and it's the fourth time i say 'happy birthday' to her

Happy Birthday am2c!

We apologize that your gift is late @am2c! We hope you had a great Birthday! To help celebrate your special day, the wonderful @ally147writes has written a special Everlark story just for you! Enjoy!

On the Cusp

AN: Happy Birthday to the prompter! I fear this got a little more angsty than what you probably wanted, but I hope I balanced the worry and the fluff enough for you :) Apologies for the rushed end — I had about a thousand problems with my computer you don’t want to know about… But if anyone’s interested, I’ll be expanding on this one in the future.

I did write this with everyone on the cusp of a milestone birthday in mind (including myself), so I hope everyone enjoys it and maybe takes something away.

Rated M-ish for language.

Whenever Peeta Mellark envisioned his thirtieth birthday, back when the occasion was still far-off and hazy with dreams, he imagined a few milestones might have been ticked off his ‘Before Thirty Bucket List’:

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katlady13  asked:

Hi! My birthday is April 24th and I'd love to read everlark where Peeta thinks he's lost Katniss somehow, like a misunderstanding or even some kind of accident, but everything works out in the end. Love the drama/angst, and I'm down for any rating (but let's be real, the smuttier the better bc it's my birthday lol). No infidelity please! Tytyty! You are awesome!

Originally posted by heybuckaroohowareyou

Happy Birthday! There is definitely some angst in this one. Thanks for having a birthday so we can all enjoy this great story! And thank you to @katnissdoesnotfollowback for writing and submitting it. She’s been a MAJOR contributor to this blog, as have many others, and we can’t thank her enough. Links to part one & part two if you haven’t read them yet. Enjoy! I know we did. 

Happy Birthday! Hope you enjoy this somewhat angsty story. Hugs and lots of love to you on your special day!

All’s Fair - Part 3

WARNINGS: RATED E for language, PTSD, and smut. Mostly the rating is for the smut. SMUT I SAY!

A/N: HR in this instance stands for Human Remains. There’s no gore or graphic violence in this, but there is a healthy dose of angst. Thank you @peetabreadgirl for pre-reading.


My boots scrape the pavement as I stop to stare up and down the parking lot aisles. I find at least four Jeep-shaped vehicles under black covers and sigh, drop my bag on the pavement, and search through the pockets for my keys. Not even my car keys, either. Customs fucked up my packing job and I’m pretty sure they wound up back in my footlocker. I find the keys I need underneath a half empty bottle of Gatorade and unlock my trunk, rummaging around until my fingers find the canvas ribbon on my at home keychain. Yanking them out, I listen to the jingle of home with the distant growl of a C-130 spooling up its engines. The humid North Carolina air presses down on my lungs and I blink in the fading light.

It’s late. I’m exhausted and hungry. And the red REMOVE BEFORE FLIGHT tag on my keys is a one-two punch to the face. I don’t even know where he is right now. He was supposed to be home sometime last week, although I don’t know the exact date, but the fact that he wasn’t here to meet me means he was delayed somewhere. Or something far worse that I am not prepared to contemplate on four hours of shitty sleep on a cramped rotator flight and an empty stomach.

Pocketing my car keys, I slam my footlocker shut and lock it back up, hefting my bag back on my shoulder and hauling the trunk onto its wheels to continue my solitary trek. I hit the lock button on the key fob twice and hope my battery didn’t die while I’ve been gone. I’ve got jumpers, but no one I feel comfortable inconveniencing. Most of the others have already gone home. Prim couldn’t be here this time, unable to get away from med school. Mom’s too sick to travel. Gale’s still somewhere in Fallujah, I think. At least, that’s the last place I ran into him.

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sidney crosby // rise and fall

warnings: none

who: sidney x reader

premise: you get in your first real fight


Sidney was the easiest person to get along with. That was one of the reasons you loved him: his mellow, agreeable personality. Sure he was passionate, the most passionate individual you had ever encountered, but he knew how to make a relationship work: compromise and understanding.

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I made this special darkstache edit for @markired since it’s her birthday! I know how much she loves this ship. (Her headcanons sucked me in this hell.) Happy Birthday, Kylo!

Aaaaa how do I even begin this?? Kylo, you’re so Cool tbh??? I didn’t plan out what to say here. This is the third or fourth time I’ve written it so I’ve given up on coherent sentences at this point.

Uh, okay. I don’t wanna get super sappy here, but… You’re such a huge inspiration to me. So, before I followed you, I’d gotten out of the fandom for a while. About a year, I think? But I came back and followed you. I saw your edits and aesthetics and I thought: “That’s what I wanna do. I can make that.”

Aaaaaaah I’m sorry if this got too sappy. Keep doing what you’re doing, Kylo, because honestly? You’re super good at it. I hope you have a fantastic rest of the day!

It's a love story

pairing: steve x reader

au. once you touch your soulmate you feel an instant connection and you never want to leave your soulmates side.

Plot: you have just joined the team and Natasha invites you to Steve’s birthday party so you can meet the team. When you shake the birthday boys hand neither one of you wants to let go.

a/n I’m sorry it took so long and its not posted on steves birthday but i hope you like it.

Originally posted by imaginingbucky

A fish out of water. That’s exactly how you felt as you wandered around the party in the averages compound. You had just recently been recruited to join the team by Natasha and she insisted on you coming so she could introduce you to the team. When you arrived at the party you were relieved that you spotted Natasha right away and went straight towards her “oh my gosh you made it ! ! !”

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Misconceptions-Chapter 4

Pairings: Bucky x Reader, Natasha x Bucky, Platonic Tony x reader.

Warnings: Violence. Badly written violence. Angst, the tiniest amount of fluff in the world, THE BABY IS HERE!! The lullaby is in Afrikaans, my ma used to sing it to my sisters. 

Translation for the lullaby:

Monday’s child is fair of face,
Tuesday’s child is full of grace,
Wednesday’s child is full of woe,
Thursday’s child has far to go,
Friday’s child is loving and giving,
Saturday’s child works hard for his living,
& the child that is born on the Sabbath day
Is bonny and blithe, and good and gay.

Guys i’m not sure about this chapter. But it needed to happen. Happy reading!

(Also i know Adriana is six weeks old, and this lil’ cutie is at least 4, but i could not for the life of me find what i was looking for, and this pic was the closest i got)


 “Buck” you call out, walking into the living room, “Stevie’s looking for you, you missed training” you look up from your phone, Nat’s holding Bucky’s hand looking guilty as sin, Bucky looks like it physically hurts to look away from her “Uh guys?’ suspicion clouding your tone, “Everything alright in here?” “yeah kitty cat, Nat was jus’ helpin a fella out, didn’ know what ta get my best girl for her birthday” Buck replies. Your eyes are fixed on Natasha, she never could hide anything from you “Nat?” you venture “Nat what’s going on?” “Buck’s a clueless procrastinator, I was helping him pick out something special sestra” she’s lying. You know she is. Your traitorous heart latches on to the lie like you need it to breath “Natalia” you warn her “Don’t lie to me” “I wouldn’t (y/n), honestly I don’t know what’s going on with you lately, but stop projecting onto me” She storms past you, Bucky following close behind her. Shit.

 6 months later 

 You curse as you unsuccessfully try and tie your shoes, your spectacularly huge baby bump impeding the most mundane of tasks, you didn’t know what you were expecting, you’re carrying the child of a genetically enhanced giant with fabulous hair, your half expecting the baby to come out walking if you’re completely honest with yourself. You’re alone, by choice, you have no one to blame for your current predicament but yourself. Tony tries, he calls twice a week if he can, sometimes he doesn’t call at all, your melancholy has been slowly suffocating you, your hair has lost its shine, your eyes are dull, voice scratchy from disuse, “I’m going insane” you muse “This baby is fixing to pop any day now and I’ve lost my ever loving mind” you feel the power leaking out of you, your control slipping as you slip deeper into your panic, objects are hovering and vibrating in mid-air, the windows of your 4th floor apartment cracking as you desperately fight for some semblance of control, you laugh, an inhuman sound that shatters the mirror in front of you, chunks of glass hovering a few feet from the floor, the power a tangible thing that you can see in front of you, wrapping around you like a deadly vice clawing at the remnants of your sanity. No no please no, CONTROL IT. You’re screaming at yourself, windows shattering and furniture splintering with the weight of your emotion, grasping onto the first image that flies into your head, Bucky smiling at you, the real no holds barred smile he reserves for the truly fortunate, memories replaying in your mind of happier times, Natasha laughing at a prank Sam pulled, Steve blushing as you recount a particular interesting dalliance, Sam rugby tackling you at the fourth of July football game, Tony soothing you after another failed relationship. Family. My family. Your heart beat calms, syncing with the beat of the babies, a deep steady rhythm that has you coming back to yourself gasping and spluttering as you try and balance your emotions and your power, ignoring the ache that shoots through your chest when you think of his face, his laugh, his smile. “no” you chastise yourself ‘it’s not just you anymore (y/n), this baby needs you, she only has you, pull your shit together kitty. Woman the fuck up.” Decision made you abandon the sneakers and opt for a pair of ballet flats instead.

4 days later you give birth to a beautiful baby girl, with a full head of raven black hair and the greenest eyes you have ever seen. It physically hurts to look at this perfect mixture of you and Bucky and your heart breaks all over again, reliving the pain of the horrible words and your hasty departure on a loop in your head. That is until she looks at you, unfathomable devotion to this tiny person flares in your chest, and you know. You know, that no matter how deeply broken you are, you would give anything for her, withstand any torture, kill a thousand men if it would make her happy. She will never know, you promise yourself, she will never know pain. 

 You name her Adriana. You sign Barnes as her last name. you can’t figure out what compelled you to do so.  You have accepted you are never going to see James again.

6 weeks later: “Shh Ari baby, mamochka is just warming up your bottle” you try to quiet the crying child in your arms, singing softly “Maandag se kindjie is wonderskoon, in dinsdag se kindjie sal grasie woon, woensdag se kindjie is altyd bly,donderdag se kindjie sal alles kry, vrydag se kindjie is lief dog sterk, saterdag se kindjie sal altyd werk,en n kindjie gebore op sabbatdag is vol wysheid of hy werk of lag.” She gurgles happily “ssh Adriana” you whisper. Stretching out your senses you scan the building, too many people, 16 altogether, armed. Shit. Grabbing your phone, you shoot off a quick text and strap Ari to your chest in a baby carrier, “You gotta keep quiet for me Ari, Mama’s gotta kick butt and she’s a bit outta practice” Adriana sobers instantly, staring at you with her wide green eyes, you know she understands you, you can feel her power. “Alright baby” you say, grabbing the dual katana’s off the fireplace, sticking the gun hidden underneath the hearth into the front of your pants “this aint going to be pleasant.” You shove the throwing knives into your boots, you can feel your attackers’ minds, like a hive, swarming and busy, one coherent thought between them: take them alive.

Nope, not happening, you think. “Alright bitches, bring it” you yell as the first agent crashes through the window, he barrel rolls into a crouching position aiming a taser right where Ari is strapped to your chest. “Not my daughter you bitch” you scream, gracefully swinging the katana, severing his neck. 3 more enter through the door, grabbing the glock from the front of your jeans you take them out in rapid succession. Racing out the door way you head for the stairs when you’re roughly yanked backed, roots of your hair smarting at the force, neck straining with the pressure, you elbow your assailant in the solar plexus, driving a hard kick into his knee, breaking the kneecap, he grunts as he falls. You knee him in the face for good measure, tugging the knives out of your boots and expertly throwing them at the two agents racing up the stairs. You catch one in the throat and the other in the eye. This isn’t working, there’s too many, they will out man me eventually, you’re two stories up, there’s a lull in the fight oh god this is going to hurt, you send out your mind to find the remaining agents, gently prodding into their consciousness, they can’t detect you, not yet, not if this is going to work, you wait until they get closer, reeling them in slowly, and with one final push you channel everything you’ve got into their heads liquefying their brains. You fall to your knees, gritting your teeth against the exhaustion. Need to get up, need to move. MOVE. You limp your way to the exit, cradling Ari against your chest avoiding the stares of passers-by, getting into the car waiting for you, you bark out “Stark tower. Now” 

 15 minutes later you’re stomping into the Avengers tower screeching “ANTHONY FUCKING STARK! HOW THE FUCK DID HYDRA FIND ME” Only to come face to face with the man you’ve been avoiding for 8 months. You pale, Ari making distressed noises against your chest, Bucky’s eyes flicker to her and back to you, shock apparent on his face. “Well shit” you breath.

Tags: You guys are all perfect and i love you. OK? if you arent getting tagged please let me know so i can fix it lovelies.

@beckyyyyyx3 @smile-sugar @buckybear97 @i-had-a-life-once @minxyvixen @tilltheendwilliwrite @crownedloki @whyisbuckyso @redroomproperty @imgettingmarriedtobuckbarnes @griseldaevn @marvelous-fvcks @denialanderror @gingerbatchwife @chipilerendi @an-unholy-confession @wheresthekillswitch @melconnor2007 @marshmellowgems11 @38leticia @awinterloveuniverse @iamwarrenspeace @krissyxkitten @akiiiiiiiiiii @justreadingfics @adellyhatter-blog @christynjay @jessi909 @buckyappreciationsociety @youreaninjaturtle-blog @geekyambz0938 @aquabrie @gypsycat111 @avenravenforever

litlifelover  asked:

Hey guys! LOVE your work, thank you for always making people happy on their special day. I would be really happy if I could get one for my birthday? It's March 23rd, and I love established college Everlark, something funny to read, with sexy times (explicit or not is totally up to the author). :) Thank you so, so, so much!!!

Originally posted by itadakimasu-letmeeat

Happiest of birthdays @litlifelover ! To help you celebrate, we’ve put together a little Everlark afternoon delight, just for you! Enjoy!

rated E

The door slams shut behind Katniss as she heads for the elevator. It opens again almost immediately and Peeta rushes out. But she doesn’t turn.

“Katniss, wait!” He catches up to her just as the button flickers to life, signaling the metal box to the fourth floor of Peeta’s dorm. “You don’t understand-”

She whirls on her boyfriend, glaring him down. She’s had enough of his mother forcing him to come home and ‘visit’ his family while she parades the hometown bachelorettes in front of him, hoping he’ll pick any of them and drop Katniss like a sack of hot potatoes. It’s no secret Mrs. Mellark despises her, and the feeling is mutual. Katniss just doesn’t understand why Peeta refuses to see it.

“I understand perfectly, Peeta. You go running home to your mother and leave me behind to keep the peace in the family. Oh and you go on ‘dates’,” her fingers mimic air quotes and her line of sight hits the ceiling from the intensity of her eye roll, “that she forces you on.” Peeta sighs and runs his hands through his hair, but she keeps talking because she doesn’t want to hear him apologize. A Peeta apology would melt her like wax and she doesn’t want to relent this time. No, this time - she’s standing her ground. “You’re ashamed of me. Fine. I get it. The girl from the wrong side of the tracks and the rich son who she’s not good enough for. Just stop pretending that you’re actually going to do something about it, alright?”

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Are Lemony’s memories of his chilhood incorrect?

“All the Wrong Questions” tells us all about the times young Lemony Snicket got things wrong… except he really didn’t. He was right about Ellington being a liar, about Hangfire being a villain, about the Bombinating Beast being central to his plot. The only parts of the plot he truly got wrong concern Kit and his family in general, and the way they relate to the VFD organization.

But what if Lemony’s misinterpretations extended even further? What if the series hid something even more ominous, more sinister, of which Lemony only got a glimpse?

We will argue (after the cut) that Lemony suffered a form of trauma during his early chilhood, which eventually caused him to exhibit symptoms of False Memory Syndrome (FMS) as a coping mechanism. This syndrom eventually damaged his relationships in later life. Simply put: Lemony’s memories of his family life prior to his VFD apprenticeship are completely wrong.

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#sanversweek day 7: soulmate au

This Soulmate AU is a larger multi-chapter fic called Revelations. I figured today was as good a day as any to drop the first chapter. Let me know what you think! If there’s a lot of demand I miiiiight be convinced to drop the second chapter today too. Each chapter will be posted here and on AO3.

Chapter 1: Revelations 1 - 3

It’s past Alex’s bedtime, but she can’t sleep. She’s squirming under her covers, restless, more excited than she’s ever been.

Tomorrow is her birthday, and birthdays are always amazing. She always gets cake and a party, and tomorrow she gets to spend the whole afternoon at the zoo with her mom and her dad and her two very best friends.

But tomorrow isn’t just any birthday. Tomorrow is her fifth birthday.

And that means tomorrow is her first Revelation.

Tomorrow, when she wakes up, when she’s finally five years old, she’ll learn something about her soulmate for the very first time.

Her mom has said it’s like Santa – he only comes after you finally go to sleep on Christmas Eve, and the Revelation will only come while you sleep.

So Alex tries to sleep, she really does, because she wants to know, she wants the Revelation, she wants to be grown up enough, big enough, to handle it. Littler kids don’t get Revelations because they aren’t mature enough, ready enough. (I am mature enough, Alex had whined on her fourth birthday, I am! And her parents had looked at each other with raised eyebrows because where did their preschooler learn the word mature and what the hell were they in for with this brilliant stubborn little child?)

But mature, big kids go to sleep the night before their Revelations, so Alex tries. And tries and tries and tries and, finally, succeeds.

She wakes up when her mom and dad come into the room in the morning. They sit on the side of her bed, her dad brushing her bangs out of her face. She blinks up at them blearily, wondering why they’re both there.

“Good morning, birthday girl!” Her mom’s singsong voice is soft and loving and happy, and Alex grins. It’s her birthday!

She reaches up to push the blankets down to her waist, and then catches sight of something dark on her arms. She gasps and rockets to sit up, holding her arms out in front of her.

She can’t believe she forgot.

Today is her birthday, and she is five years old, and so today is her first Revelation.

She knew what was coming. The first Revelation is favorite animal.

On her right arm is her own favorite animal, a representation of what her soulmate will see (had seen?) on his arm when he turns five (turned five?).

She had thought it would be small, simple, maybe a line drawing or a sketch, something like what she can draw herself with her small fingers. But she was wrong. All up and down her right arm, from wrist to armpit, is the most intricate, complex, and beautiful snake she’s ever seen. It isn’t in color, just in black, but it doesn’t need to be. There are more shapes than she knows the name for making up its strong lithe body as it wraps and weaves around and around her arm. Diamonds and spots and splotches, a distinct head and tail. It’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.

“A boa constrictor,” her father says, a little breathlessly.

Alex looks up at him, beaming. “Did you know that boa constrictors can swim? And they can get to be thirteen feet long, which is longer than two daddies on top of each other? And even though they’re reptiles they give birth to live babies like mammals!?”

Eliza shakes her head a little, but she’s happy. “My little scientist,” she says, reaching over to tousle Alex’s hair.

Alex finally tears her eyes away from her right arm and looks to her left. This is the real Revelation – while the drawing of her boa is cool, this is what she’s been waiting for.

“Sharks,” she breathes out, her little voice full of awe. “He loves sharks.”

Her left arm doesn’t have just one shark. Instead it’s covered, from wrist to armpit, with all different types of sharks. Great whites and hammerheads and tiger sharks and blue sharks and whale sharks, and a ton she doesn’t know the names of. They’re stylized too, like her snake, beautiful and intricate and somehow both delicate and deadly strong.

She’s a little relieved. She’s glad her soulmate likes a cool animal, not something dumb like a poodle or a bunny rabbit or a kitten. She knows she’s supposed to love him anyway, but it’s gonna be way easier to love someone who likes sharks than poodles. And besides, snakes and sharks go great together.

She looks up at her parents, happiness radiating out of her entire self. “Can we go to the library and get a book on sharks?”

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anonymous asked:

Okay I definitely didn't forget this super specific ask thing I was gonna do and leave it until the last minute. Definitely not. Anyways, based on the random scenario of what if America was afraid of fireworks (like the noise they create) can I get some RusAme headcanons for what the Fourth of July is like for them and also how exactly Russia found out America was terrified of fireworks? ((I mean you did say I was allowed to send in something super specific and I want to see your take on this))

Alright yeah I can do this.

So last night at like 1 am here when you sent the ask I was on the phone with my friend, Eris, and I read the ask to her; she said this: “I imagine if Russia found out he just say ‘that’s okay! We’ll use dynamite instead!’” and I felt this was important information for you to know


RusAme with Alfred scared of fireworks:

• Ivan probably found out when they were at a Fourth of July celebration that Alfred b e g g e d him to attend, but Alfred kept asking to leave before dark

• Ivan thought this was strange because he’s been places with Alfred where they stayed late and it was also outdoors

• So Arthur shows up you know, says “Alfred I need to talk to you it’s kind of urgent.”

• So they all go inside to a lobby with their drinks and pizza, and Arthur is talking to Alfred about an error in some documents and wants to know if Alfred knows to fix it

• This conversation takes awhile because Alfred is like “Yo I can fix it now,” so by the time they decide to go back outside it’s dark and Alfred is talking to Ivan, completely oblivious until he hears the soaring sound of the firework and then the loud pop! it makes

• And if for any reason you guys don’t know what a firework sounds like it’s often like a gunshot when you’re listening from inside but when you’re outside it actually kind of sounds like a bomb (that was also the sort of intention bc they represent canon fire) so since Alfred is a nation it is perfectly reasonable for him to not like the sound

• So Alfred is like, freaking out, and tugging on his boyfriend to leave and Ivan is confused because he’s never seen America, the country that loves explosions, be scared of a firework

• Nevertheless he takes Alfred to the car and most likely is covering his ears so he doesn’t hear as much and helps him into the passenger’s side then goes to start the car

• Alfred is like rambling apologies but Ivan assures him it’s okay and that he’s sorry he didn’t notice it was getting late; basically just comforting him

• Ivan notices he’s bummed out about having to leave early and asks what he hates about fireworks

• When Alfred explains it’s just the sound Ivan find a near by firework stand and pulls over.

• Firework stands are like in the middle of nowhere and away from noise too, but anyway–

• Alfred is confused but gets out of the car with Ivan and follows him to the counter where Ivan is buying two boxes of sparklers

• They end up heading home and to their backyard with cake and lighting said sparklers and Alfred likes to watch them fizz out and light another

• Ivan is a Protective BF™ and will make sure Alfred is safe and happy so overall they had a good Fourth of July

• This became a tradition on Alfred’s birthday, too, so instead of everyone going to an event they host a party at Alfred’s house and celebrate there

searching x and x finding

If Gon had never left Whale Island.

Word count: 1643


“I  don’t believe in fate. Or destiny. But I do think that there are certain people in this world meant to find us. And sometimes, we’re the ones who must search for them.”

Gon doesn’t understand. “Isn’t that the same thing?” 

She smiles slightly, warm eyes crinkling up at the ends.


Gon’s grandmother falls ill the week before Gon’s twelfth birthday.

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The Subway

Person B knowing they’re undoubtedly about to die within the next few seconds, likely from the gaping wound they’re bleeding out from. Instead of calling for help, they phone Person A and carry on a casual conversation as if nothing is wrong, making sure to mention how much they love them before their time runs out.

There was something perfect to the subway. Riding it every morning was not a chore, not a bore, not even a terrible inconvenience to her. The influx of people shuffling about, the way she could sit among perfect casual strangers, common acquaintances linked only to similar schedules, the regularity of it, the sounds and the sights and the speed of it all. Clarke often missed her stop on purpose to stay just a few minutes longer, looping back. She read entire libraries on the subway, she sketched entire carloads of faces she would never see again, she met and spoke with interesting people. She loved the subway. She was either innately alone, confronted with anonymity in the midst of millions of people as the city woke and she yawned in its veins, speeding along, pushed by the hidden, pulsating, concrete heart somewhere in one of the skyscrapers, or she was full of life, being told stories of cats and birthdays and books and opinions and articles by chatty neighbours. Clarke loved the subway.

She fell in love on the subway. How could she not, since she was open to the magic of its ways? She caught her eye one morning when she was running late, and stared for six stops, the first morning. The next day, she timed her schedule differently, and stared for six stops again. It happened for a week, until an accidental night when she saw this girl, this girl, this girl, the kind they write poems and songs and novels and movies and plays about throughout the history of history.

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Leading Suspects - Chapter 16

Happy Friday, everyone! Today, I spoil you with a treat for the weekend. Two chapters in one day. Partly because I did something I swore I’d never do and even I am not mean enough to leave ya’ll hanging too long. Oops. Sorry not sorry, @peetabreadgirl!!! Keep an eye out for Chapter 17 posting this afternoon (erm, if you’re in the western hemisphere that is…)!

“There you are,” I whisper with glee as I eye my prey through the window of Effie Smith’s antiques and oddities shop.

I’m actually stunned that of all the businesses in Twelve Willows that failed after the mines were shut down, this one is still somehow going. Of course, that could be because she’s married to Ferdinand Smith the Third, the heir to a mysterious fortune that no one can quite place. Some say it came from bootlegging in the twenties and the Smith’s merely invested wisely enough to stay rich for the next century. Whatever the source, the Smith’s have been the local rich snobs for ages. The town even dubbed Effie “Duchess Trinket” in honor of her superior attitude and her profession. She’s not so bad, though, once you get to know her, and man can she haggle.

I school my expression into one of boredom and push open the door, listening to the deep chimes set off throughout the store by my entrance.

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Happy birthday @blackjacktheboss, you loser <3

#14 of the Kiss Meme: Kiss Along the Hips.

also on AO3

Annabeth is on her fourth attempt of reading the same paragraph when she hears the front door of the apartment bang open and then closed again.

“Percy?” she calls out.

“Hi,” he calls back, sounding tired.

She’s in their bedroom, having collapsed there an hour ago and decided to tackle her reading for class tomorrow. Safe to say she has made little progress. This is, in part, due to her mind wandering back to the calc test she’d had this morning. The rest of her is just staring at the page wishing that the lines would stop moving around so she could read them. She’s grateful when Percy slumps into the room, giving her a real excuse to put the book down and stare at something else for a while.

Percy looks like a zombie, shuffling around, removing his shoes, rubbing at his face and his hair as if he can remove the tiredness that stains him that way.

“How was the presentation?” she asks him.

He mumbles, “Mmf. I don’t know. Horrible. I don’t wanna talk about it.”


After he has slowly and angrily dumped his bag in the corner and thrown his jacket over the back of the desk chair, he finally looks at her. His gaze falls and stops on her bare legs, crossed together on top of the covers. Annabeth waits patiently, her eyebrows rising towards her hairline

Percy blinks. Jerks his gaze up towards her face.

“Is that my sweater?” he asks eventually.

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This is for the beautiful, amazing, talented @harmonization. Happy belated Birthday love. I hope this New Year kicks serious ass for you and that you’re happy and well, and loved. That you do everything you want to do, see all the places you want to see, experience everything you want to experience and do it all with an open heart and an open mind. This drabble’s for you, and I hope you like it.

Pandemonium at three in the morning was nothing like it was in late at night. Most of the mundanes had left, prodded by Magnus’ magic so they would take their “partying” to other more mundane clubs. Three AM was for the downworlders whose appearance couldn’t easily be explained as being in costume. After all, not everybody would find it believable that the scales underneath Vera’s skin wasn’t a part of an elaborate costume. And Veraa was too pretty, her warlock mark one she’d just learned to embrace—after having been ridiculed for it for so long—for Magnus to let her feel like she couldn’t come have a blast amongst her own kind for fear of what a tactless mundane would say or attempt to do.

His club had been created as a safe haven for downworlders and thus, they took precedence over any mundane who thought he was having too good a time to leave. And so, Magnus helped them along, a little nudging of their minds that had them convinced that the mundane club on the other end of the street had some big buzz going and they all had to be there.

They flocked out of Pandemonium just like he’d expected and Magnus grinned as he watched the last of them hurry off, sending a gentle nudge at the few stragglers who looked like they’d changed their mind and wanted to come back to Pandemonium. The prompting worked and Magnus made to turn around and head back into his club when he caught something glinting a couple of meters from where he stood.

He walked over, eyes flashing golden in the dark when he heard footsteps, just as he noted that the glint had been the edge of a Seraph blade.

Damn. He should have know after he’d caught those two Circle snakes in his club that more of them would show up out of the woodwork.

He turned around just as four circle members appeared. All men, although they looked like they just kissed their teenage years goodbye and were just greeting their twenties with a kiss. Barely babies.

It just went to confirm how much of a swine Valentine Morgenstern really was; to recruit children into his ranks.

“Well to what do I owe this honour,” Magnus crooned even as he turned, taking note of their stance, their grip on their blades and the fact that there was a fifth, a couple of meters away, observing or to serve as back up, Magnus wasn’t sure which he was meant to be.

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WISHED: (Jared Leto) Joker planning his 5 year old daughters birthday.

Originally posted by abigayle12000

Originally posted by proud-directioner5xx4xx1

Warning Contains Swearing, Angst, father and daughter fluff, clueless joker

Requested by: @superjerseygirl

“fuck” Joker mouthed as he sat on the bed with his 5 year old daughter watching Beauty and the Beast. He held up his phone in the air looking at the date, placed on the top corner of the screen January 30th. His daughters birthday is tomorrow, he knew when his daughters birthday was, but with missing Harley and not having a good outcome with work, the days seem to flow by.

He looked over at his daughter who sat in the middle of the bed looking at the tv not noticing her father is now stressed. His leg began to shake as he rushed his fingers through his hair a couple of times. It was mostly Harley who planned out their daughters birthday, it was always something big with their fellow “friends” to show the clown princess is aging up. He thought about it for a moment, he never really liked the idea of having such a big party for such a small child, his kid didn’t really have that many friends, like one, and he never really understood why Harley insisted on having such a big event.

He sighed and smirked, if he were to plan his daughters party this year he was going to do it his way. “Princess, ill be right back, okay?”, he told his daughter as he got off the bed and kissed his daughters head.

“Okay” she said her eyes still glued to the tv. He smiled and left the room closing the door.

“Frost!” he called.

“Yes boss?” Frost walked over from around the corner of the hallway.

“I am going to need you to run to a few places for me” Joker said walking to his office. Jokers office held many computers from surveillance cameras of the club, the house and a few of his hideouts. There were even some of certain parts of the city, Joker is a crazy killer yes, but a smart one all the more reason why this man is dangerous.

Joker pulled out a pen and paper from his desk and wrote down a shopping list for Frost. “I don’t care how you get them but make sure it is all ready for tomorrow” he handed the list to Frost.

Frost looked and scanned the list “Its the princess birthday tomorrow, huh. Right I will be heading out then boss” He put the list in his pocket and head out the door.

Joker sat his desk and opened one of his laptops and started to do his part, he first made sure that he didn’t have any meetings for tomorrow. Then he started to plan out ideas, his daughter wasn’t too girly so he didn’t need to worry about pink shit and glitter to be in his house. He thought back to Harley’s planned parties and noticed each had a theme. Her first was clowns, second was under the sea, third was power puff girls, fourth was fairy themed. He cringed looking back at her fourth birthday, some how glitter was stuck in his and Harley’s hair for a week, even Frost had glitter. 

Nope, no glitter for this birthday, he wanted to do something small, he wanted to do something that his daughter will know that she will always have him. He didn’t know what though, He had Frost go to get his daughters favorite food, along with a list of presents. However he wanted to do something more than that, he was glad his daughter didn’t really care for cake like him, it was mostly Harley who liked cake.

He thought of Harley for a moment happy to have dived into that pool to save her. If he didn’t he wouldn’t have her or his daughter, his chested ached, a pain he hated feeling it made him feel week. He always thought that loving someone is a weakness, yet when Harley loves him and praises him, he feels stronger. When his daughter hugged him he feels moments of bliss from her warmth.

He banged his fist on his desk, “That damn bat!” he said through his teeth. When he gets Harley back he wont let her or his daughter out of his sight again! Rage started to build up inside him, when he was about ready to flip his desk over a soft little knock brought him out of his thoughts.

“Daddy?” a soft voice said through the door. Joker quickly tried to control his rage, shaking his shoulders and rubbing his face.

“Come in princess” he tried to say with a calm voice. The small child entered her fathers office and placed her self next him. He noticed he held her Belle doll in her hands.

“Daddy I have a question” she asked looking down. He lowered himself down to her level, placing himself on one knee.

“What is it princess?” he asked looking at his daughter.

“If I am a princess can I have a dress like Belle?” she asked showing her father the doll. Then it hit him, the idea he needed.

“Yes, princess you can” he smiled down at his daughter.

*The next day*

Joker made sure to not wake his daughter as she slept and placed her present at the end of her bed. He had to wake up early in order to get everything ready. Once the present was placed he closed the door and got ready to put on his best clothes a blue tuxedo with a yellow bow at his neck. He went into a room and waited for his daughter.

The princess woke up to see a blue box with a yellow ribbon around it she went to open the box to see a beautiful yellow dress that matched Belle’s her doll. She decided to put it on and looked at her self in the mirror. A knock was at the door and entered Frost who was wearing a black tuxedo. “Shall I do your hair Princess?” he asked with a smile. She smiled back and nodded. 

Joker waited for his daughter, fiddling with his bowtie, then started to hear his daughters voice coming down the hallway, he started up the music from his phone the music being played through the empty room. His daughter caught the music and quickly entered the ball like room to see her father holding out his hand to her.

In that moment Joker saw his daughter not as a child but all grown up then as a child again his heart grew with warmth as he held his daughter hand and began to dance with her.

With love Admin-J


Character: Irene (Red Velvet)
Word count: 805
Summary: Irene always gave the best birthday presents | #smut

Originally posted by shimssi

Her eyes were drawing you in, like a spider luring its prey.

Your mother warned you about girls like her; girls who acted sweet and innocent, but were deadly killers. The kind who captured hearts and left their victims weak. Irene was that girl, the one you had been warned of. She captured your heart, gripped it in her hands, made you weak to her will.

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happy, happy birthday, caroline. thank you for being one of the most wondeful, kind, caring people i have ever met. you deserve all the bright things in the world. i can’t imagine life without you. thank you for being my constant source of inspiration and happiness. i love you to the moon and back.

She has sunshine running through her veins.



She drums her nails on the table in the Great Hall, eyes foggy with sleep, slumping against Remus or nicking his toast. She meets his remarks with even more droll ripostes of her own, smirking and propping her chin on her hand. The mornings are bright and leaden, like wading through honey, and she’s content to lazily drape an arm across his shoulders as they head to Charms. She swears under her breath in the library, levitates ten textbooks at once because Sirius said she couldn’t, and pockets sweets from Peter. He smiles a lot when she’s around, mostly because she beat Remus at Gobstones or because her hair is like the couch in the Common Room or because she scrunches up her nose when she thinks. He smiles a lot when she’s around, because it’s her.



He holds his heart between his teeth during class because she’s sitting in front of him, and his eyes map the slender, lively outline of her face, a bright silhouette. Sirius licks his finger and sticks in in James’s ear, and it’s so absurd and unexpected and unjust because he was busy counting the freckles on her nose, and he falls out of his chair from shock. Remus laughs, but at least Pete has the good grace to look apologetic, and Sirius smirks at James, his lips forming the terse remark, ‘You’ve got it bad, Potter.’ He hears another laugh, her laugh, soft and musical and floating high on the air in the musty classroom. It sedates the fact that he’s pissed off, but not enough, because as soon as he’s in his seat he punches Sirius on the arm.



The warmest days are piss-weak, a feeble attempt at Summer, but she doesn’t seem to mind. Long-limbed and sprawling, she’s a vision in red, dancing across the lawns. Her fingers nimbly thread daisies like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Marlene’s legs are the best jaunt for her fiery tendrils to take root, her head against knees and hands deftly accusing the clouds in the sky of being animals, flowers, and what she claims is the shape of his ass. Their motley crew fumbles over one another for words, a cacophony of voices that tangle through the skies. He never tires of the sound her, though, the slant and tilt, squealing strings pulled taught, low, winking expressions, teasing, bitten grins. He likes listening to her talk, and her thrumming, high beat sets a track that makes everything feel like home.



Liquor burns hard in his veins, thrumming blood and harsh lines and something unshakeable which must be the trickle of her touch across his skin. She’s drunk, a little sloppy and unfiltered, dancing through the heat of the Common Room, challenging Sirius to a karaoke duel. Her hair is as deep as the brash crimson cloaking the room, strings of rubies dancing, waving across her forehead. Legs nimbly jumping up onto the table, her voice roars in his hears, and Sirius leaps up to join her. The room is vibrant, and he revels in the energy, but his eyes are glued to her. He has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from thinking about how much he likes her, the fact that she’s etched in the dirt under his fingernails, the scar on his left elbow, the breath that curls in his lungs. She’s written all over him, and he has no desire to wash her off.



The world is a wash of white, but she sticks out, reddening and intense. Her hair is dotted with sleet, and she laughs, breath misting on the chill air, catching snowflakes on her tongue. The skeletal fronds of trees dance overhead, and her gloved hands are spread wide as she shrieks, ‘Come on, Potter!’. His arms feel heavy, ladden with bags, and he has every desire to abandon them and go join her. She races Peter through the snow, boots crunching on ice, and Sirius coaxes her into the Three Broomsticks. If she catches him staring at her over the Butterbeer flanking the table, she doesn’t saying anything, just licks the foam from her lips, pink and bitten from the cold, fuck - but Sirius kicks his shin under the table and Lily claps the excess snow from her gloves over his head, and it melts all down his neck. She demands that he give her a piggyback up to the castle, and shoves all their luggage into Sirius’s arms. When her legs are wrapped around his waist, her hot breath against his neck, he wonders how long he can keep this up, pretend that they’re just fucking fantastic friends. He can’t. He doesn’t want to.



They lie in the dark and talk about nothing, toes curled and fingers spread, mapping the stars. Something that hurts seeps in through his veins when he looks at her, eyes wide and looking at the ceiling. At some point, her hand, tentative yet entirely sure, reaches for his, and his heart thrums frantically against his chest. He chokes on the words, and his breath hitches in his throat, because he likes her, but he doesn’t know what to do about it. She whispers about how she’s not sure know what do anymore, about Celestina Warbeck, romance novels and the new paint set Mary got her, about how her sister used to be her sister. He whispers back, about the Quidditch final, about the sweets he smuggled from Honeydukes, all the articles in the Prophet, Sirius’s records and how Remus splintered the bedpost in the Shrieking Shack, about how he’s worried. He raises her knuckles to his lips and kisses the freckle on her fourth finger. She shifts against him, and digresses, a rasp that disappears into the darkness above them, that she thinks she might like him. He almost laughs, because he’s so hopelessly and undeniably fucked, before he looses a breath and says, ‘Yeah, I think I like you, too.’



The summer is spent with a delivery of letters, spidery ink ordering out expletives, several unsealed envelopes and dates and names. Whenever they see each other, something scintillating is a rife in the air between them, and he slowly becomes aware that he’s been holding her gaze for too long. Sirius says something about sexual tension, but, for whatever reason, he doesn’t hear him. The lot of them spend long, sun-lit days in the cobbled expanse of Diagon Alley, hands sticky with ice-cream or ladden with books or grasping a bottle of Odgen’s. The streets roll forth to admit their riots, long nights spent smoking or talking or trying and failing to fall asleep. He looks at her, and she’s alight during those months, a mixture of dresses and freckled shoulders and hair adrift. It makes his heart ache.



She kisses him in the dorm, which is a clutter of dented pillows and ragged duvets. Moonlight spills in through the window, cloaking them both as he drags his hands through her hair and her eyelashes tickle his skin. She tastes like mint chapstick and sunshine, and her lips press against his like she needs him to breathe. He could care less about his fucking glasses, which he’s pretty sure are knocked askew, but he just takes her lower lip between both of his and she sighs against him as his hands ensconce the width of her back. Their noses bump and her hands curl through his hair and she’s pressing into him and then the door opens and about a million miles away he hears Sirius shout, ‘It’s happening! Pete, you owe me 20 galleons!’. James waves a hand and Lily smiles against his lips and the door slams and they continue for several minutes until they pull back, mussed hair and heaving chests and dazed eyes. She looks at him, beautiful and out of breath and completely ethereal, and says, ‘Go out with me, Potter?’. He kisses her this time, and his fingers inch across her waist and he laughs against her and says, ‘Evans, I thought you’d never ask.’

In which Dean and Cas buy their daughter 7 dresses.

The first time they buy her a dress, they haven’t even met her yet. Dean is touching every tiny little garment he can possibly get his hands on, marvelling over how tiny everything is and how “d’you think she’d like pink? Or maybe blue? Ohhh, Cas, look at this orange one, it’s got pockets!”

Cas, meanwhile, is too busy fawning over the miniature patterned-socks to pay any real attention.


The second time they buy her a dress, she’s four years-old and is skipping between them, practically vibrating as she swings on their arms and thanks them profusely. “Thank you thank you thank you!” she gushes as the store clerk scans the large poofy white thing. Her dark brown hair is tied in a messy ponytail and her green eyes are bright behind her small glasses, freckled nose scrunching up as she smiles, toothy and wide.

“Can I wear it now pleasepleaseplease?

The tiara she’s wearing falls into her eyes and she pushes it up, one of the straps of her overalls falling with the movement. Cas looks at Dean expectantly and the latter sighs. “’Course, bug.”

When they emerge ten minutes later, Chevy Marie Winchester is dressed in an over-the-top poufy taffeta number, black clunky boots on her feet and tiara on her forehead. She launches herself into Castiel’s arms and her papa helps her into her tiny leather jacket.

“Our kid is a total badass,” Dean murmurs to his husband as she sleeps in her carseat on the drive home.

Cas grins back.

She really is.


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Happy Birthday, Ron

Wine, Ron Weasley mused, was one of the best parts of getting older. He’d foolishly refused the stuff in his teens and most of his twenties, opting instead for the burn of Firewhiskey. It was almost a point of pride that he’d hit his thirties before he got tired of the intensity of the whole stuff, but as soon as Hermione had offered him a glass of the sweet wine she preferred, he knew he’d found a new drink of choice. It left a pleasant warmth in his stomach and a content smile on his face, and if he was being honest, it tasted much better than anything he’d had on a night out with Harry. 

So on his thirty-fifth birthday, he’d asked only for a bottle of wine and an evening on the sofa with his wife. The only snag they’d hit was that Ginny was out of town for the Prophet, leaving Harry with their rambunctious brood, both Ron’s and Hermione’s parents had planned evenings out, and when they’d asked around for a babysitter at the Burrow the weekend before, Ron’s other siblings had pretended to have gone momentarily deaf whenever he’d start to utter his request. 

Hermione had a hunch this had something to do with Rose’s newfound affinity for asking anyone near enough about the history of both the magical and muggle worlds, and correcting wrong answers by spewing more facts in one breath than Ron had picked up in the entirety of his History of Magic lessons at Hogwarts. Most of the time, it was lovely to have such a well-read, intelligent child, and Ron and Hermione did their best to encourage her. Still, the “correcting” part of the phase wasn’t exactly anyone’s favorite, and Hermione hadn’t been terribly pleased when Ron had pointed out that they’d likely never hear the end of it, since her know-it-all phase had never gone away.

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