and his beloved note

Petrichor [Yoonmin - M]

Author’s Note: This became way longer than intended, but enjoy university!au Yoonmin; apologies if at times they seem a bit out of character. This is for the lovely fic exchange with @btsbound.

Word Count: 11,861 (lord help me)

Originally posted by myloveseokjin

pet·ri·chor ˈpeˌtrīkôr/


a pleasant smell that frequently accompanies the first rain after a long period of warm, dry weather.

There are very few things in the world that truly grate on Yoongi’s nerves.

  1. When the sunlight creeps in his bedroom window, on the days when he was up far too late the night before; albeit the countless number of times he’s shut the blinds (he’s positive he did), some always manages to sneak through, successfully waking him hours before his mind was ready.
  2. When his roommate (and best friend) Hoseok always steals the last banana milk, even if Yoongi writes his name all over the damn bottle. (It’s not that big, there’s not that much space to scribble on, you’d think he’d get the point after four years?)
  3. And finally, when his favorite study room is taken in the library, the one by the far back window where it’s warm, and honestly, the best place for Yoongi to sleep in between classes.

And as his luck would have it, one of the three things happened to him today. Needless to say, he was in a shitty mood.

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Ya know what I wanna see in DA4?

I wanna see the companions from Inquisition, getting hella defensive, protective, and angry over what Solas did to the Inquisitor, or just them in general. (Depending on whether you befriended them or not)

I wanna see Dorian sneer and throw an icey remark at some magister who talks shit about his Amatus. Cassandra pulling a sword on Solas cuz he’s so calm and she’s livid about what happened to her best friend.

Cullen making some kind of situational speech about all that his beloved sacrificed for the good of Thedas. Or on a lighter note, Varric telling the Inquisitor’s story, getting all nostalgic.

Just give me companions that loved their friend, and aren’t afraid to stand up for them, and defend them. I just know these characters are capable of that.

First Kiss

This idea has been floating in my head all day and I know it’s been done countless times before, but I needed to let it all out, and here we are. This is simply my take on first kisses with the boys, and perhaps I’ll do more of these in the future with other scenarios - feel free to send ideas in!

Originally posted by syubprince

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Smoulder Chapter 24

Summary: Confessions are made, akumas are fought, and feelings are had. Here we go guys! The big one…

*cue ‘in the rain’ music*

Read on AO3/ FF.Net

Smoulder Chapter 24

There wasn’t enough time.

Chat Noir watched Marinette transform into Ladybug, saw the familiar pink glow he’d gotten used to seeing from behind closed eyes. His eyes were open now, gazing in wonder as light surrounded the body of one of his first ever friends, as she transformed into his first love and became a perfect blend of the two. Like two colours merging on a canvas to create a masterpiece, like the notes on his beloved piano blending into a chord unheard by anyone else, like the girl herself- the result of cultures combining, of distance and separation overcome in the name of love.

Indeed, his eyes were open, but he didn’t have enough time to truly take in what he was seeing.

Marinette had discovered his identity, and Marinette was Ladybug.

He’d been right.

He’d been right!

Ladybug stood in front of him, tilting her chin in defiance, as if she was worried about his reaction- daring him to disapprove. But, why would he? How could he possibly think anything was wrong about this situation?

Was he stunned? Yes. Did he have questions? Of course, he had a million of them. Was he about to have an aneurysm? Most likely.

Still, out of all the thoughts and feelings cascading through his mind like an endless waterfall, one emotion stood clear above the rest. It caused his heart to float to the sky, his body to feel as though it were dancing on the moon and his soul to glow with the light of stardust. It was stronger than fear, more powerful than the shock he’d received, a feeling that would outlast all the others.

His mouth was bone dry and, as his lips parted, he tried to speak and found that he’d forgotten all the words he’d ever learnt. He closed him mouth again.

Ladybug shifted her gaze, nibbling her lip.

“L-like I said, it’s not ideal,” she winced, peering around him as the sounds of smashing became louder. Sebastian (she refused to call him Nice Guy, it was too ridiculous) was almost through Chat’s makeshift door lock. Her stomach felt like it had been put through a spin-cycle, her face turned to stone with how hard she grit her teeth. “I’m sorry, and I promise I’ll explain everything once we beat this guy ok? Superhero hats on, as Tikki would say.”

Superhero hats on?! What the hell are you saying Marinette! She cringed as her face burst into flame. If only she’d been able to stick to Operation: Dork Love’s script!

She was going to kick Sebastian’s ass from here to kingdom come and she was going to enjoy every. Single. Second. Probably more than she should, being a hero and all.

Unable to understand a word Ladybug said, for he was too tangled in the web of revelation, Chat simply nodded in response and hoped for the best. His limbs moved of their own accord and, before he knew it, his hands were cupping her face- his lady’s face- his Marinette’s face.

His Marinette…

Ladybug hadn’t noticed him moving closer until his hands were on her. Her breath hitched and she found herself caught in her own web, but one of euphoria and adoration instead of shock and awe. His hands were acceptance. Whatever tiny doubts she’d had were obliterated the second his calloused fingers skimmed against her skin, sending whispers of love wherever they touched.

“Chat,” Ladybug’s voice trembled as they grew closer, alarm bells in both their heads. They shouldn’t be doing this. They had bigger priorities, more pressing issues, and here they were pressing up against each other instead.

“Marinette,” he whispered back, in utter reverie if he was to be completely honest. He watched as her eyes began to close, their breath mingled, their lips about to meet.


The sound of the door of the men’s changing room finally caving in caused them to jump, and their foreheads smacked against each other’s. Both of them cried out in equal shock and pain, grasping their wounded heads- the moment completely shattered.

When Chat looked at Ladybug, she saw her face consumed by the same colour as her mask.

Livid was an understatement.

“My- my Lady?”

Ladybug span on her heel, stomping away, her feet slamming on the tiled floor with almost enough force to shatter it. I have had ENOUGH of being cockblocked by this asshole!

“Grab your baton and let’s finish this, Chat,” she growled and, when he didn’t reply, her darkened expression lightened. After all, it wasn’t Chat she was angry with. “The sooner we get rid of this akuma, the sooner we can- well- talk.”

Judging by the look she sent his way, talking wasn’t the only thing on her mind. At least he hoped so. God, he hoped so.

It was then that the realisation truly, truly hit him. His arms pinned to his sides, even his tail seemed to take on a life of its own- standing on end.

Oh my god I’ve been kissing MARINETTE. Oh my god I said ‘top notch’ in front of MARINETTE TWICE…and she STILL wants to kiss me!

Bad luck? What bad luck?! Bad luck could go suck it! He had the best lucky charm in the world and she was currently waving a hand in front of his face in total exasperation.

“Kitty, focus!” she said, torn between amusement and disapproval. A part of her couldn’t help but feel bad, at least she’d had some time to process things. “Bad guy first, remember?”

Chat erased the love-sick look from his face with a rough shake of his head.

“Yup. Bad guy first. Stuff after. Things. Yeah. No more Mister-Nice-Guy. Gotcha,” he nodded, his voice far away and his eyes somewhat glazed over.

His ability to pun, even in the midst of what appeared to be some sort of stroke, was truly something to behold. Ladybug was genuinely impressed.

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Up: Carl Fredricksen [INFP]


Introverted Feeling (Fi): Carl has a sensitive soul. His bond with Ellie is extraordinarily strong and intense and even after she’s dead, he carries on talking to her. However, he doesn’t mention his feelings to other people. His emotions can become overwhelming whenever someone does something triggering, like trying to take the letterbox he painted with Ellie. He knows what he wants to do: he wants to keep his home with all the meaningful items inside, and no one will send him into a retirement house!

Extroverted Intuition (Ne): Carl has strong imagination. When he wants to get rid of Russell, he tells him to catch an imaginary bird. He can be very good at inventing new ideas, like a flying house. Later, he invents the “Ellie Badge” for the kid. One of the reasons why he loves Ellie so much is because her dominant Ne helped him grow his auxiliary function.

Introverted Sensing (Si): Carl lives among old items and all of these items are meaningful to him. He always kept his Adventures Book and he cherishes his good memories. He enjoys his routine with Ellie: working at the zoo, picnics and so on.

Extroverted Thinking (Te): Carl is a bit of a procrastinator. It took him a lot of time before he decided to leave to the Paradise Falls. During the journey, he takes decisions and becomes the leader of the small group, even though he doesn’t like leading people.

Note: after he loses his beloved Ellie, Carl falls into a Fi-Si loop. He lives in the past, broods and is reluctant to take decisions. He gets out of the loop by activating his Ne and turning his house into a flying machine.

you don’t bring me flour

Pairing: Jungkook/Jimin
Author: namji
Rating: PG15
Genre: High School AU, Fluff, Humour
Summary: In order to graduate, Park Jimin must convince cute grocery cashier Jeon Jungkook that this sack of flour is his beloved child.

Admin Notes: omfg. it’s that trope where the characters hv to raise a fake kid together for a school project with a really hilarious twist. i died reading this it was rlly funny. yoongi’s kind of an asshole here but besides tht. IT WAS SO FUNNY. i felt rlly sorry for jimin. but it was so funny, nd the ending was super cute 

Link: AO3

Don’t forget to leave comments and kudos!
- admin nissi

anonymous asked:

i was wondering if you knew any good spirk sickfics? preferably where spock is sick but i will take anything lol


- What Would You Have Done by Valerie Piacentini [T] [1.7k]

Spock has a problem… First printed 1978 in Emanon 5

- Convalescing by Charlotte Frost [E] [15.9k] [minor squick]

Spock almost dies from a Vulcan “flu” and while Kirk nurses his bondmate he deals with running the Enterprise, along with the problems caused by a crewman’s crush on Spock

In Sickness and in Health by lah_mrh [G] [1.5k]

Spock has the flu. Kirk takes care of him.

- Phoenix by museaway [M] [24.4k]

When Spock contracts a rare life-threatening disease, Jim rushes to Vulcan to care for him after three months apart.


- A Cure for Migraines by twisting_vine_x [G] [3.7k]

Jim has a migraine. Spock offers him a head massage. Unexpected fluffiness ensues.

- Tarkalean Flu by AshayaTReldai [M] [2.8k]

Tarkalean flu comes around once every seven years. Doesn’t it?

- Away by AshayaTReldai [M] [6.6k]

Generations never happened. Jim ages, and Spock is left to watch time’s ravage of his beloved. A meditation on death and mortality.



if you read all that and want more, there’s a couple under the sick!spock and sick!jim tags at thyla-recs. i’ve written a few as well including Where We Belong (Jim with a migraine) and A Deeper Shade of Green (sick!Spock)

Love And Let Go

Castiel imagine requested by anon! “cas teaching your guys’s little boy or girl to ride their bike :D” I don’t usually accept requests this vague, but c’mon… this is adorable. Also, it took me a while to find an angelic name corresponding to innocence, so the kid’s name does actually have a meaning. Fun fact. This imagine has been edited for reposting to amp-up the details. Hope you like it!

The wind rustled through the trees like fingers over freshly fallen snow, crinkling and rustling all at once, carrying new beginnings on a breeze. The rotting foliage scratching against the gusts like crumpling paper, voicing their relocation as each gale tore through the air. The sun was setting behind the wavering horizon, fields of spindly grass bending and dancing as the winds propelled their masses, the air carrying the heady scent of autumn from all directions, swamping your senses with the warm hues and frail textures of fall. Castiel stood tall by your side, exuding warmth to combat the nip in the air, his arm on your lower back, his shoes leaving imprints in the dusty, long abandoned roadway as you strolled. Two slender arms encircled your leg, pudgy hands pressing against your knee, two stumpy legs struggling to keep pace with you and your husband’s pace. His dark hair tangled in the wind, masking the clear blue of his ocean eyes. Your hand instinctively flew down to run your fingers through the rat’s nest atop your son’s head, your little boy glancing up to meet your affectionate stare, his sapphire eyes reflecting unadulterated innocence and curiosity. He flashed you a pocketed smile, dimples diving deep into his full cheeks, his grin bearing the gap left behind by a lost tooth on the bottom. You took a mental note to ask Castiel to work behind the veil to place a few quarters underneath your son’s pillow; the toddler was far too wise to be fooled by tiptoeing foolishness. You had to pull out all the stops, angel mojo included, to preserve a normal childhood for the little hybrid stumbling alongside you. Castiel stopped walking, his hand smoothing along your spine, eyes scanning up and down the length of the path, his lips pursed as he settled the bike he’d been dragging along into the dirt. The hands on your leg clenched when your little boy noted the absence of his beloved training wheels, his eyes growing wide with uncertainty. Wise as he was, but he still feared a tumble, as any child would. That was the human in him talking. You knew Castiel could walk away from an inflamed eighteen-wheeler with barely a scratch on him, or nothing he couldn’t mend. You, on the other hand… well, you’d passed on your mortal vulnerability, among other traits. You grinned, staring down at the little fragmented mirror of yourself, his fingers clutching tighter to your leg. You bent to pat your child’s shoulder, nudging him towards the bicycle Castiel had stabilized, the angel’s hands too large for the down-sized handles.

“This is no different than the other times you’ve ridden, Elijah. We’ll catch you if you begin to fall,” your husband assured, extending an open palm in encouragement as he spoke, his eyes glued to his son, their gemstone irises nearly identical. Elijah tilted his face to better look to yours, his eyes questioning his father’s statement. You smiled, inching him closer to the bicycle until his hands gripped the handle, his hold unsure. You grabbed at his arm as he began to lift his leg with intent to mount the bike, shooting him a cautionary look as you secured a helmet to his head, being mindful of his chin as you clicked the strap into place, your palm resting against his dimpled cheek, his plump lips downturned in nervous fright. You kissed the tip of his nose, his little hands clasped together as his body swayed.

“You’ll be fine, honey. Mommy’s gonna be right behind you,” you promised, turning him towards Castiel, who kept his hold on the handlebars as Elijah moved to climb atop the bicycle, his hand on his son’s back as minuscule feet battled the spinning pedals, the wheels working against the dirt, propelling him forward. Castiel moved to crouch by Elijah’s side, his hand secured on Elijah’s back, guiding him in a straighter path than he had achieved on his own. Little sneakers shoving downward as he began to move forward, your own feet gravitating after your child. As Elijah gained speed, Castiel slowed, his hand leaving your son’s back to the mercy of his shaky balance, the angel’s arm shooting out to stop your from running after him, his forearm easing into your abdomen. His eyes were on yours, then, cautioning you, convincing you not to proceed without speaking stars shifting within his eyes as he voicelessly placed his logic on the table. You sighed, crossing your arms over your chest in controlled irritation. “Come on, Cas. He’s nervous. Just let me hover a little, alright? Just a little bit,” you whispered, your eyes shifting from your husband’s to your son’s fading figure, watching as the bike wobbled with every pulse of the pedals, dirt clouding in your son’s wake, spirals of displaced dust ignited by the last rays of the afternoon’s dying sun. Castiel shook his head, his body turned to you, his eyes glued to the bicycle’s trail despite his angled form.

“If he never experiences failure, he cannot possibly progress,” he stated, your feet moving together as if a spoken cue was given, trailing slowly after the speck on the horizon, ambling on in the direction you had set your son. The earth underfoot ground against itself as you applied your weight through each step, delicate particles supplying a forgiving cushion should Elijah fall. Which he would, whizzing away as he was, unsure how to slow or turn without the assistance of his training wheels. He was, without a doubt, going to crash. Your only uncertainty was if he’d ever want to hop back into the seat. It all depended on how hard he struck the earth, how fast he fell, how he struggled to maintain a fleeing balancing act. "Hovering is ideal, I agree with you on that point, but for his sake… he must learn to proceed even when his trust has failed him.“ You sighed, your jaw clenching. Of course he was right, but it went against any and every motherly instinct to allow your child to be hurt. You watched, helpless, as the bike teetered, your son voicing his instability, his terrified voice shaking as he called for you, for his father, the two people who promised they’d steady him should he stray from perfection. Castiel went rigid, his paternal instincts at war with his logic, just as your hormones were egging you forward, his hand grasping yours like you were the last life preserver to fall from the Titanic as it sank. You laced your fingers with his, transferring a nervous pulse to his palm, your breath coming in shallow puffs. Your son, in a last plea for help, turned his head back to where he assumed you were, panic painted all over his little face. With that, he was gone. Elijah’s bicycle toppled, the little boy rolling to the side with a huff, his small frame heaving as he cried, his wails carried by the gentle breeze, squealing over the rustling of the drying leaves. Castiel tightened his grip on your hand, his feet inching his body closer to yours, and the little boy suddenly laid at your feet, the bike’s pedals still turning in their unbroken loop, spokes whirring against the dirt. It had taken all but a second to travel to your son’s side. The angel mojo certainly helped with rescue missions, that much was a given. Tears streaked your son’s cheeks, dripping through the thin collection of dust on his face, his head bent over his arm, a minor scrape dripping crimson droplets of blood onto the dirt below.

Castiel removed himself from your side as he knelt beside his son, his hands expertly lifting the tyke’s plump arm, fingers barely touching the skin to spare his child any unnecessary pain during the healing process. Full, dumpy tears rolled over his flushed cheekbones, his lip quivering at the shock of pain. Castiel nodded as he assessed the damages, his eyes on the dirtied wound and pebbles clinging to the open flesh. You lowered yourself beside Elijah, your heart breaking when his glossy eyes fell on you, his lower lip protruding as he sobbed, his eyes shining like polished glass from the production of tears. Castiel touched the pad of his index finger to your son’s injury, a bright white illuminating their skin where their bodies met. Elijah’s cries ebbed slightly, his attention overwhelmed by the warmth of his father’s touch, the light shattering silvers and emeralds within his irises. When Castiel retracted his hand, the scrape had vanished, and the flow of saltwater from your son’s eyes had ceased. The little boy dragged his opposite arm across his eyes, collecting moisture as he went, clearing his vision of tears to better examine his father’s handiwork.

"See? All better,” Castiel exhaled, his lips upturned in a timid grin, Elijah’s free hand wiping at the remainders of the watery trails, his skin stretching as he swiped the back of his hand underneath his eye, cleaning up his original attempts to clear his face of sadness. “Are you alright?” Castiel inquired, guilt already poisoning his eyes, the identical irises starring back at him with pitiful accusation and something close to pained aggravation, if only a faint shadow appeared.

“You left me,” he accused, pouting over his words, his eyes locked on his father, though his head bent towards the ground, his breathing ragged from crying. You bent further, lowering yourself to the young boy’s level as you pulled him into your chest, little arms throwing themselves over your shoulders, hands clasped around your neck with a firm conviction, as if he never wished to be parted from you. You felt another spell of chilling tears strike the fabric on your collarbone, soaking through to your skin. Castiel straightened the bike as his son recovered from the first of many tumbles.

“I know, baby, but you didn’t need our help. You were doing so well!” you soothed, smoothing your palms over his back. After a few minutes, you leaned away, his eyes red-rimmed, but dry. You offered a smile, watching his cheeks dimple against his will as his own lips moved to mirror yours. “You did so well. You were so fast, too! You’re a natural,” Elijah beamed, sniffling as he did so, his cheeks flushing with pride. Castiel’s eyes caught yours, then, a silent question ringing through the air. You nodded in his direction, lowering your gaze to your son, his arms still tight around your neck. “You wanna try again?” His eyes, cast to the ground, locked on your face, excitement blooming in his ocean eyes, the toe of his sneaker digging into the dirt as he fidgeted. He nodded, moving back towards his father, who shot you a triumphant look. You rolled your eyes at the angel, earning a hearty chuckle as your son mounted his two-wheeled steed once more. With a push, Elijah was back in action, zooming down the dusted road to another inevitable injury. Castiel grinned, victory adorning his features in a most charming manner, his hands moving to your waist, holding your back to his chest, his arms wound around your torso as you watched your son teeter and steady. He pressed his lips to your cheek, prompting your face to turn to his, his mouth connecting with yours in an instant, the fleeting warmth the sun provided replaced by the rush of his kiss. His tongue darted over your lower lip, only backing away when you heard the mechanical breakdown that was your son, another wail prompting Castiel to zap the both of you to the sight of the wreckage, his healing hands mending a bloodied knee, Elijah hopping back onto the bike almost immediately after his impromptu doctor’s appointment, urging his father to steady the bicycle so he could continue to ride. As he raced away, Castiel’s hand found yours once again, the fading light captured in his glowing eyes. You laid your head on his shoulder, watching your son pedal away, an explosion of dust expanding behind him.

johnny probably has his own cute little corner in sm’s dungeon. he probably has shinee and exo posters up, signed back in 2007 and 2011 respectively. pictures of his family, his beloved family,,, oh how he misses them. countless birthday notes. several diaries, “day 3092, still haven’t debuted yet”

Ink Stains and Aquariums (Ashton Irwin Blurb)

Relationship: Ashton x Reader


Masterlist l Requests 

Author’s Note: Okay this is my favorite Ashton one I’ve ever written and one of my favorites overall. I want to be taken to the aquarium on a date so bad! 

Ashton was a writer. He carried around his leather bound journal with him wherever he went. Opening it delicately to preserve the binding, he smiled at the way the pen flowed gracefully on the paper. His words staining the blank pages, filling them with his inner thoughts and struggles.

Ashton was a writer and yet here he was in a marine biology lecture. While everyone next to him was tentatively taking notes, Ashton was focused on his journal. The words of the professor becoming background noise to his inner monologue. This was a weekly occurrence for him. He had no interest in the lessons that were being taught, he was simply there to get the credit in order to graduate. That was until the day, you talked to him.

It would be a lie to say that Ashton hadn’t noticed you; in fact, he had noticed you the first day of class. You were seated in the second row near the aisle, your notebook opened to a fresh page, the pen perched in your hand ready to write. Ashton gravitated towards you. He took the seat to your left, not even bothering to ask if you were saving it for someone.

Ashton went half the semester without you uttering a single world, until the day you forgot your pen. You rushed in only moments before the professor was set to begin the lecture. Taking a breath you got yourself situated until you realized you had left your pen in your last class. It was in that moment that Ashton felt a sheepish tap on his shoulder, followed by the hushed words from your mouth. He went back to his dorm after class and wrote about the exchange. How your voice was like silk, sending calming shocks through his entire being. The way your hand felt through the fabric of his shirt on his shoulder. The wide eyed look you had in your eyes, like forgetting your pen was worse than failing a test. He wrote about it all.

After that, Ashton made a point to talk to you every day. He would pretend to not have his pen, which he always had. He’d ask to borrow a piece of paper because god forbid the horrid notes touch the pages of his beloved journal. When he was feeling rather brave, he’d even pay you a compliment which you shyly accepted before turing your attention back to the power point.

The day the professor announced an extra credit opportunity was the second happiest day of Ashton’s life. The local aquarium was doing a half priced student day and all the professor wanted from the class was a one page paper about what they learned while there. Ashton didn’t quite care about getting the extra credit - as far as he was concerned a C was good enough for him - but he did care about you. So as class came to an end that day, he mustered up the courage to ask you to accompany him to the aquarium that weekend. In his head the exchange went perfectly, in reality his words stumbled out of his mouth, getting caught at the end. With the sincerest smile he’d ever seen you give him, you agreed.

When Saturday rolled around, he was a bundle of nerves. With his trusty journal in hand, Ashton walked to your dorm building where he waited eagerly outside until you showed. The ride to the aquarium was quite which didn’t help Ashton’s nerves. He began to doubt his bold gestures as he pulled into the parking lot. There was a moment where he thought about backing out but he decided to stay.

The both of you got to talking at the ticket booth, with him eager to pay for ticket. Once that was settled, the both of you made your way into the grand entrance of the aquarium. While you marveled at the grand fish tank and whale fossil hanging from the ceiling, Ashton stood a few feet behind admiring you. Ashton was just about to reach for the pen buried deep in his pockets, when you boldly grabbed his hand and tugged him forward. Surprised by the action, he stumbled over his feet for a moment before his steps fell in tune with yours.

“Hey look it’s a Dory,” Ashton said, pointing to the blue fish swimming closest to where the two of you were standing.

“That’s a Blue Tang,” you corrected. “They’re super cool ‘cause they become semi transparent when they feel they’re in danger.”

“They should have made Dory transparent in Finding Nemo when they were with the sharks.”

You chuckled before breaking into a giant smile. “See that orange and green fish over there? That’s my favorite! They’re called Rainbowfish.”

“Like the book?”

“Mhmm, though they really don’t look like the book illustration much.”

You continued to name off the different types of fish in the tank while Ashton found a bench to sit on just behind you. With your ramblings as background noise, Ashton documented the conversation the two of you just had. Detailing the way your nose scrunched up when he called the Blue Tang fish Dory and how your lips tugged upwards when you saw your favorite fish.  He wrote about how you eagerly waited for the aquarium staff to feed the fish and nearly squealed in delight as they all swam to the surface. He wrote quickly, his penmanship suffering, as he tried to keep up with you.

You moved on from the fish tanks in exchange for the tiny outdoor area of the aquarium. It was there that Ashton learned more about your knowledge of these animals. Maybe if you were the professor he wouldn’t be getting in the C in the class. Ashton followed you as you made your way to a tiny open pool. It was there that Ashton got to feel your hands once more as you placed a starfish in the palm of his hands. He was convinced the tingly sensation in his hands was from your touch rather than the starfish. From there the two of you found yourself at the sting ray tank. With your hands submerged in the water, Ashton was tempted to intertwine your fingers but never got a chance too. The sting rays passing at his finger tips instead.

It wasn’t until the two of you were back inside, did Ashton pull out his journal again. You were pressed against the glass enclosing the otters, intently watching their mannerisms leaving Ashton to escape to his solace. He was so deep in his own words that he didn’t realize you had joined him on the bench.

“What do you write in there?”


“You’re always writing in that in class but they’re never notes.”

“How do you know they’re not notes?”

“You write slowly. There’s no way you could be writing down what Professor Torez is saying,” you said. “Is it a diary?”

“No it’s not a diary,” Ashton grumbled. “It’s a journal. I’m a writer, I like writing.”

“I’m not good at writing,” you said scrunching your nose. “I’m good at marine biology though.”

“I can tell,” Ashton chuckled.

“Maybe I can read what you write sometime. You know ‘cause you know I’m good at telling fish apart but I don’t really know if you’re a good writer.”

The thought of anyone getting their hands on Ashton’s journal was enough to send him into full fledge panic but for some reason he liked the idea. It was no surprise you were good at marine biology - your A in the class was proof - but Ashton felt like he was the only one who knew how much you knew about the topic. It was as if Ashton was the only one worthy of your knowledge and excitement over fish. The least he could do was let you witness him in the same vulnerable state.

“Yeah, I think I’d like that but I have a condition.”


“I’ll let you read something I’ve written if you let me take you to get dinner when we leave here.”


The day the extra credit project was brought up was the second happiest day of Ashton’s life because this was the first.

Hair of the Dog That Bit You

A post-Mardi Gras / pre-Valentine’s Day tale filled with plenty of crack and just a smidgen of smut. Set in the same universe as the Say Cheese stories.

Hannibal is removing a quiche from the oven when he hears the shambling steps. Setting the food on the kitchen island to cool, he moves silently to the doorway to observe his love.

Will stumbles down the palatial marble staircase in his boxers. Curls wild, and one eye still squinting at the daylight flooding the house, he is concentrating very hard on walking, each step slow and uneven. Hannibal notes that his beloved is wearing one slipper, having either forgotten or given up hope of finding the other.

Noiselessly retreating into the warmth of the kitchen, Hannibal prepares a coffee in Will’s favorite mug. The white ceramic vessel, a gift from Hannibal on their second anniversary, is emblazoned with blood spatter and the words Murder Husband 1. Its twin sits by Hannibal’s newspaper. As Will enters the kitchen, Hannibal wordlessly offers the mug. Will latches onto the proffered drink like it’s a lifeline. Heedless of the heat, he takes a swallow.  

“Was it you or the whiskey that did this to me?” Will croaks from behind the mug.

“I am responsible only for the bite marks on your neck, and perhaps some sore muscles,” Hannibal whispers, leaning in to nip at Will’s ear. The empath makes an interested noise, before shifting and letting out a pained groan. Hannibal takes mercy on his mongoose and moves away. “Any damage done to your liver was self-inflicted.”

“I might have gotten carried away.” Three mighty gulps and Will hands his empty coffee cup to Hannibal, who refills it with a small smile.

“I don’t know, I found the whole thing rather charming. Until you started assaulting me with jewelry.”

The night before, Will slapped his fifth whiskey on the bookshelf and spent the better part of an hour dancing on Hannibal’s Biedermeier coffee table, yelling about a good Old Fashioned New Orleans celebration. The doctor’s protests of boot scuffs and improper coaster usage died when Will started rolling his hips in time to the blaring Zydeco music. Transfixed by the sight of his very own private dancer, Hannibal was caught by surprise when a string of cheap plastic beats whipped around his face.

“It’s Mardi Gras! You’re supposed to throw beads at sexy people. Then they flash you, that’s how it works! It’s not my fault you’re a prude.” Hannibal’s hand freezes over the kitchen bar, withholding the refilled mug. “Oh come on, you’re a sexy prude!”

“As much as I enjoyed your homespun take on the holiday, the next time you want to celebrate Mardi Gras, we could go to Carnival.” Hannibal sniffs, handing Will the coffee. He picks up the quiche and heads into the dining room, where the table is already set. Will notes with a smirk that his cannibal had artfully draped the plastic beads between the fresh blooms of the centerpiece.

“You just want to buy us fancy masks and go swanning around the city in tuxedos. Pass.” Will flops in his chair and watches as Hannibal serves the quiche.

“Better than being pelted with plastic beads by a drunk wanting me to, what were you yelling? Oh yes, shake what my momma gave me.” 

“I’m sorry you were offended, my love.” Will says around a mouthful of quiche. “It’s hard to remember what a sensitive little buttercup you are sometimes. Remind me, who’s in this quiche?”

“The man who struck my car last Saturday.”

“Well, I’m glad the beads only hit your face, it might have been me on the plate.” Will pauses and brings a hand to his neck. “Actually, judging from my neck, you did get a little hungry last night.”

“Incorrigible.” Hannibal says fondly, lofting a bite of the quiche to his mouth. “If that’s your idea of a proper Mardi Gras celebration, I shudder to think what you’ll deem an appropriate Valentine’s Day gift.”

“I thought I’d just tie a red ribbon around my dick and be done with it,” Will raises an eyebrow. Hannibal’s mouth twitches and Will takes a triumphant sip of coffee.

“Ah,” says Hannibal casually. “We will be getting each other the same thing this year.”

Will sputters coffee across the table, which Hannibal dodges with the ease of someone who had been expecting the reaction.

“There’s no need of histrionics, Will. Just let me know what shade of red you’re planning on so that we don’t clash.”

Hannibal is already pouring Will a fresh cup of coffee, looking far too satisfied with himself for Will’s liking.

“Change in plan, I’m getting you a gag for Valentine’s Day.” Will wipes at his nose, idly contemplating whether snorting hot coffee would damage his sinuses. When he meets Hannibal’s eyes, shining with amusement, Will realizes what he’s said.

“That sounds like a most interesting gift, Will. Were you planning on buying one? Or do you already have an object you wish to put in my mouth?” Hannibal is using his psychiatrist voice to mask his mirth. Will’s face burns as he watches Hannibal stir some fresh cream into the mug before lasciviously licking the spoon. Will’s tongue feels thick in his mouth as he reaches for the coffee.

“You should give up innuendo for Lent.” Will mutters into the coffee. He keeps his eyes down and pretends the heat in his cheeks is a reaction to the steaming beverage. He stabs at his quiche, petulantly refusing to eat the last bites.

“Fair enough. I shall.” Hannibal says with a small nod. He takes one final bite of quiche, carefully wiping his mouth before he speaks again. “I was going to spend the next 20 minutes teasing you back to our bed, but in light of my concession to the Holy Father, I’ll be forthright: Will, you have 60 seconds to finish your coffee and get back to bed. Your compliance will determine whether I spend the next hour with my mouth on your cock or teasing you with fleeting touches while you’re tied to the bed.”

Will drops his fork.

“Was that innuendo-free enough to please our lord Jesus?” Hannibal looks genuinely curious. Will blinks. Hannibal’s lips curl softly. “Forty-five seconds.”

The scrape from Will’s chair against the ancient hardwood floor echoes throughout the house. As Will scrambles up the steps, a flood of arousal making his hungover limbs clumsy, he can hear Hannibal slowly walking behind him.

“Fifteen seconds.”

Will wonders if he’ll survive the next 40 days.

Did you enjoy it? See how Hannigram celebrates Valentine’s Day here

{Old letter} You are my tattoo

Written by: Kim Jaejoong for his beloved members.

Note: “You are my tattoo” is a letter Jaejoong wrote for the members during their fourth album. 

English trans: heavenswine

Yoochun: You don’t say much usually but writing this down using these kind of words, make me a little embarrased. I know you’ve been very tired recently, worried and forcing a smile out. We are always together but the other members are unable to see your sadness but the hard words have to be said out. If you’re tired tell me. I will help you.

I will also listen to all your troubles because I’m always by your side. you can tell me anything and everything, the soul of my life.

Yoochun I love you.

Junsu: My cute Junsu. Because of you we are DBSK. Junsu the sound of DBSK. Kim Junsu, hyung really thinks you’re important; do you know? I have never forced you to do anything and you have always treated me seriously. Sorry but I love you, my cute little brother Junsu. Thank you and sorry. As compared to many others, hyung really understand your past and wants to help you. This is why please continue working hard.

I love you, Junsu!

Changmin: Our small and cute cat. We have been making you do the cooking recently. Sorry. Because of you we have almost become closer, frustrating. However we totally understand it is due to your fatigue and your lost energy when you ocasionally tease us and command us to do stuff.

We are all almost crazy…hahahaha….always with a good heart and full of innocence, Changmin. You must continue working hard next time. We are always protecting you, if you’re tired you must say it and we will help you.

Forever the youngest, I love you.

Yunho: Jung Yunho Yunho U-know our leader, Yunho. Are you tired recently? My Yun Ho, the reason he became the leader is because he has to tolerate all the hardships. Whenever I see your fatigue body I think that way. I want to be your shoulder to share some burden but I’m always unable to. I know when we received the award the other members were crying but you were holding it in and only hid in the toilet and cry when we reached home.Therefore thank you for your letter but what was the content of the letter? “Sleep earlier, if you don’t sleep I will kill you”. Yunho, there would be not me if not for you.

My other half, Yunho. I love you.

There were some words I change cause they didn’t make too much sense literally.


Title: Rogue

One Shot

Author: so-small-so-annoying

Original Imagine: Imagine Loki finding you weeping quietly after just losing your pet and tentatively putting his arms around you. Imagine him, in a moment of empathy, being moved by your grief and closeness to confess to feelings of bereavement after losing a beloved animal of his own.

Rating: T

Notes/Warnings: N/A

You had been holed up in your room for the better part of the day, and had absolutely no intentions of coming out, possibly for the next week, at the least. You knew it was totally irrational to be so upset, but even with all the advance warning, you still had not been ready for today… Tears streaked down your already damp cheeks as you lay on your side, knees pulled up to your chest, sniffling, as you stare at the empty spot on the bed where Rogue should be. You could still picture the scruffy black cat, just a tiny kitten when you’d first found him outside your apartment nearly thirteen years ago, blinking his large green eyes at you. Even as he’d gotten older and grown larger and somewhat grouchier, as only a cat could, he’d always kept those big green eyes.

Keep reading

The Alchemist of H’arkenlowe

I want to start reworking on some of the characters I’ve done previously, starting with Bagúr and Elfir (Traum didn’t need much work lol) while keeping it simple. I also want to start working on the many “antagonists” (a term I use loosely) and supporting roles that Illyut and co. meet, so on the Northern Side we have the War Lord Sratha (far left), and Prince Esterk (far right). I’m not gonna get deep into the backstory of these two since I plan to do so later including other people.

将軍 スラサーWarlord Sratha is the de facto leader of the Ermehn armies who serves under the king. A ruthless warrior and brilliant tactician, his goal is to defend Harkenlowe and kill off the Canid and the Sunsgrove Alliance. He relies on his trusted friend and personal aide Bagúr to help support his cause with creating various items for the army.

王子 エスターク Prince Esterk is the son of Slaith, the current *cough*andfinal*cough* Ermehn King and Sratha’s pupil. He’s been engaged in the war ever since he was a young boy and those growing years molded him into fierce and deadly warrior. Like Bagúr, he also studied Alchemy to further help with the war effort and while he’s not a master at it, he’s very talented. Talented enough to be able to create a whip like sword that he personally uses in combat. His wish is to protect his beloved people from total annihilation.

Just a note with Esterk……………I’m not implying anything in terms of his appearance *whistles and walks away*