. “Stay still, you’re hurt.”

“No,” Jason mumbles, desperately struggling against the hands. “No, m'fine. Gotta go, hafta help. B-”

“B’s not here, Little Wing. You gotta stay calm-”

Stay fucking calm?! Bruce is gonna die. He has to save him.

Dick swears, call’s for someone, and a second later ice is spreading through Jason’s veins. He tries to blink away the encroaching fog but his eyelids are like lead. They close and refuse to open.

“Fuckin’ traitor…” he slurs. Then he’s unconscious again.

Jason was always an angry kid - an unfortunate trait he inherited from his father. Or maybe just learned behaviour. A hard outer shell; the best protection against the cruel injustice of the world.

(“Nothin’ wrong with bein’ a little soft, ya just can’t let ‘em see it.”)

Robin is an outlet for all the pent up aggression bubbling beneath his skin, but it’s also a source of anger. Little spats with B; burning rage every time a thug picks on a kid; irritation with the excess glamour of upper-class life.

But for all his anger, Jason had never been able to hold a grudge. When the Joker had killed him, he’d tried. He’d tried so fucking hard. Because god-fucking-dammit he’d died and did Bruce even care enough to avenge him?

(Spoiler alert: apparently fucking not.)

But the anger wears down, just like it always does. And Jason is left sitting on a gargoyle in the dead (hah) of night, hiding behind a helmet, wondering why it even matters. The more he thinks about it - and he hates thinking about it but he’s as masochistic as they come and if anyone’s going to make him suffer it’s going to be him - the more he realises B is beating himself up as much as the Joker beat up Robin. So what’s the point in making it worse? What’s the point in rubbing salt in a gaping wound?

(And it alarms him how easy the answer comes; no need for all that existential brooding crap Batman has so much fun with.)

Reputation.

And pride.

Fucking pride. The downfall of all of them. (The Bats. The villains. The ordinary folk. The whole fucking lot.) It gets them into trouble and it stops them from saying they’re in trouble and it stops them from saying thanks when someone inevitably bails them out of trouble. It breeds regret.

Pride is an absolute bitch.

And Gotham is full of it.

Jason sighs and it seems like the wind sighs with him. 

Coming to is like swimming through treacle. He’s aware of movement around him, muffled voices just out of reach, but he can’t make out any of it. His mind is slow and his body is even slower to respond. There’s a sense of urgency humming beneath his thoughts but it floats away every time he tries to bring it forward.

“Jason? You awake?”

He tries to say yes - he can hear the voice, he must be awake - but his tongue refuses to cooperate so he just groans instead. The voice is instantly worried.

“Are you in pain? Do you want me to get Alfred?”

Jason shakes his head. He peels his eyes open and manages to unstick his tongue enough to ask, “B?”

“No, it’s Tim.” He leans far enough over that Jason can see his face and a sudden rush of disappointment is followed almost immediately by a flood of panic. 

“B?” he asks again, more urgently. 

A crease appears between Tim’s eyebrows. But, for all his faults (and Jason has a list, because he’s an arsehole like that), the kid is a damn fine detective. “You want me to go get Bruce?” he asks - cautiously, because everyone knows thinks Jason hates Bruce. 

Jason nods quickly. If Tim can go get him, Bruce must be okay. He must have got there in time. (But what if I hadn’t?) With one last wary glance over his shoulder, Tim leaves. Jason is left lying in peace - well, as peaceful as it can be when everything hurts and the oxygen cannula is irritating his nose and the beeping of the heart monitor never stops. (Thank god. But. Annoying.) He’s starting to doze off again by the time a nearly-silent shift of fabric announces a presence by the bed.

“B?” He feels like a broken record. Or maybe one of those singing exercises; every warbling question the same, just shifting between pitches. This time it’s high with hope.

A hand brushes his hair back, then Bruce’s rumbling tones assure him, “I’m here, Jay.”

“An’ you’re okay?”

There’s a soft sound that could have been a huff of laughter or choked off surprise. “Yes, Jason, I’m fine.”

“Mmm. Good.” Just hearing it, knowing for sure that Bruce isn’t dead, calms him, relaxes him enough to rest easily. But he couldn’t have been. “Meant t’ tell you,” he mumbles, forcing drooping eyes open to look at Bruce so he knows he’s serious.

Bruce’s thumb rubs a half-circle across the back of Jason’s hand. “Tell me what?”

“’S'not your fault.”

B frowns. “It’s nobody’s fault, Jay. Nobody except the people who set up the ambush.”

“No.” Exhaustion and pain medication are dragging him toward the darkness, but Jason fights against it with every last scrap of strength he has. His body refuses to cooperate as he fumbles for Bruce’s arm and he has to bite his lip to stop a frustrated whine from escaping. “B. Listen. ’S'not your fault. Don’ blame you. Can’t… can’ blame y'rself.”

“Okay,” Bruce agrees, leaning down to kiss Jason’s head. “It’s not my fault.”

But he still doesn’t get it. Doesn’t know what isn’t his fault. Because if he did it would never be this fricken easy. Jason is too mentally and physically tired to push it though. He closes his eyes, content with the knowledge that they can argue over it some more once he’s healed.

(Just like always.)