also write me back!

anonymous asked:

Hey I'm new to this and I don't really know how it works so um... ‘a man who can’t die is no tragic hero.’ centered around Vylad? Maybe?

‘a man who can’t die is no tragic hero.’ 

title: tea and cake

summary: A conversation over some tea during a stormy afternoon. Vylad-centric. MCD pre-season 3.

a/n: So, this is so… loosely based off the prompt, I’m so sorry??? It was supposed to be something deeper and Vylad-centric but I ended up writing him having a conversation with Isabel and threw in a bit of Vylance because I’m a sucker for that pairing? I hope you like it—I thought it was rather cute, even if it’s so… loosely based off such a good prompt jfc. I might take another shot at it on another date.

warning(s): fluff, tea, Isabel being a sweetie

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Rainfall doesn’t bring melancholy feelings it once did.

As denizens scurried, seeking shelter in the nearby establishments or rushing home, he stood there in the street. His cloak, soaked. His hair, flatten against his forehead. The comforting rumble of distant storm this intense rain was bring only made him want to shut his eyes, listening as his breathed out even breaths and lulled into a fond memory which rain only brought now.

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sanvers high school au where alex has a big gay crush on maggie and starts an anonymous instagram poetry account where she writes cheesy sapphic poetry

and then it BLOWS UP and the whole school is following it and speculating who the author is because it gets really fucking romantic and all these girls are swooning and alex swears to never come clean because it’s embarrassing af 

and people start trying to compare everyone’s handwriting to this account’s but alex manages to get away with it because she’s one of those people who can write in like 7 different fonts of handwriting

but duh maggie knows it’s alex because they’ve had english together since freshman year and she always sees the little poems alex doodles in the margins but she doesn’t know it’s meant for her but she’s had a crush on alex for AGES

so she starts quoting alex to alex in all of their conversations and alex starts bugging out and realises that maggie knows but she’s still too nervous to make the first move

so she writes a poem that’s explicitly about maggie (idk dimples and short or some other shit) and maggie pulls her behind the bleachers and kisses her and alex was like ‘they were all about you, you know’ 

and then they make out a bit more

anonymous asked:

ANDREW ACCIDENTALLY CALLING NEIL CUTE IN FRONT OF THE FOXES P L E A S E

IT IS OFFICIALLY MY SEMESTER BREAK!!!!!! ajfhdajkhfdajh this is the best prompt EVER let me have this self-indulgent headcanon

  • the foxes, because they like a.) challenges and b.) making money out of these challenges, get the idea to play Andreil Trope Bingo
  • nicky starts it, purely out of boredom, as well as out of the desire to spite kevin for being too exy-focused even if the season’s over
  • he creates a card with things like “andrew buying food for neil” “neil smiling behind andrew’s back” “one talking about the other when the other is not there” “andrew hurting someone for neil” “rooftop date” “andreil going late to practice together”
  • after the whole team making edits to the bingo card, a copy is given to everyone
  • word gets around, but as andrew and neil are two of the most oblivious people in the world, they don’t catch wind of it
  • eventually, everybody (including wymack and bee) gets in on it, because the pot rises to be two grand (can you guys believe? two fucking grand for a couple’s trope bingo)
  • they make it a race of sorts - as andrew and neil aren’t normally affectionate in public (neil being the more touchy of the two, but still severely lacking in comparison to the stereotype of Normal Couples), they all have to be there at certain times of the day
  • dan clearly established the “no fishing rule” at the start but some of them can’t help themselves - they’re just really lucky sometimes
  • renee is the first to check “andrew wearing one of neil’s shirts” after she notices at their weekly sparring session
  • aaron (unluckily enough) gets the first shot at “andreil making out by the lockers” after his shift to tidy up the court
  • nicky is first witness at “one being lowkey possessive over the other” when he catches a glimpse of andrew frowning down someone at the bar for checking out neil
  • at the end of it all, they’re all left with one box blank
  • “andrew calling neil cute”
  • and everybody is just ??????
  • because andrew would never do that. not in a million years
  • only neil seems like the type to do so - but even neil hasn’t said anything of the sort
  • everybody’s panicking because they’re all so close yet so far away
  • fast forward; it’s been a little over a month since everyone’s only got that last box blank, and they’ve all been fishing
  • matt has asked, on multiple occasions, what andrew thought of neil when he smiled
  • allison has pointed out how good neil looked when she gave him her last haircut
  • bee even got ahold of neil’s baby pictures and showed them to andrew on a visit of his
  • wymack, at some point, tried asking if “cute” was really the specific word they all needed to hear (”What if he says ‘adorable’? You know Minyard gets all wordy at some point.”)
  • they all flail around for another week until the foxes’ weekly movie night
  • it happens on a thursday at neil and andrew’s room, because it was their turn
  • everyone is seated around the television, either on armchairs, the sofa, or on beanbags
  • neil coughs and pounds his chest
  • andrew gets up from the sofa so fast and gets neil a glass of water
  • upon getting the glass, neil goes “Ah.That was just a test. Thanks for putting in the effort.”
  • neil is smirking and all, thinking he’s so clever, the cheeky bastard
  • and no one is prepared for andrew’s “Mmm. That’s cute. Move over.”
  • everybody is suddenly scrambling for their cards in their pockets
  • IT’S LIFE OR DEATH AT THIS POINT, PEOPLE
  • THAT LAST BOX IS ALL THAT M A T T E R S
  • nicky is like “Shit shit shit shit shit shit–”
  • kevin frustratingly goes “Where the fuck is my pen–”
  • bee is like “That’s unfair, I didn’t bring my card!”
  • it’s dan-the-legend-wilds that gets to cross out the box first and she yells (half-drunkenly) “BingobingobingobingoBINGO MOTHERFUCKERS!!”
  • matt’s like “Babe we’re going halfsies on that right–” while allison yells “THAT”S GOING INTO OUR NAIL POLISH FUND!”
  • wymack is in the moment and is like “Dan, you’re sharing with me, or you’re out of the fucking team.”
  • renee is groaning and shaking her head while aaron is just shrugging and texting katelyn he lost
  • in the midst of the chaos and debating-who-got-it-first is andrew and neil, clueless as fuck, staring at them all and at one another
  • neil is blinking in confusion while andrew is stony-faced
  • they go out of the room and leave the madness that is the foxes coming up with another bet and searching for money in their wallets
Your Move

The nine times Simon and Baz prank each other and the one time they don’t

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Epilogue

April 2

Simon

Waking up in Baz’s bed is too soft to describe.  Technically, I’m sure his bed is no softer than my own, but now there’s another level of soft, one that goes beyond a physical body-soft.  Soft like my entire soul is encased in cotton fluff. Heart-soft.

“Baz?”

He doesn’t open his eyes, just smiles a little, and his sleepy smile has my heart skipping.  “Simon?”

Crowley, just hearing him say my name, and in a voice still heavy with sleep, is enough to have me swooning a little.

           “It’s April second.”

           “Yes it is.”

           “Do you still love me?”

           Baz pulls me closer and when he speaks his lips brush my forehead.  “Today, tomorrow, every day after that.”

           His shirt is my new favourite smell and I bury my nose in it.  “It’s funny, if you think about it?”

           “Hm?”

           “We both told the truth yesterday,” I muse.  “We pranked each other every day except April Fool’s Day.”

           He chuckles deep within his throat.  “We really are pathetic.”

           “Guess that makes us both April Fools, huh?”

           “Speak for yourself, love,” he laughs, and I’m so gone.

Baz

“So,” Simon murmurs after a few more moments of silent heaven, “is the game over?”

           I shrug with one shoulder.  “Who won?”

           “Me.”

           “Really?” I raise an eyebrow.  “How?”

           “I’ve got you wrapped in my wings, Baz, it doesn’t get much better than this.”

           “I dunno,” I grin, “I think I definitely won.”

           Simon scoffs.  “As if.”

           “I’m wrapped in your wings.”

           “Well, I finally get to touch your hair.”

           “I can make you blush without even trying.”

           “I can shut you up by kissing you.”

           “Oh yeah?” I pull back far enough to meet his eye. “Care to demonstrate?”

           He’s laughing as he obliges me, kissing me gently like his lips are still sore from the seemingly endless kissing last night. I don’t remember having the strength to pull away long enough to climb back inside the room, or to change into our nightclothes, but at some point it must have happened.  Between toothpaste kisses and disbelieving grins.  I’d been a little afraid to suggest sharing a bed (I thought it might scare him away), but he’d climbed in beside me like he fit there, like the spot had been meant for him all along.  I don’t think we ever stopped kissing, just fell into place and stayed there until the dizziness turned into dreams.

           “Crowley,” I mumble against his lips, soft like rose petals.

           “What?”

           “Aleister Crowley.”

           He giggles.  “What, Baz?”

           “Do you still love me?”

           His eyes are a different blue every time I look at them, like the sky.  Right now they’re the horizon just after the orange leaks out of the sunrise.

           Simon kisses my forehead.  “Today…”

           Kisses my nose.  “Tomorrow…”

           Kisses my mouth, deep and long.  “Every day after that.”

           I’m so gone.

           “I’m living a charmed life.”

don’t fear the reaper

Summary: Legends tell of a valiant warrior, blessed by the divine, betrayed by the leader he fought so hard to serve, locked into an eternal half-life. Called goblin, this man lives forever, watching the years pass him by, until his fated other half can release him.

(It’s funny, Nico thinks. They say legends are always a little true.)

General Nico di Angelo is killed at noontime, under a sky as blue as his lover’s eyes.

It happens like this, like divine retribution for the guilt he keeps pressed between his fingers. He returns from the war triumphant and blood-stained, followed by a legion of adoring soldiers and whispers of divinity, of spirits, of death. His name has spread across the continent, passed between enemy lips, like a promise. A warning.

If the fates abandon you, and you meet the man with clothes as black as midnight and a sword red as blood, turn back, turn back.

You will not survive him.

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The two stages of writing:

1: Writes endlessly without distraction, the words flow easily and nothing hurts, final word count is in the thousands, you are a triumphant and radiant master of the pen

2: Spends 4 hours trying to eke out 300 words. Each keystroke is labored, every other word is a typo, you’ve changed tenses three times in the same sentence, grammar and sentence structure begin to deconstruct themselves, you’ve forgotten what an adjective is, you find yourself mindlessly refreshing your dash every 8 minutes just to escape the hellscape of Microsoft word

3

He actually got it, but I could paid to see the face of the R&D technician.
With regret, I didn’t found something funny to put on the tablet v_v

alternate realities would still lead me to you [peter maximoff]

a/n: omg can u believe I’m alive!!!!

rating: little bit of swearing maybe slight m but nothing too bad ok here’ s some soft peter for you all @fandomiteen @emmcfrxst @estrcllas @brownvalerie @alexsunmners

p.s thanks for the people who ddnt unfollow bless you


The bullets ricochet off the wall behind you as you throw yourself onto the floor, wincing as your body hits the gravel. When the tell tale sound of the last bullet rings out, you pounce. Pulling yourself up from the floor you hold out your hand. The familiar energy grows in your hand, and the men barely have time to yell a warning before you throw. The explosion of your energy rocks the ground, leaving blue scorch marks and about twenty unconscious men behind you. Sprinting to the checkpoint, you spare a single thought not based on your survival: for Peter. As you run you hear a whistle and your instincts kick in, making you hit the floor for the second time in five minutes. The knife flies over you, bouncing off the wall to land only a few centimetres from your hand. You’re about to strike when the soldier lets out a cry of pain and flies back several feet, dragged by a silver whirlwind.

Peter. Of course.

Pulling yourself up, you glance towards Peter, quickly assessing him. A nasty cut on his face and a couple of scratches on his hands but other than that, he’s fine. You internally sigh in relief, schooling your features to avoid the raw relief showing on your face.

“You know I had that, right?”

He doesn’t answer you, just grins cheekily, and before you can say ‘shit’ he grabs you by the waist and then you’re with the rest of the team, feeling quite sick.

Hank smiles at you apologetically and proceeds to address the rest of the team,

“They must’ve expected we were coming. They doubled their guards: Scott and Jubilee weren’t able to get in and retrieve the information.”

Grinning a little, you reach into your pocket, pulling out the drive that holds all the information you need.

“This,” you smile, “is why I had to take a detour.”


At three o clock in the morning, Peter is pacing the floors of the mansion, his mind running almost as fast as his feet. As he runs into the kitchen, he sees you, half slumped on the table, although you raise a hand in greeting. He’s never seen you with such dark circles under your eyes.

“You okay?” he says almost hesitantly, sliding into the seat opposite you. You raise a hand, letting tendrils of blue energy weave between your fingers.

“I was just thinking, you know, of how everything was before I found out about my mutation, before I came here.”

“I guess a lot of things were different then, huh?” he says softly.

“They sure were. Not necessarily better, but easier.”

You pause, looking him dead in the eye when you speak,

“I wouldn’t have met some people I now couldn’t live without.”

Peter’s mouth widens with realisation and then he blushes, refusing to meet your gaze. The blush disappears just as quickly as it came, and his hand is shaking a little when he cups your cheek.

“This is what you meant, right?”

Rolling your eyes, you lean forward. The kiss is barely there but it’s enough to have his eyelashes fluttering. If you look a little closer, you can see the beginnings of tears in his eyes.

“Peter, I-”

“Please just kiss me again.”

You press your lips to his, this time applying more pressure. He lets out a strangled groan, and then you’re on the sofa, Peter beneath you.

“I’m in love with you.”

He’s crying now, you can see the tears clearly. He wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you close.

“I love you too.”

✍ Finally, an ask-meme for writers! ✍
  • 01: When did you first start writing?
  • 02: What was your favorite book growing up?
  • 03: Are you an avid reader?
  • 04: Have you ever thrown a book across the room?
  • 05: Did you take writing courses in school/college?
  • 06: Have you read any writing-advice books?
  • 07: Have you ever been part of a critique group?
  • 08: What’s the best piece of feedback you’ve ever gotten?
  • 09: What’s the worst piece of feedback you’ve ever gotten?
  • 10: What’s your biggest writer pet-peeve?
  • 11: What’s your favorite book cover?
  • 12: Who is your favorite author?
  • 13: What’s your favorite writing quote?
  • 14: What’s your favorite writing blog? c;
  • 15: What would you say has inspired you the most?
  • 16: How do you feel about movies based on books?
  • 17: Would you like your books to be turned into TV shows, movies, video games, or none?
  • 18: How do you feel about love triangles?
  • 19: Do you prefer writing on a computer or longhand?
  • 20: What’s your favorite writing program?
  • 21: Do you outline?
  • 22: Do you start with characters or plot?
  • 23: What’s your favorite & least favorite part of making characters?
  • 24: What’s your favorite & least favorite part of plotting?
  • 25: What advice would you give to young writers?
  • 26: Which do you enjoy reading the most: physical, ebook, or both?
  • 27: Which is your favorite genre to write?
  • 28: Which do you find hardest: the beginning, the middle, or the end?
  • 29: Which do you find easiest: writing or editing?
  • 30: Have you ever written fan-fiction?
  • 31: Have you ever been published?
  • 32: How do you feel about friends and close relatives reading your work?
  • 33: Are you interested in having your work published?
  • 34: Describe your writing space.
  • 35: What’s your favorite time of day for writing?
  • 36: Do you listen to music when you write?
  • 37: What’s your oldest WIP?
  • 38: What’s your current WIP?
  • 39: What’s the weirdest story idea you’ve ever had?
  • 40: Which is your favorite original character, and why?
  • 41: What do you do when characters don’t follow the outline?
  • 42: Do you enjoy making your characters suffer?
  • 43: Have you ever killed a main character?
  • 44: What’s the weirdest character concept you’ve ever come up with?
  • 45: What’s your favorite character name?
  • 46: Describe your perfect writing space.
  • 47: If you could steal one character from another author and make then yours, who would it be and why?
  • 48: If you could write the next book of any series, which one would it be, and what would you make the book about?
  • 49: If you could write a collaboration with another author, who would it be and what would you write about?
  • 50: If you could live in any fictional world, which would it be?

Reminder: Kakashi loves you.

8

Re:Creators, episode 2:

“What’s this?”
“Stop! …This is an old drawing.”
“Then show me a new one.”
“That’s…”

anonymous asked:

Just curious-- what makes the 2009 Emma adaptation a work of art?

*cracks knuckles* *pulls out color coded binder* I’m so glad you asked.

I’ve seen a lot of Emma adaptations: Clueless, Emma (1996), Aisha, the other BBC series (the one with Kate Beckinsdale and Mark Strong), Emma Approved, and of course, the 2009 BBC Miniseries. The 2009 version is my favorite, it always has been, and it always will be. Most of that comes down to characterization, but it is also about the way it captures Austen’s story magnificently though language, set design, costuming, and music.

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anonymous asked:

For your Friday shipping prompts: Uliro post-war living after Zarkon's defeat (or victory)

So basically this became like. Vacation not quite ‘living’ but. Yes. ANYWAY. THANK YOU. 


Leaning over the railing, Shiro counted the Holans that milled about the courtyard. Vacation was still a word he couldn’t quite grasp; the idea of relaxation for relaxations sake, to not always be on call, to not be itchy and uncertain and three steps from an adrenaline clash, was horribly foreign. Allura had demanded all of them take a vacation after Zarkon, that the quiet would do them good. It was – nice.

A warm palm pressed to the small of his back, trailing up to rest heavy between his shoulder blades. Shiro smiled at Ulaz, kicking out a foot to nudge against Ulaz’s shin. Ulaz nudged back, before he slipped both arms around Shiro’s waist, slotting them together, and rested his chin on Shiro’s head.

“What are you looking at?”

Shiro tilted his head up, grinning wider when Ulaz grumbled at him. “I’m counting Holans. They like to congregate in the central plaza every three hours and I don’t know why.”

“You left our room to count our hosts?” Ulaz asked, leaning heavier against Shiro so he, too, could survey the Holans. Shiro bowed under the weight, secure and caged in, Ulaz’s palms warm against Shiro’s middle. This too was – nice. An added bonus to vacation time. Shiro rolled his shoulders back, squirming until Ulaz gave in and snuggled him closer. Perfect.

“Wanna play a game?”

Ulaz whuffed against Shiro’s hair. “I would prefer you return to our room.”

“Winner gets to choose our next activity.”

That got Ulaz’s attention. Shiro didn’t have to be facing him to know Ulaz’s ears had quivered in interest. “What is the name of the game?”

Shiro grinned. “I-Spy.”


Send me a ship and I will write you a smol

close the movement of the heavens
black abide the blood horizon
floating on the trooping waters
torpid washing on the shore;
soothe him with a fleeting lie
Hypnos, harvester of sorrow
he is tired of the world
chased his spirit by commanders
of a million injustices;
coward, scared and broken Hector
sought to rip his heart apart
chased like frenzied deer to die
—  fall of Patroclus
fragments

a Clara-centric ficlet || 391 words || AO3

Sometimes, Clara can remember bits of all the lives she’s lived, all the echoes that she made herself into once upon a time. A few times she gets an overwhelming sense of deja-vu, of nostalgia, when she looks out at what is a new-to-her vista. More times she wakes up gasping for air, wakes up with a scream hovering on her lips and about to escape.

(It’s not all memories of beautiful views and favorite tastes and a snippet of remembered love. It’s memories of dying over and over again in a hundred different ways that lead to the same result.)

(It’s a well of loneliness and longing that lives in a hard ball underneath her breastbone that she never quite understands, that never quite goes away.)

She wasn’t ever sure that “echo” was the right phrase for her doppelgangers scattered through time and space. They had her face, had bits of her personality ingrained in them but they were all products of their times, they all had their own lives independent of hers except for the goal of saving the Doctor.

(Clara told herself over and over that they all had their own lives, that they were independent people who made their own choices.)

(It didn’t stop her from feeling guilty over all the ones who died saving the Doctor.)

(It didn’t stop her from wishing that they would stay put in their own lives and stop haunting hers.)

Those nights she woke in a cold sweat it was with someone else’s memories in her head. It took hours to feel entirely like herself again, to pull her present self, the supposed original Clara Oswald, to the forefront.

(She blamed the dark circles under her eyes, the tiredness behind them, on Danny, on the Doctor, on her grief.)

(She never told anyone that she could remember lives she had never lived.)

(She was an English teacher, she was supposed to live thousands of lives through the stories she read, not through this fragmented version of reincarnation.)

(She bundled the secret close to her heart, next to that hard ball of loneliness and grief, and smiled at everyone until they forgot the darkness that clung to her like a lover.)

(Clara might be a thousand different people but she was a brilliant liar as each and every one of them.)

Mikasa as an (unofficial) member of No Name!

Moments of Togetherness, part one

Her hands move deftly as she applied the cream to her hair. Working with precision and purpose because time is of the essence. She stressed the importance of how she needed to be ready to finish within mere minutes or else the results would be outside of her expectations.

He aided with all the preparation beforehand. Helped her part her hair and clip sections. Applied oil to her ends and her scalp, basing and protecting is what she called it. Small kisses pressed along her shoulders as she worked sections in the front. Occasionally she’d pause, lips turning towards him, ready to receive the same attention and he happily obliged. His finger would graze her sides, trace them up and down, noting the ticklish spots and basking in her pleasant, melodic giggles.

In the Pathfinder’s cabin, it was just the two of them together in moments dressed in routine. Enjoying each other’s presence, spending time doing everything and nothing all at once. Adrift​ amongst the stars, they were afforded those moments of togetherness.