It was three days into their stay in Thailand when Yuuri
finally woke up earlier than Viktor.
He savoured those times, they happened so rarely. Viktor was
often out of bed before Yuuri had even started to stir. Like this he had
unimpeded time to study the small flutters of his eyelashes, the slight furrow
on his brow that disappeared when Yuuri ran a comforting hand down his side,
how his arms tightened around Yuuri when he shifted to keep him in place.
He could never look enough. No matter how much, how often,
it would never be enough. Gently, still careful about not waking him, he ran
the tips of his fingers from the cut of his jaw, the graceful line of his neck,
and over his shoulders before pausing. Viktor sighed. Accent thicker from
having just woken up, he asked, “I was enjoying that. Why did you stop?”
Yuuri didn’t answer, still staring at the skin of his
“You have freckles,” he said, hearing the quiet awe in his
Viktor took his right hand where it was motionless on his
shoulder and kissed it, his eyes sliding shut again. “Mm. Only if I’ve been in
the sun too long.”
He was saying it so casually,
as if it wasn’t one of the best things Yuuri had ever learnt. Granted, he
thought that of most mundane things he learnt about Viktor, but it wasn’t as if
he wanted to stop. He considered kissing them all one by one, even if there
were so many it would probably take hours. Reluctantly settling for around ten instead,
he mumbled “I love them,” against
another few. Viktor’s chest was shaking, probably laughing at his little
display, but looking so delighted when Yuuri met his eyes that he couldn’t
Percy: Gets turned on when Annabeth completely destroys people at competitions Loves it when she gets this super concentrated look on her face Can hardly control himself when she’s all bundled up in his sweatshirts Or how messy her hair gets in the mornings
Annabeth: Turned on by Percy’s raspy voice in the mornings When he rolls his long sleeves up to the elbow because hot damn look at those forearms Loves it when he sings rock and roll and his voice gets gravelly When his eyes get a mischievous glint and he smirks
Piper: Turned on by Jason in the rain when water runs down his jaw line. She just wants to kiss him. He’s super hot when he wears light pink colors and salmon colors That one time he wore skinny jeans When he smiled all goofy like
Jason: When Piper gets irritated and sasses people Her evil battle laugh is a huge turn on The way she just so casually flirts and it’s a lot dirtier than originally perceived He loves it when he can get her to blush
Frank: (To much of a gentleman to ever actually get turned on) But he does love when Hazel’s hair gets extra poofy when it’s humid The way her tongue sticks out slightly when she’s drawing How she’s typically nice and passive but can and will handle herself if necessary Her never ending determination
Hazel: When Frank traces the lines of her SPQR tattoo on her arm (it’s very sweet he does it all the time) When he stands up for the under dog How he’s very good with little demigods Totally adores it when he shifts into different animals to cheer her up
Nico: When Will jams out to music and thinks no one is watching at all Huge turn on when Will gets super excited about things and he smiles so big his tongue sticks out between his teeth (Nico just wants to kiss him) For some reason Nico thinks it’s awesome when Will wears excessively ridiculous onsie pajamas
Will: When Nico smiles or laughs he literally melts When Nico grows his hair out and wears it in a small ponytail or bun How Nico likes it when Will scratches his back (Nico resembles a cat tbh) Huge turn on when one day Nico got pranked by the Aphrodite cabin and woke up with eyeliner on, (his eyes were so intense Will almost died he was so gorgeous)
Leo: When Calypso gets her hands dirty gardening because messy hands are always acceptable with him since his are always messy too. When she curses in Ancient Greek because “woah she’s hot when she’s angry” When Calypso tries to kick some person’s ass Or lastly when she sings
Calypso: Turned on when Leo has like grease smudges on his face or something When he slicks his hair back When he flirts but she pretends not to like it When he gets that impish grin and rambunctious laugh
Thalia: Reyna’s glare when she’s being all authoritative with other people When she works out it’s definitely a sight to see Her laugh is absolutely amazing and Reyna is actually a bit of a flirt? When Reyna stole Thalia’s leather jacket once the poor girl almost died from Reyna’s hotness levels
Reyna: Thalia’s freckles are literally just so cute? How the girl is always confident and that one time Reyna watched her play a soccer match (hot damn) However Reyna’s ultimate weakness is a constant battle because Thalia always wears black skinny jeans and it’s so hard not to stare or touch
Summary: Sehun remembers the very first time he turned invisible. It was in his primary school days, he was performing Tap Solo #5 in the middle of the stage. Sehun entered from stage left, promptly forgetting the very first move. His legs faltered, mind went blank – and sudden screams erupted from the audience, when Sehun’s body disappeared. His family moved the next week. This kind of thing becomes normal, though – until the day Sehun is invisible, and you see him anyways.
Lance knew he had scars. Shiro had one in the middle of his face, of course he had scars.
It was different to see them.
Before it had just been an abstract concept. “Scars.” Okay, scars. Whatever.
It was different to see them.
It was obvious that Shiro thought he was alone, his eyes closed, head pillowed on his crossed arms as he let the rest of his body soak in the hot, vaguely glowing water.
His back was entirely exposed to Lance, and for the first time, Lance saw more skin than just his face, the back of his neck, and his left hand.
It wasn’t what he’d imagined. They weren’t pretty pink zebra stripes, little accents that made his eyes pop. They were ugly. They twisted his skin up, like the Indian rug burns he remembered giving his siblings. They were things healed wrong, mismatched fissures that tried to seal themselves back together and pulled everything in the wrong direction.
Shiro wasn’t supposed to look like that. Lance remembered Shiro. Shiro was a marble statue, every single muscle carefully chipped out of the Earth by God himself. He was beautiful, but this—
Lance couldn’t keep his eyes still as his brain tried to take everything in.
Stop looking, he told himself. Shiro would hate this.
Shiro’s back rose and feel with his sigh. He was content. God, he was content. His muscles were slack beneath the twisted skin. For the first time Lance could remember, Shiro was relaxed.
He wondered how much the scars had to do with the way the strings that held his jaw in place pulled so hard they looked like they’d snap.
And then his eyes were back, trying to piece together the history written in those lines. That was obviously a bite, a scratch… was that a stab wound?
Lance blinked away the fog in his eyes and shivered with the tears that fell from them. When did he start crying?
Next to the stab was a long slash, and then a phaser blast, and there, right in the middle, taking up far too much of his back, stripes. Pretty and pink. The X’s crossed over each other, back and forth, a latticework weaving of stark marks that puffed up the skin.
Shiro shifted and sighed again, rolling his shoulders back but keeping his eyes closed. The scars moved with him, rolling with his shoulders, turning as he twisted his hips to stretch his legs.
They had become a part of him.
Lance didn’t even want to think it. He knew what those marks were, and he could almost see Shiro, kind Shiro, gentle Shiro, his hands—there were two of them, then—tied in front of him as he tried not to cry.
Someone counted in an alien tongue. Shiro didn’t even know what number they were going for. He just knew that they kept going. Strike after strike, the crack echoing in his ears every single time. Every single time as they counted, a monotony that rubbed up on his ears, a foreign sound that taunted him.
They wanted him to scream.
He refused to scream.
Lance choked on the sound that threatened to escape his itching throat.
It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. Shiro had always been a nice guy. He was a nice guy.
Lance bit down on his lip.
It hurt, but it didn’t hurt as much as a whip must have. He kept biting.
Shiro turned his head on his arms and Lance tiptoed backwards, fingernails digging into his palms. but it didn’t hurt as much as a whip must have. He kept digging. He winced when the doors slid back open, but Shiro was so god damn content that he didn’t even notice.
They closed in front of him and Lance sucked in more air than his lungs could hold, coughing it back out as he stumbled to the nearest wall.
He forced his eyes shut, begged the stinging to stop.
It wasn’t fair.
He couldn’t stop picturing all the ways it could have happened, the sounds of Shiro’s scream bouncing off the walls of his brain.
Shiro was there, just feet away, and he was content. Somehow, that made it worse.
Lance wanted to hit someone. He wanted to find Zarkon or Sendak or Haggar or whoever the hell held the whip in their claws, whose voice had grated against his brain, and punch them in their dumb bitch ass teeth.
He tasted blood.
But Shiro was content, sighing to himself in a magical hot tub. He was content.
The scars probably still hurt, still pulled at his skin, but maybe this was recovery. Lance let go of his lip and wiped his face, pulling his shoulders back.
(A/N): I literally have no excuse for this other than I love mermaid Bucky so
Summary: (Y/N) happens to come across a rather friendly mermaid
The sun was just barely rising, the beach was quiet, no birds about squawking, no children running around carrying greasy hot dogs, no music of beach goers, just you, the sunset, and the ocean. With a pleasant sigh you settled down onto one of the docks surrounding the ocean.
You pick up a pencil and begin to gently sketch the purple and pink hues of the sky, your pencil gingerly shading along the half orb you had drawn for the sun. You bite your lip in concentration, looking from your paper up to the sky and back down to your paper again. Every so often you’d switch colors, truly wanting to capture the beauty of the sun and sky-
A gentle slap of the ocean is what grabs your attention. Sure, waves had been rolling in all day, sloping against the wooden posts if the docks, or against boats or sea cliffs but this one sounded different- sharper perhaps? It was much more clear and concise, more like a smack than anything else. The kind of sounds you got when a fish was squirming to get back in the water. You perk your head up and look around but alas there was nothing to see other than the vast expanse of salty water. That’s when you hear it again- that distinct smacking sound only now it was louder, and perhaps a bit faster than the last smack. It sounded panicked or frenzied if you thought about it.
You rise from your spot on the dock, looking around the docks and seashore to see where if perhaps there was any animal who had gotten stuck in some
Plastic or perhaps just needed some help getting back to sea. Your eyes search along the shore, between the boats, even against the cliffs before circling back around. Your eyes don’t particularly catch on anything but your ears certainly do, the smacking sound comes again and again and again, each slap more panicked than the last and it was loud, much too loud to be far away and that’s when you realized the boats closest to you were so large that you couldn’t see behind them or over them and perhaps whatever creature was stuck was hidden behind one of those.
You run to the base of the dock and to where the boats attach to the wooden planks and your eyes begin to search, scanning up and down the rows until you spotted something. And that’s when you see it, a gleam of silver in the purple sun, the scales of some fish as it struggles in a fallen net. Shit, you think to yourself as you run towards that particular dock, already dropping to your knees to help wrangle the poor creature free but what you see is most definitely not what you were expecting. Rather than some fish staring back at you with beady eyes you were faced with a man with rather large, beautiful shining blue orbs.
You stare at the mans face for what feels like forever before you snap out if your reverie, blinking lazily to clear your thoughts.
“Oh my god,” you whisper as you suddenly come to terms with the fact that a man had gotten himself tangled in this net. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” The man doesn’t respond, he simply stares back at you with these giant almost pleading puppy dog- esque eyes. "What happened? How did you fall in?“ You try some more questions but yet again the man doesn’t answer. He doesn’t respond with any words but some strange vibrations rattles the air and it takes you a minute to realize that this man is the one making the noise, a sad, almost depressed little whimper in his throat. "Okay,” you whisper as you lift up chunks of the net attempting to figure out how he was tangled. “Lets get you out of this,” You lift up the net as you pull it towards you but it gets caught on something, something almost triangular but almost soft when you tugged hard enough.
The man whimpers, reaching up
Through the net to grab at your hands, silently begging you to stop. You comply, immediately stopping the pulling. But rather than focusing on getting the poor
Man free your eyes are suddenly glued to something else, his hands. They would have looked like any other ordinary pair of hands if it weren’t for the fact that they were webbed and smooth, giving them a glossy like appearance. His nails came to sharp little points, like tiny little daggers attached to his flesh. You stare at his hands, half tempted to even touch them but suddenly the man starts up with his cries again, that low, depressed throaty noise that had your heart aching.
“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” you whisper, attempting to get back to work. You twist and pull at the net at all sorts of different angles, trying to free the man but each attempt only brought you more whimpers and more squirming.
“Shit,” You whisper as you stop struggling against the net, slumping down onto the dock in defeat. The man looks at you with concerned eyes, his sad noises starting back up again. “I- I don’t know how to help,” You mutter weakly, your tone nearly exhausted at this point. The man whimpers some more, his clawed hands reaching to attempt to tear the net away from his body. “Wait- stop,” You sigh as you reach down to grab his hands, trying to stop him from causing any more damage. “You’re gonna cut yourself-” The man becomes more panicked in his movements as you grip his wrist only now he was attempting to yank his grip from your yours rather than the nets. “I’m not gonna hurt you!” You attempt to calm him but it was no use, he was struggling and he was struggling hard. With one hard tug your knees slip on the dock, pulling you close to the waters edge. In fact, you’re just about to let go when the man gives one final tug, pulling you into the water with him.
Immediately water fills your lungs and you’re damn sure you scrape your feet along something sharp because the pain shooting into your legs most definitely isn’t normal. You bob back up to the surface, gasping for water as you hack up whatever you had swallowed all the while trying to wipe the water from your eyes. You cough a little as some water bubbles into your throat and out of your mouth, spraying back into the salty abyss. The man goes rigid, staring at you in pure fear and shock, his blue eyes widening in surprise.
“What the hell?” You deadpan, glaring at him with an angry gaze. “You could have killed me!” The man recoils just a tiny bit, those small whimpers bubbling in his throat again. You sigh as you paddle the water about you gently, keeping you afloat long enough to converse with this mysterious man. “I’m sorry- I get you’re probably stressed being caught in here but I’m just trying to help,” You give him what you hope looks like a sympathetic smile. “Can I try to help with the net?” You ask, gesturing to the offending material. The man looks at you and back to the net and back to you again, biting his lip in thought.
You can’t help but notice the way his teeth came to a perfect little point, just like his nails, like tiny daggers buried into his body. Sharp nails, sharp teeth, he wasn’t speaking to you, what the hell was wrong with this guy? But before your anger could bubble again the man nods, squirming just a bit within the water. You give him a grateful little smile as you paddle towards him, stopping just shy of his torso. The closer you got the more you realized just how beautiful this man was, with baby blues and stunningly dark hair, not to mention a strikingly strong jaw line and amazing cheek bones. Even with his strange hands and teeth you couldn’t help but feel the tiniest bit attracted to him.
“You’re not gonna try to drown me are ya?” You ask only half jokingly, the other half completely meaning the question. The man looks at you with those damn puppy eyes, shaking his head softly. He almost looked offended by the question if you thought about it but you didn’t have time to gawk at his face, you had to help free him from the net. With a determined albeit hesitant smile you reach out to gingerly work the net away from his chest, trying so desperately not to brush your fingers over his milky skin.
You gulp as you reach up, slowly but surely freeing his head from the net. It’s then, with your fingers grazing along his neck that you notice something, three small cuts along either side of his neck, pulsating as you moved your fingers along. You can’t help but stare at them, perhaps out of morbid curiosity, your eyes glued to the pink flesh of each cut. If you truly thought about it they actually looked like gills of some sort, just like the ones of fishes your father had brought home all those years ago. The man squirms, making some noise in the back of his throat under your intense gaze. You snap out of your trance again, electing to ignore the strange cuts until you freed the man from the net.
“Almost done,” You whisper as you let the top part of the net fall in front of him, all you had to do now was free his legs and- The man reaches down with his own hands- webbed might you add- and rips the remaining net to shreds, nearly ripping it from his legs like some animal. There’s another smack of water and suddenly the man disappears, completely gone after the water calms. You look around, twisting your body to get a good look around but alas you found nothing, not even a trace of the net he’d been confined in. Sure, you thought this was rather strange but you dismissed it as the chill of the freezing water began to set in. You give one last look to the ocean before climbing back onto the dock, shivering within your skin as you meander back to your art supplies.
Your clothes had been soiled by the water and you were freezing, the sun was far too high in the sky to sketch now and thus your morning had been slightly ruined. With an unhappy little sigh you bend down and pick up your supplies and shoes before making your way back towards land, shuffling as water pooled from your shorts.
You wince as pain spreads throughout your feet and something wet slops below you. You look down, grimacing when you noticed the thick red liquid oozing from the bottom of your feet. Guess you really had cut yourself on something. You mentally curse yourself as you limp towards land, most definitely not looking forward to going home and having to clean your wounds up. Grumbling angrily to yourself you waddle onto the sand, nearly yelling in pain as the sand seeps into your blood. God, is this what you got for saving someone’s life? Next time, you begged the universe to remind you to never help someone out again. You stomp as best as you could to your car, an angry cloud of hate brewing over your head. In fact you were in such a bad mood that you failed to realize a certain man staring at you from a few miles in the sea.
The next day you tried the shore again, this time picking a different dock to sit on and sketch from. This time you picked on closer to shore, just to be on the safer side and once you had gotten comfy you began to sketch, hoping to complete your picture today but when you had only been drawing for five minutes you were suddenly interrupted. That telltale smacking sound resounded around you and all of a sudden an almost familiar head of black hair bobs above the water, only the man’s eyes and nose visible.
“Have you come to drag me into the water again?” You ask, a hint of smugness to your tone as you look back down to your drawing, completely dismissing the man. The man shakes his head, a look of remorse crossing his only visible features. “Are you ever going to talk to me?” You ask, suddenly setting down you art to look at him. “I saved you, you nearly killed me, and I don’t even know your name,” The man looks up to you then to your pencil and sketch pad. You follow his gaze, your own landing upon the pencil and paper. “Do you want to write it down?” You ask, the man nods and suddenly he bobs from the water, resting his elbows upon the dock as you hand him a piece of paper and the pencil. He quickly jots down a few words before handing the paper back to you.
James Buchanan Barnes
You smile at his choppy hand writing, it was cute if you really looked at it. “James?” You question, looking at his name again. The man reaches for the pencil and the paper, quickly jotting down a few more words before handing them back to you.
I like Bucky better
You smile even more, nodding. “Bucky it is then. So uh Bucky-” You test the name on your tongue, allowing the taste of it to settle in. You liked it. “Any reason you’re using up all my paper?” You joke but the look of regret that crosses Bucky’s features has your chuckling coming to a stop. “I’m sorry, I uh- I didn’t mean to offend you or…” You trail off as Bucky grabs the pencil and paper again, proceeding to write out another message.
I’m sorry, I can stop using your paper if you’d like me to
“No, no!” You quickly say, “I was just giving you shit, I really don’t mind,” Bucky looks at you for a moment before looking back at the pencil in his hand.
You really don’t?
“I promise,” You smile at him, hoping the small gesture reassured him. Bucky smiles, a small quirk of his lip is all, but it was a start. “So…you really like the water huh?” You ask, chuckling awkwardly at your own question. Bucky apparently doesn’t seem to notice as he nods, looking down to the water almost fondly. “Even after the whole…” You wave your hand, coughing a bit as you allude to the incident the previous morning. “The whole net thing?” Bucky’s brow creases as he reaches for the paper, quickly jotting something down before handing it back to you.
I’m sorry I dragged you in, I was just scared is all
You smile once more, his words alighting something within your heart. “It’s okay, nothing I couldn’t handle,” Bucky nods, his eyes wandering about the scenery almost lazily when suddenly his eyes land on your bandaged feet. You’d gotten home, cleaned the deep cuts out and went in to get stitches and now here you were again, sitting in the same place that gave you the cuts. Bucky pouts as he reaches out with a webbed finger, gingerly running his nail along the white bandage.
“Be careful,” You warn softly, not wishing to startle him. “It’s uh- it’s pretty sore,” Bucky pouts as he reaches out for the paper and pencil again, quickly jotting something down before shoving it towards you.
You bite your lip, contemplating whether or not you should tell him what exactly you had done. “Um, I just cut them up a bit, it was a complete accident,” You add, hoping he didn’t suspect you had cut your feet when you fell in. Bucky nods, reaching out again to run his clawed fingers along the bandage.
“Buck?” You ask hesitantly, biting your lip as you stare at his hands, his very strange, not at all human like hands. The man hums, a low purring like sound issuing from the back of his throat. “Can I uh- Can I ask a question?” Bucky nods as he pulls away a bit, resting his folded arm on the dock to keep part of his body up out of the water. "What’s with the hands?“ You gesture to his, specifically to the webbing. Bucky looks at his hands, a sudden blush rising to his pale skin. He quickly hides his hands under his arms, hiding his face in the flesh part of his elbow.
"I’m sorry,” to attempt to backtrack, already feeling horrible. “I didn’t mean to make you feel embarrassed, they’re just different from mine, see?” You hold a hand up, showcasing your short, trimmed nails and most definitely not webbed fingers. Bucky poked his head up a bit, looking at you with uncertain eyes. His piercing gaze then falls to your hand, the blue orbs scrutinizing each finger as he stares. He cocks his head to the side as he studies it, almost with a childlike curiosity.
He gently shifts his arms, hesitantly pulling his hand out from hiding an slowly but surely raising it to yours. It even felt different, it was slimy, practically clammy against your own but it wasn’t unpleasant. He studies the two hands together, pushing his fingers against yours only to pull them back again, he looks at his webbing and then yours, studying his webbed hands almost distastefully. He then moves onto the nails, studying your small stubby ones and then his long, jagged ones. He hums softly, cocking his head to the other side as he places his fingers between yours, watching the way they only went so far due to his webbing. He was studying you like he’d never seen another human being before and at this point you were starting to think he hadn’t…
Häyhä’s count of 542 kills is an all-time record for a sniper in any conflict and was achieved in only 98 days of the ‘Winter War.
The Winter War erupted in 1939 with the Soviet invasion of Finland, and the mild-looking Simo was called into service.
Despite vastly outnumbering the Finns, the Soviet Army suffered massive casualties due to their inexperience, the freezing temperatures and of course, Simo Häyhä, all of 5'3"(1.6002m) tall.
For those 98 days, Häyhä conducted lone missions to the front lines, tormenting the Russians and picking off soldiers one by one, until he was shot and injured by an exploding bullet a few days prior to the war ending. The bullet had crushed his jaw and blown off part of his left cheek.
Häyhä, in many ways, had the perfect preparation for becoming a sniper. He grew up on a rural farm and loved to hunt.
His specialty were foxes, one of the more difficult animals to hunt, due to their small stature, speed and ability to hide. He would test himself with birds which would flee at even the slightest sound, reflection or sudden movement.
He felt no hatred for the enemy, instead, he only concentrated on ensuring his weapon was well supported and stable, and that his personal feelings and emotions would not impinge on his ability as a marksman. Häyhä did not mind spending hours upon hours on his own and would even go to his shooting ‘nests’ at night to ensure they were well hidden and strong.
Especially in the -20 temperatures of the Finnish winter, proper gun maintenance was essential to avoid it jamming. His gun was a Mosin-Nagant M/28-30, one that he had owned before the war, without even a telescopic sight.
Häyhä, when conducting his operations, took every detail into account. He would even pour water into the snow in front of him so that the muzzle blast would not expose his location by disturbing the light snow. (Excerpt by Author Taipo Saarelainen, The White Sniper: Simo Häyhä)
(Simo also kept snow in his mouth while sniping, in order to prevent steamy breaths from giving away his position in the cold air.)
“Hello.” You mumbled nervously when you knocked on the door
and Olivia answered.
“My son isn’t available right now?” She sneered.
“Actually I have a class project with Shelly… I was here
with her last week.” You say hoarsely. “She said that she’d be a bit late but I
could come up early and set everything up… but I can wait outside if it’s a
“No it’s fine, come in.” Oliva sighed. “You’ll have to wait
upstairs while I fetch her… don’t touch anything.”
Anonymous said:First Kiss prompts? Thanks, and I adore your writing!//
Anonymous said:Do you have any nervous first kiss prompts? (See here)
Anonymous said:hi! i love your prompts and was wondering if i could request some kissing prompts? nothing too specific, just whatever you’re in the mood for writing. thank you so much!! (See also here and here)
1) “So…you’ve never been kissed before.” “You caught that, then,” the protagonist said dully. “Would you like to be?” The protagonist stilled, heart racing in an instant. All of a sudden all they could focus on was the warmth of their crush’s knee brushing against theirs, and the sound of breath and, at a glance, how soft their lips looked. They swallowed. “By, um, by you?” Colour spread over their crush’s cheeks and they looked down. “It was just an idea-” “Yes.” It hovered in the air between the two of them for a moment, before their crush turned to face them, cupping their jaw. Slow at first and then - the protagonist thought distantly that those lips were as soft as they looked. And their heart was tripping over the gold tape finishing line first place.
2) The protagonist was absolutely certain they were going to pass out with nerves. Good nerves. Giddy, cranking up a rollercoaster nerves. The kiss came quick and chaste. Then, with the realisation that they’d done it, a laugh, fumbling hands, and another go. Longer, this time, as their back hit the wall.
3) Their lover kissed idly, thoughtlessly. A brush to the forehead when they passed, or to their shoulder when they sprawled watching TV, to their cheek as they left the house for the day or gave them a cup of tea. It was more simple, lovely affection than they knew what to do with at first. And then, with no warning, it stopped. And the protagonist didn’t know why.
Request: jim kirk imagine where your best friends, really close and you always act like a couple and then one day you kiss jim casually without realizing what uve done and then realize what you’ve done and everyone is just like what just happen - Anon
I. My mother doesn’t know that when I have nightmares they are of rotting corpses lying on the inside of my ribcage. She doesn’t know how much it hurts to crack myself open as though I am a rock who won’t let anyone shatter it. A rock too solid for mankind, too headstrong to exist.
When I had ripped myself apart before I thought maybe this is it, the moment where the jigsaw pieces fit together in my two fragile lungs.
II. Chiseled jaws stay silent when all they want is to be heard; a lifetime of molasses drips from the mouths of those who only want to be listened to yet nothing comes out except the slow excerpt of their lives. I am looking at myself in the mirror as I write this and I realize my jaw line only exists when I turn my head. This must mean I am outspoken.
III. When you ask me what body memories are I will say this: nothing is the same anymore. I’m faced with the possibility of my own limbs not working when I think too hard or too long. I will tell you that some days I see my future; a long generation of my own, clapping and dancing together as tough they are content. I will tell you that other days I feel Antarctica splitting apart in my bones and I can no longer feel the touch of another person without feeling the beat of his heart.
IV. My father tells me not to worry about myself yet he tells me it is a wicked world out there. How does he expect me to feel with my own hands the sweet sap of this small earth if he doesn’t let me free from this cast he molded with his mouth?
V. You never lose memories, they are distributed troughout the brain, stored in multiple cells and cages. One day I searched all day for the key to my memories. And that was the day I learned the rotting begins once you are born.
this is my take on the evening after the wedding venue search…without interruptions… and maybe a bit more… (rated decidedly M) AO3
A few steps upon her deck is all it takes for Killian to feel grounded, the ancient wood beneath him welcoming him as it always has, no matter the realm. Fatigue from a seemingly endless day has him moving slowly, wishing he could go back to the start of it, to the first crack of dawn where he’d been nestled deep between Emma’s thighs as they’d made love in time with the morning birdsong. It had been more languid than the previous night, lover’s hands wrapped and probing as they kissed, nearly bringing each other to completion before he even slipped inside. He’d been unable to stop thinking about doing it all over again as he’d showered, quickly tossing on his clothes to seek her out in their kitchen downstairs. But then, life had intervened, in the form of Snow and his perfect morning had become just a tad less so.
Finding himself at the helm, he looks out onto the open water and lets his mind wander as he watches the moonlight dance atop the gentle tide. Marrying Emma here, while apparently impractical, is still what he would prefer. And Emma, the way she’d looked at him when he’d suggested it, he’d thought he’d seen agreement there in the sparkle of her eyes and felt it in the tightening of her hand around his waist. But then, life had intervened, again, and they’d been whisked all over town and found themselves making promises to wait, something he understands but doesn’t want with his whole heart.
For a man hell bent on revenge and misery for so long, he continuously amazes himself at his apparent capacity to chase happiness now, his course firmly set on a life with Emma no matter how long that life may be. Speaking of, the hairs on the back of his neck rise at the sound of her boots coming closer on the dock and he smiles into the wind, the damp chill ruffling his collar as he turns to welcome his love as she comes aboard.
“You didn’t have to come out here, love. I told you I’d meet you back at home if you called.”
Request: Being the cousin of Ashton Irwin was exciting, especially when invited to their tour to hang out with his best friends. You found yourself becoming fond of Calum Hood, who finds you annoying from your constant appearance. But what would happen if you stopped giving him that attention?
Word Count: 3k+
A/N: 100 notes is the goal, lovelies! im so happy a bunch of you are enjoying this series. i love writing each part knowing that a lot of you will be satisfied to read it! gives me a ton of confidence in my writing xx
Helsinki, 23:07 P.M.(post-concert, almost midnight)
“Hold on for a sec.”
Those words stood still in the silence, making your bones completely freeze and stop you from joining the rest of the boys outside. The yanking of your hem became a distant memory as you looked up at the sweaty, yet stern-faced Calum right in front of you.
Good idea - holding a conversation with the large humanoid dragon and trying to convince him NOT to eat you.
Bad idea - putting your hands in his mouth. Yes, i know it looks very
inviting, with those impressive fang-lined jaws, that thick, muscular
tongue coated with drool, that steamy breath emanating from that wide,
powerful-looking throat that can easily engulf your hand if you get too
close… AHEM, what I mean is, don’t do it fam it’s dangerous.
ANYWAYS more durg boy again because i felt like it. And once more doing
more POV hand interaction, but this time I wanted to convey an obvious
size difference between the viewer’s hands and the one they’re
interacting with. Yay, figuring out size ratios.:D
Also slowly practicing a newer way to draw saliva, I kinda like it >v>
shoutout to my fellow korean girls who don’t look like the typical beauty standards. it’s okay if you have curves and a thicker body. it’s okay if you don’t have a “v-line” jaw. it’s okay if you have a monolid. it’s okay to have thin lips. don’t let those stupid standards change you. you’re perfect just the way you are.
Welcome Back! So this chapter is rough. Tempers are short and our boys have their first real argument and it gets ugly. Fortunately, it’s also the first time they are both open and honest with each other afterwards. Shitty fight=big step forward for them!
It feels weird to say “Enjoy” for this chapter so um… buckle up?
Day Three in the Forest
The day was shit.
Tony’s feet hurt, and his back hurt and his legs hurt and Jesus Christ the bug spray had stopped working almost immediately after putting it on and he was sure he was bit half way to hell.
Another night crammed in a one man tent with Steve– okay, no, actually that hadn’t been all that bad, and Tony’s lips lifted in a reluctant smile remembering the feel of Steve’s beard against his skin. Not that he was into beards at all. Not at all. And even after his pseudo bath in the river the day before, they were still two grown men in the middle of a jungle sweating through layers of clothing and ineffective bug spray, so they didn’t smell good at all. Not at all. And yet, Tony hadn’t thought to complain as they lay pressed up against each other, trying to touch as little as possible but neither one moving away when they did. He hadn’t wanted to say anything when Steve ended up wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him closer.
And when he had woken up and felt Steve, hard and thick, digging into him– well, it hadn’t even crossed his mind to complain about that. Not at all.
Alright, so that wasn’t all that terrible, but the rest of the day was shit.
They were both cranky and irritable and needing a break from each other and from hiking and the constant stress of looking over their shoulders every three seconds and avoiding the water. They kept switching between eye-stripping each other and then getting under each others skin with thinly veiled insults, and then something would switch all over again and Steve would be looking at him with something beautiful and terrifying in those dark blue eyes and Tony would be stammering and looking away and searching for something sarcastic to change the moment.
The terrain had been gradually getting steeper as the day went on and Tony remembered with a groan the mountain that he could always barely see from camp. Not a huge mountain by any stretch of the imagination, more of a large hill, but after three days on their feet and smaller than usual portions of food and water as well as the added stress of just being around each other, each step seemed like a marathon and by the time they broke for lunch, Tony’s temper was near breaking as well.
He kept telling himself that Steve’s feet hurt way worse than his, that Steve was carrying a bigger bag than him, that Steve was stressed out being the one carrying the guns but–but– damn it Tony was exhausted.
“Right here. Let’s break right here.” were the first words Steve had said all day, dropping his pack and basically collapsing on to the ground, his back against a tree. “Not too long though, we’ve got to get up and over this mountain if we want to make the village by tomorrow. Too risky to get to the river at all, so conserve your water.”
“Wonderful.” Tony slumped down against his own tree and pulled the last of his protein bars from his bag. “More mountain climbing, no river to at least look at, just miles of green. I’ve never hated this color so much in my life.”
Steve made an agreeable grunt as he ate his own bit of food, and they sat in silence again for the few moments they had of rest.
“Will you tell me–” Tony swallowed and took a quick sip. “The students that died? Did you know them?”
“Yeah.” Steve said shortly, pouring a little water in his hands to smooth down his hair and rubbing irritably at his beard.
“Who were they?” Tony asked, bracing himself to hear their names. It had been bugging him the entire time, seeing their bodies and not knowing their names. When he got back to New York he was going to personally pay to get them home and laid to rest because no one deserved to–
“It doesn’t matter.” Steve shrugged and Tony’s mouth dropped.
“It doesn’t matter? It absolutely matters who they were!”
“It really doesn’t.” Steve crumpled up his trash, tucking it carefully in a pouch so they didn’t leave any trace of being there. “Leave it alone.”
“Are you serious?” Tony’s voice rose and Steve sent him an annoyed look. “Steve, they are people. How can you say it doesn’t matter?”
“They were people, Tony. They aren’t anymore. What good would knowing their names do for you besides stress you out? Leave it alone.”
“Jesus.” Tony swore and jumped to his feet. “Look at you. Students– young people– died because of some asshole you trusted and you’re saying they aren’t people? They deserve to be remembered, damn it. What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you that heartless? All these years as a mercenary just ruined you, huh?”
“You’re tired and emotional.” Steve waved him off. “We aren’t talking about this right now.”
“Tired and emotional.” Tony repeated. “No. No, I want you to tell me right now why you don’t think those kids deserve to be named. Why would you even say something like—”
“Because I’ve seen people die. Lots and lots of people die, over and over, Tony.” Steve shook his head. “And remembering their names didn’t do anything except give me nightmares. I’ve seen way too much to try and put a name to every face. Once they are gone, they are just gone. And if I see it any other way then I can’t do my job. They are just bodies.”
“Man.” Tony stared at him. “You make a great mercenary, don’t you, Captain?”
Dark blue eyes flashed with something unreadable. “Yeah, I really do.”
So our lovely sister wife @splendor-e sent me the following prompt:
Ok, so there goes the prompt! In the celebrations in England (we will pretend that nothing happened with Sigurd), the shieldmaidens proposes a small competition between them. Each would choose one of Ragnar’s sons to represent, as well as the Kings and Earls. They must approve that they represent them, because if they win the competition, they win a wish that cant be denied. There will be three modes: archery, sword fighting and target shooting with the ax. (1) there’s more. Only those who win two of them win the wish. What happens? *—-*~
I tweaked it a little bit, but I hope you still like it dear! It was fun to write, thanks for sending it to me!
TW: very very mild sexual content
Of course it was Ingrid who suggested the competition. The girl was calculated and cunning and always looking to improve her status in the eyes of their leaders. She had called out her idea during a lull in the post battle celebrations, as they were all drinking and toasting to their victory against the Saxons.
“Let us shieldmadiens have a competition, to celebrate,” she had said. “Each one of us chooses one of our leaders to represent. Then we compete against each other in a battle of skills. The last two women standing are allowed to ask a wish that must be granted from the man they have chosen. What say you, my princes?”
The Ragnarssons had all welcomed the idea enthusiastically, as well as King Harald Finehair. The maidens who wished to compete began assembling themselves. You shrugged and decided to join them. You had become bored with the feasting and were looking for a little more excitement.
In the end, six of you stood ready, one for each leader. Ingrid, being the one who came up with the idea, got to choose first.
“I will represent Bjorn Ironside,” she said, and Bjorn raised his drinking horn in acknowledgment.
“I will represent King Harald Finehair,” said a tall blonde woman whose name you did not know. She must be a shieldmaiden from his own forces, you thought, as the King nodded at her with a grin.
You were next in line. You looked at the remaining four choices, and your dark eyes were immediately drawn to the youngest Ragnarsson. You had always found him very handsome, but had never spoken to him. You were the daughter of a fisherman and very much below his rank. You longed to run your fingers through that thick, glorious hair, to know what those lovely scowling lips would feel like against your own. His blue eyes were mesmerizing, and you wanted to cut your tongue on the sharp angle of his jaw so badly you could sometimes taste the coppery tang of his luscious, Viking blood.
Not only was he good looking, he was also the smartest and most cunning of all his brothers. He had drawn up the very plans that had helped win the recent battle. You were very, very attracted to him and not being able to do anything about it was very frustrating.
But as the crowd waited for your choice, you suddenly knew this was your chance to change all that. If you won, your wish had to be granted. And you knew exactly what you wanted to wish for.
“I will represent Ivar the Boneless,” you said, and you saw his eyebrows shoot up. But he said nothing, just nodded at you in acceptance. You smiled to yourself, and ran a hand over the fine sword on your belt. It was time to get to work.
Once the other maidens had picked their men, the competition began. It was divided into three parts: archery, sword fighting, and axe throwing. You were pretty good in all of those areas, so you felt confident you would be able to be one of the final two.
Archery was first. You did very well in it, you scored the second highest score out of all six. You caught a glimpse of Ivar’s face after the scores had been announced; he looked mildly impressed. You noticed he sat up straighter in his chair and leaned forward, as if to examine you more closely. You felt heat creep up your neck, but faced his gaze with a haughty one of your own. His lips quirked up in the barest of smiles, and from that moment on his eyes never left you.
Of course, that made it extremely difficult to concentrate during the next two rounds. You could feel the burning of his blue eyes into your skin, watching your every move closely. You had to suppress many a shiver that threatened to dance along your spine. He was finally noticing you, and it was scary and thrilling all at the same time.
Despite the distraction, you also did well in both the sword fighting and the axe throwing. You were pretty sure you were one of the top two shieldmaidens, but until the scores were calculated you wouldn’t know. While your friend Brunhild and another shieldmaiden added everything up, you chanced another glance at Ivar. You had to bite your lip to keep from gasping. Apparently your performance on the field had intrigued him greatly, as he was now giving you an extremely appraising look, and judging by his flared nostrils and wide eyes, he definitely liked what he saw. Oh yes, the youngest Ragnarsson was aroused by your work with weapons. You felt the hot molten heat of desire stir in your belly.
“We have our two champions,” Brunhild annouced. You couldn’t help but send a quick prayer up to the gods. Please let her say your name, please let her say your name!
“Ingrid and Y/N, representing Bjorn Itonside and Ivar the Boneless respectively!”
You let out the breath you hadn’t known you were holding. Ingrid came over and patted you on the back, beaming. But your eyes were on the blue eyed prince, who was now wearing a troubled frown. You wondered if he was wondering what you would ask of him. He probably thinks I’ll ask for land or money, you thought. Little does he know….
“What is your wish, Ingrid Torstiensdottir?” Bjorn addressed your comrade.
“Land and a title in this new world we have conquered,” Ingrid said without hesitation, and you had to admire her nerve. That was an awful lot to ask. But the wish had to be fulfilled, so Bjorn raised his horn of mead in salute. “Done.”
“And what of you, shieldmaiden?” Ivar called out to you, and your heart sank a little at the fact that he didn’t even know your name. But you forced yourself not to look disappointed, and took a deep breath. Well, you thought, here goes nothing.
“I wish to spend one night with you, my prince.”
Ivar’s eyes widened in surprise. A deadly silent hush followed your words as everyone present stared directly at you. The other Ragnarssons mouths had dropped in shock.
“You what?” Ivar sounded like he had been hit over the head with something.
You ignored the butterflies fluttering nervously in your belly. “I said I wish to spend one night with you, Ivar the Boneless. Honour my wish, or are you not a man of your word?”
They were bold words, and risky. But they appeared to be the right ones, as Ivar’s lovely blue eyes darkened, and the tip of his tongue poked out to wet his bottom lip. Your whole body tingled at the sight.
“I am a man of my word,” he said, his voice dripping confident and sin. “I shall see you in my room at sundown, shieldmaiden.”
Your legs felt weak, your heartbeat raced like a Valkyrie rushing back to Valhalla. You were finally going to get what you had wanted for so long now.
Hours later, when your hands were finally buried in that glorious hair and your body felt like it was on fire, the thought came to you.
“Orin’s beard,” you cursed with a gasp, “I should have wished for more than one night.”
Ivar looked up at you from between your shaking thighs, were he had buried his face what seemed like ages ago (to your intense satisfaction and delight). He grinned wickedly at you, teeth shining in the low candlelight.
“I think I can be persuaded to change the conditions of your request,” he said, voice heavy with lust. “If you are a good girl and do exactly what I tell you all night. Can you do that, Y/N?”
You nodded feverishly, squirming as his hands squeezes your thighs. “I can do or be whatever you damn well please, Ivar.”
His grin turned positively animalistic. “Good. Now shut up and let me continue enjoying you. Battle leaves a man with a hearty appetite, you know.”
You smiled to yourself as he settled himself back to work. You could have wished for anything else-land, money, the best pick of the plunder-but you are exceedingly glad you didn’t. One wish, one night, hopefully turned into many.