and not in a good way d:

Inktober 15 - Butterfly.

Me and Mary are doing Inktober half and half! (Check out Day 14)

@fellswap-gold fanart.

sharp and sweet and sour

@anotherwellkeptsecret prompted: The slowest, sweetest, gentlest first kiss you can possibly imagine.


 It was a lovely, crisp day, and Sherlock—in an uncommonly good mood—left the window open behind him after forcing it open to gain entry to the suspect’s flat.

 The curtains fluttered in the breeze, carrying a myriad of vivid city smells, unmistakable London air, sharp and sweet and sour all at once.

 He breathed in deep, then turned away, clapping his hands together as he surveyed the cluttered room.

 Dust, dust everywhere, and that was wonderful, he could read years’ worth of history in dust, he could trace his way backwards through every book the man had read, every single move he’d made in the flat right up until the moment he'd—

 "Christ—" John wheezed from the window, grasping the sill and dragging himself inside. “A little help—” he dropped onto the ground, back against the wall, breathing hard. “—would have been nice.”

 "You managed just fine,“ Sherlock said, smiling a little bit.

 "Thought you were going to go around back and unlock the door.”

 "I’d have gotten there eventually.“

 John made a scoffing noise in the back of his throat, stood up. Moved to shut the window behind him.

 "Leave it.”

 John paused, gloved hands on the window frame. “Someone might see.”

 "Nothing out of the ordinary about an open window on a nice day.“

 "You are aware that breaking and entering is not actually legal?” But John stepped away from the window without shutting it.

 Sherlock smiled again, an almost involuntary pull at the corner of his mouth. He liked John like this, sharp-tongued yet indulgent.

 "All right,“ John said, letting his hands drop to his sides. "What are we looking for?”

 "Dust.“

 "Well. Plenty of that to go around.”

 Sherlock could not seem to stop smiling. Perhaps it was the weather. “Exactly.”

 "Will any dust do, or are you looking for something in particular? Clogged ceiling vent, perhaps? Maybe some dryer lint?“ John was looking at him, his brows raised, something approaching amusement in his face. Ah. Teasing, then.

 "Our suspect has a rather extensive personal library,” Sherlock said, tearing his gaze away to look at the shelves that stretched floor to ceiling along the wall. He scanned the rows of books, eyes flitting across faded, dusty spines. “Including several volumes on rare poisons.”

 "Pot, kettle,“ John said.

 Sherlock turned to look at him, narrowed his eyes. John offered up a shrug and a small smirking twist of his lips.

 "He’s more of a collector than a reader,” Sherlock said, turning back towards the books. “You can see from the dust that most of these haven’t been touched in years.”

 "He does seem to lack a certain standard of cleanliness,“ John agreed mildly.

 "Except—” Sherlock smiled at a smear on a lower shelf, a small half-moon pattern where clean wood gleamed through. He framed it with his hands, measuring. The perfect size for a rested knee. He allowed his gaze to climb upward, catching the imprint of fingertips in the thick dust, and there, there, the place where a book had been pulled free, dislodging cobwebs and ancient dust bunnies.

 "A little light reading?“

 Sherlock rummaged around in his coat, withdrew a crinkling evidence bag, a bloodstained book resting within.

 John groaned. "Did you steal that?”

 "Borrowed.“

 "What are you—”

 "Just wanted to be sure,“ Sherlock said, and he grinned, a quick flash of teeth, the kind of dangerous grin that John usually responded favorably to. He leaned back and looked at the gap on the shelf, looked at the book in his hand.

 "Looks like it fits,” John said.

 "Hm,“ Sherlock said, and he moved carefully, delicately, resting his knee in the smooth clean space left behind, pressing the very tips of his gloved fingers where they would not disturb fresh trails of dust. He lifted himself slowly, with utmost caution, climbing until he was eye to eye with the gap.

 "Sherlock,” John said. His voice was muffled, slightly. As if he was speaking through clenched teeth.

 "Mm,“ Sherlock said, distracted, scanning the shelf for anything else, anything he might have missed in his first assessment. It was beautiful, eloquent, the way that history was written into dust.

 The shelf under his foot creaked, an alarming, sharp sound, and Sherlock’s pulse jumped.

 There were hands on his waist, strong hands, sure hands, John’s hands, steadying him, holding him still.

 "Careful,” John said, his voice low. “Or you’ll bring the whole thing down with you.”

 Sherlock opened his mouth to retort but found he could not speak, not with John leaning back, taking his weight, easing him off of the shelves and back down towards the ground.

 He stood facing the books, mind blank, pulse racing, John breathing close at his back.

 "All right?“ John asked, when the moment had stretched too long.

 Sherlock turned, slowly, straightening up. Meaning to say: My weight was perfectly balanced. There was no danger of the shelf breaking and instead clearing his throat and meeting John’s eyes and saying nothing, nothing, because John was very close and had not yet moved to step away.

 "Sherlock,” John said, and he was so close his breath puffed against Sherlock’s face. The window was open behind him, letting in that sharp-sweet-sour dangerous air, and John was close, he was so close, so close and so utterly beloved and just like that, after years and years of careful restraint, all of Sherlock’s self-control simply fluttered away on a gentle breeze.

 He only needed to tilt his head slightly to bring his lips against John’s, to slide his nose along John’s cheek, to catch John’s warm surprised breath in his lungs.

 They stood like that for a moment, lips ghosting together, just breathing. Sherlock’s back brushed against the shelf and he spared a brief thought for the dust, and then John made a noise in the back of his throat, a noise that was pained and joyful all at once, and his hands came up to cup Sherlock’s face, to press against the heat rising in his cheeks, and Sherlock thought quite clearly: sod the dust and then on the heels of that came: this moment has been written in dust, scrawled here on the shelves for anyone to see.  

 He let the evidence bag drop, the book hitting the ground with a muffled thud.

 John’s hands on his face, cradling him, thumbs moving against his cheeks. John’s mouth on his, soft and warm and wondering, their breaths mingling.

 Sherlock realized that he had, at some point, tangled his hands up in John’s coat, had grasped at the collar of it and had wound the edges around his fingers, pulling him closer, locking him in place.

 "Oh,“ he said, mumbling against John’s lips, because each gentle slide, each damp press, each tug and pull and nibble and rasp of chapped skin was a revelation. "Oh.”

 John laughed, not a cruel or mocking sound, but a soft huff that seemed to come from somewhere deep in his chest. He laughed and Sherlock could taste it, sweet against his lips.

 "Oh?“ John said, nudging Sherlock’s nose with his own.

 "I’ve just realized—” Sherlock said, and his voice was alarmingly unsteady. “Well. No. That’s not quite accurate. I’ve known for some time. That I—well. But. It hadn’t seemed—”

 "Oh,“ John said, and there was a surprised light in his eyes, a dancing mischief that Sherlock hadn’t seen in a very long time. He looked younger, somehow. Unburdened.

 "Is that—?” Sherlock hesitated, feeling uncertain and clumsy and much too slow. His pulse skittered under his skin, joyful, ebullient bursts.

 "I don’t know how you didn’t know,“ John said. He shook his head, shut his eyes, smiled.

 Sherlock looked at that smiling mouth and thought: I’ve kissed those lips.

 "I—” Sherlock said.

 "Me too,“ John said. He slipped one of his hands back, running it through Sherlock’s hair, settling it on the back of Sherlock’s neck, skin warm and slightly sweat-damp. He leaned up and Sherlock let himself be kissed. "Just—me too.”

 "Oh,“ Sherlock said again, and it was all forgotten for a moment, the dust, the books, the crisp air and the sharp-sweet-sour London smell. He was smiling. He couldn’t seem to stop. He thought perhaps it had never been the weather at all. He thought perhaps it had always been John.

Saudade | Kim Jongin

Originally posted by buylosecontrol-moved

Link to Masterlist 

Soulmate/Reincarnation AU | Angst

Warnings: mentions of death

Summary: saudade {n.} — a deep longing for a possibility; a love for something or someone that remains even if that something or someone is already gone.


A/N: Yay for more soulmate AUs! It kinda broke my heart as I wrote it, but in a good way…I hope you enjoy!


Keep reading

just-a-cute-little-kitty  asked:

I absolutely loved your Gods and Monsters stories!!! Your writing flows beautifully and it transmits feelings so well ❤ Are you considering writing anything about Zeus? They way you've retold the other myths is amazing, and now I'm curious about what you'd do with him :) Have a good day and thanks for sharing your stories with us!

Their hold loosens on the earth. Gods aren’t needed like they were before, their names are not chains like they were before. Some embrace this. Ares eagerly shakes off the power he’d never wanted, and Athena lets it pass through her hands like water, wise enough to know that attempting to hold onto it will only hurt her in end.

Some do not embrace this.

~

Demeter’s skin used to be dark.

It was the rich brown of potting soil, it was the fertile black earth that washed up from the Nile River. Her skin was deep, life-giving brown.

It’s not like that now.

It’s pale desert sand, cracks all along it like baked earth and tree roots searching for water that they can’t find. Her hair hangs thin and grey against her temple, and her dark eyes have turned milky.

She clings to her power over the earth by her fingertips, and she knows that she’s just delaying the inevitable. There’s no coming back from this, not really, the strings of her fate have long been woven. But she will not go quietly. The mortals may take the earth from her grasp, but she’s never been one to cross without consequences. She still isn’t.

Demeter goes to the sea. She hasn’t dared step foot in there since her birth, but now she has so little left to lose. The water’s barely to her knees before a wave rises up from the smooth ocean and drags her below.

Poseidon has long been absent from the sea, yet his palace stands as tall and imposing as ever. Because it was never really his palace, his kingdom, his power.

It was always hers.

“Well, well,” Amphitrite says, circling her with curious green eyes, “Time has not been kind to you, I see.”

“It has to you,” she says tightly. Amphitrite looks the same as Demeter saw her last, has aged even better the goddesses who shed their mantels of power the moment they became too heavy. Then again, Demeter expected nothing less. “I want to make a deal.”

“You have nothing I desire, Sister,” she says, smiling even though it feels like she’s mocking her.

Demeter almost laughs – oh, if they could see them now, if Hera or Hestia could see them now, see her now. How they would laugh, to see how low she has fallen. How they would shudder, to see the truth of what she is, what she has always been. “I have this.” She cuts open her chest and pulls out her heart – rich red, a heart that has not failed her, a heart that can feel love and pain and desire and fear and happiness.

“Sister,” she whispers, eyes wide, unconsciously moving away from her, “what are you–”

“I already know I don’t get to see how this ends,” she says, “I’m not someone he’s interested in saving and I’m certainly not someone she’s interested in saving. You have faired far better than me in that regard.”

Amphitrite’s hands are shaking. Demeter likes the way she’s gone impossibly pale, the fear in her eyes, the way she was so arrogant the moment before and know she isn’t. She has power over so little these days. She’ll take what she can get. “Give me your heart,” she says, “give me power over the sea, and I will grant you a heart with the capacity to feel all the emotions you are so fond of.”

The queen of the sea shakes her head, “Don’t do this, you don’t need to do this.”

“I am Gaia,” she says, hard, speaking a name she hasn’t used in a long, long time. “I am Mother Goddess to all, the first to walk this plain, and your elder sister. You will not deny me.” They call her Demeter. She was born Demeter. But she was something else, something far greater, before she risked it all to be born a lowly goddess. “I gambled, and I lost this game. But I will not go out without a fight.”

“You were second to walk this plain, technically,” Amphitrite says softly, eye lowered, showing vulnerability to Demeter that she wouldn’t show to anyone else. “Thinking this was a game was your first mistake. He never thought of it that way.”

She’s about to snap at her, then Amphitrite cuts open her chest and takes out her cold, dark heart. She slips her heart into her sister’s chest, and Demeter does the same, pushing her violently red heart into the darkness of Amphitrite’s chest.  Demeter feels what little grasp on humanity she’d managed to maintain drain away, leaving only a pit of heavy coldness along her spine. A pink flush comes to Amphitrite’s cheeks and a smile tugs on her lips, her eyes warming with the emotions she hasn’t been able to feel since Poseidon left her.

Demeter can feel the power of the current beneath her, the water eager and ready to do her bidding. “Use my heart well,” Demeter tells Amphitrite, Gaia tells her little sister, before using the water to carry her far from where her sister and heart remain.

She will die. But her heart will on, her little sister will live on, and that will have to be enough.

~

Demeter leaves the sea and climbs the steps to what remains of Mount Olympus.

Only Zeus remains, and all that remains of him is skin and bones and sunken eyes. He maintains authority over the skies even though it’s killing him. He’ll maintain authority over it until it kills him.

She needs that power.

She doesn’t care if it kills her.

“My king,” she murmurs, kneeling before his crumbling throne. Their once great pantheon lies around them, nothing left but rubble and ash.

He almost meets her eyes, copper skin now sallow and black hair now white. “She left,” he tells her, high pitched and something terrifying in the edges of his eyes, “She left me – she was never supposed to leave me.” He reaches out and grabs her shoulder, bony hand surprisingly strong, “I miss her.”

Demeter only has one thing left to trade for Zeus’s power.

“Give me what our mother Rhea gave you,” she says softly, “Give it to me, and I will stay on Olympus and you can go to her.”

“There must always be one on Olympus,” he tells her. She doesn’t think he recognizes her. “As long as I am on Olympus, we’ll be fine. He can’t do anything if I’m here, as long as one of us is here. I am here.” Tears leak from his eyes and drip down his face. He doesn’t wipe them away. “She’s not here. She was supposed to be here. I did not want to be alone. She – she was supposed to stay. As long as she stayed by my side, she would be safe. She’s not safe anymore.” His face crumples, the truest expression of grief she’s ever seen from him. “Her sons think they can protect her, but they can’t. They can’t even protect themselves. Only I could keep her safe! But she left. She’s not safe anymore.” Quieter now, “I wanted her to be safe.”

“Give it to me,” she repeats, firmer. She doesn’t have the time for his existential crisis over his missing wife, nor does she have the energy to pretend she cares. “What did mother give you, Zeus? What do I need to take?”

“You can’t take it!” he screeches, scrambling back and away from her. “You can’t have it! I need it! Mother gave it to me, said I had to keep it safe, said I had to stay on Olympus. You can’t have it!”

Demeter growls and grabs the front of his too-big robes, pulling him upright, getting ready to yell at him.

Then she sees it.

His eyes.

His eyes are young, are brown and beautiful. They are eyes that haven’t aged.

Those are not the eyes he was born with.

He fights her, but the heart of Amphitrite beats in her chest, but the strength of Mother Gaia remains in her limbs even now. She plucks his eyes from his head like grapes from a vine. She wonders how old he was when Rhea did this to him, when the woman who called herself mother tore out her son’s eyes and put these ones in instead.

“No!” he sobs, and his voice is clearer somehow, there’s more strength to him even as his face is soaked in blood. “Demeter, do not – it is not your burden to bear!”

“It is no burden,” she says eagerly, “it is a gift.”

She swallows them whole, each eye getting stuck in her throat and she has to force it down. They are part of her, and after a disorienting moment she sees the world as Zeus has seen it his whole life.

It’s no wonder at all he went mad. She’s almost impressed he lasted as long as he did.

It will drive her mad too, but she doesn’t care. She’ll be dead long before that can happen.

“What have you done?” Zeus asks in horror, “Demeter – please, they’re not meant for power, they’re meant to save us. To save us all.”

“I am not Demeter,” she says, and presses her hand to his head, using some of the power coursing through her veins to stop his bleeding, to save him from the swiftly approaching death. “You want her? Go to her. Nothing is stopping you now. And it’s no use trying to stop me.”

Less than an hour later, Zeus takes hobbling, slow steps down Mount Olympus. He doesn’t want to, wants to stay, wants to fight her, wants to take back what she stole, but he can’t. He has no power and no strength and no eyes.  

She sits on the abandoned, crumbling throne and curls her lips into a cruel grin.

She has dominion over earth, over water, and over air.

She will make these mortals beg for mercy before they kill her – Gaia, Mother to All, Earth Goddess.


 gods and monsters series, part xxii

read more of the gods and monsters series here

In the stream....

@knottahooker: saaaaaaaaaaam
copperbadge: Yes knotta!
Knotta: what are you gonna name your new place?
copperbadge: I’ve been wondering about that, I haven’t come up with anything good yet. I’m way up high on a corner so I was thinking of the eyrie
Knotta: oooooh
copperbadge: But I already kind of used that in my last place. 
Knotta: i imagine the place will let you know XD
copperbadge: Maybe I’ll call it Skyfall :D
Levynite: sam no. that burned to the ground
copperbadge: Yeah also the one good character in that movie was shot in the head
Spork: Sam “the third Barton” Copperbadge shouldn’t name things with “fall” in them
copperbadge: AHAHAH THE THIRD BARTON

The Flash Rant

I would like to start off by saying that love Candice Patton. I think she’s amazing, gorgeous and an extremely talented human being. But I cannot stand Iris anymore.
After watching ep 1 of S4, I can safely say that I retain my SnowBarry ship. Seeing as how the writers seem determined to make WestAllen endgame, I was desperately hoping that S4 would help me come to terms with it; that I could maybe come to accept WestAllen as a good ship to jump on.

But I can’t enjoy the forced “attraction”, the stoic expressions and complete lack of emotion in the the way they talk to each other. I mean, considering they’re the “love of each other’s life”, you’d think some of that love would seep through in the way they talk to each other!

Iris decides to become dictator queen extraordinaire on account of how sad she is, not even taking into consideration that Cisco (Barry’s best friend) and Joe (Barry’s father figure through life), might also be affected by it. 

She continues to act like Barry’s whole entire, and lack thereof, are only related to/affecting her. I was always passive on the WestAllen ship until now, but I spent a better portion of that episode just shaking my head in annoyance.

She stops Cisco from even trying to bring Barry back, God knows why; gets annoyed that Caitlin came back to help, and *gasp* they did something productive? 

Then she goes and f*cking “sacrifices” herself to get Barry to come and save her? I mean, it’s not like its 2017 and were celebrating strong women and empowering women. NOPE! the only way to get him back is to put my life in danger and while everything else has a scientific explanation, our love will shock him out of his brain damage!

I can’t sympathise or understand Iris’ character anymore. I liked her in S1 because of how kickass she was, how she refused to depend on anyone else and followed through on her passions and how driven she was. But all that’s left is a shell of the original character. 

On the other hand, I shipped SnowBarry since the beginning. Their easy companionship, the banter and the support that they always have for each other.
And honestly the first person Barry looked at was Caitlin when he came back. The way he smiles at her and the amount of connection behind their simple interaction of “it’s good to have you back.” had my heart melting. 

If all the small moments and signs that have fed the SnowBarry shippers for the last three seasons amount to nothing, I am going to be severely disappointed in the writers. 

Fanservice or not, if WestAllen can’t even be written as a good relationship, why ruin them as best friends, which btw would be awesome to see, and drag it to this point. 

Whatever is left of my SnowBarry faith, on another hand I also believe that Caitlin Snow deserves so much better. Maybe a single, independent, amazing Cait|Frost is what our soul needs.

anonymous asked:

supporting lance is the best way to apprehend his journey! everyone should support lance! he needs it so much! and tbh his journey's gonna be great whatever happens to him so support! this! wonderful! boy! he has so much to learn and so much to see!

anonymous asked:

Elektra was a highlight of Defenders, but is basically doom for Matt. I was hoping that we’d finally see a reason, by the end, for Matt to be able to reject her, but instead we got more “I can make you good” conversations. The only way Matt will ever be able to move on would be if she becomes fully evil. We had some hints in IF that with Harold’s resurrections, each time, he came back worse. Do you think they will do this with Elektra to make her a full-on antagonist?

    It’s really tough to say where they’ll go with Elektra from here (we’re still not even 100% sure she’s alive, but we didn’t see a body so we’re at a hopeful 98%). Matt is always going to have feelings for Elektra because of the power of their time together and due to the fact that Matt, as a person, has a hard time letting people go. The solution here is not for Matt to outright reject her– which would be out-of-character and negate all of the time that’s been spent solidifying their bond– but to give them some time apart so that they can focus on their own lives. Elektra’s presence should not overrule everything else in Matt’s life, and he needs to accept the fact that she is who she is, that maybe having a long-term romantic relationship with her won’t work, that she needs to be able to live on her own terms, and make his peace with that. Otherwise, yes, they’re just going to have the same interactions over and over again. We’re also not fans of the idea of Elektra being analyzed (within the show in particular, but also in general) based on concepts of “good” and “evil”. That is a massive oversimplification of a character whose appeal comes from her comfortable existence within a moral grey area. (For this reason, we’d also hate for her to be reduced to a purely antagonistic role.) Matt’s continued use of “good/bad” terminology in The Defenders suggests that he doesn’t fully understand her yet, and still wants to change her– something we’d thought he’d realized was wrong back in DD Season 2.

    But part of the problem here, of course, is that we don’t fully know who Elektra is, and the fact that the Black Sky concept was never explained makes it tough to analyze her identity. All of the rhetoric surrounding Elektra suggests that the Black Sky is a force within her that gives her the capacity to kill. But is that inherent to Elektra? Who is Elektra without the Black Sky? Have we ever seen her? Has Matt? Where is the point of separation, if there even is one? When Matt talks about there being “goodness” within her… what, exactly, is he talking about? And when Elektra says she knows and accepts who she is… what is she talking about? There are three different factors at work here: Elektra’s “real,” possibly “good” self (whoever that is), the Black Sky (whatever that is), and the negative psychological influence of being resurrected that was introduced in Iron Fist, (which is never brought up in The Defenders). By the end, Elektra is a knot of these elements and it is impossible to pick them apart.

    This means that we’re having a really hard time figuring out Elektra’s status toward the end of The Defenders. Her progression is possible to track during the rest of the show, however. Just as we saw with Harold Meachum, her knowledge of her past life and sense of self return gradually. For Elektra, it’s a particularly slow process. It’s possible this has something to do with how long she was dead, but there’s also a hint that Alexandra might have used Hand magic to do some extra tampering with her memories.  

    By Episode 4, after her first encounter with Matt (someone who isn’t Alexandra and knows who she is!), Elektra starts to become interested in uncovering her identity, and reclaiming the memories that she has been assured she no longer needs. Having met someone from her past, achieving this suddenly seems possible, and so she starts questioning Alexandra’s lessons.

    It’s a small act of rebellion, but the first hint of Alexandra’s weakening control over her. She begins acting on her own. We see her examining the sai in the weapons room unaccompanied. (She does this again two episodes later, right before skewering Alexandra with them.) And of course, in Episode 5 she nearly kills Murakami in order to protect Matt, and because he interrupts what could have been a breakthrough moment for her. Evidence suggests that she doesn’t fully know Matt yet at this point– those memories have yet to surface completely– but she is now aware that there is some deep connection there, and that he is the only key she has for unlocking her past.          

    This is the point at which Elektra starts deceiving and undermining Alexandra. While maintaining the illusion of obedience while around other people, she ventures out on her own, going so far as to sneak out of the Hand base and break into Matt’s apartment in her quest to recover her memories. Alexandra knows something is up, but remains confident in her ability to keep Elektra under control. This overconfidence, and lack of perspective of how quickly the brainwashing is unraveling, weakens her against Elektra, who– as of Episode 6– has recovered her memories/love of Matt, and enough of her identity to solidify her conviction to free herself from the Hand.

    Learning that Alexandra is growing weak and can be killed empowers her to take the next step. Her delivery of Danny to the Hand is a power play not for Alexandra, but for herself. It seems that she wants three things at this point: power and autonomy, to avoid ever dying again (via acquiring the substance), and to be with Matt in some capacity– as her happiest memories are likely associated with him, and he’s one person she knows she can trust.  

    She brings Danny down into the hole and starts manipulating the heck out of him in order to get the substance. She asserts her dominance over the surviving members of the Hand to solidify her power. And when Matt shows up… we would expect her to try bonding with him, rather than trying to kill him. We could argue that she sees her attachment to him as a weakness, and thus wants to destroy that– but there’s no evidence of that during their fight. She wants to be with him… but she also wants him dead, and is in fact willing to die alongside him rather than escaping with him. We’ve talked before about the fact that this negates her desire to avoid death, which is the only reason she went down into the hole in the first place. 

    The reading of her final fight that makes the most sense to us is that Elektra is raw and conflicted, and operating based on pure emotion. She wants to live, but she doesn’t want to have someone else engineer her survival. She wants to be with Matt, but remembers her death and his involvement in it and is still processing that horror.

    She has achieved power and freedom, but doesn’t know where to go from here, so she follows her most basic instinct: she fights. And when death seems imminent, she accepts it, because ultimately it’s her choice, and at least she’ll be with Matt, so it might not be as horrific this time.

    We should highlight the fact that we don’t know if all of her memories have returned by this point. Since Matt and Stick are the only reminders of her past life that she has available, those memories would be easiest for her to access and the first to return. But we lack to information to discern if the rest of her past returned with them. There’s no evidence to prove either option. Elektra could very easily be back to her normal self, but in a raw, frantic, uncontrolled form (as you’d expect, considering what she’s been through and the fact that she’s literally just had to rebuild herself.) And again, we return to the question of who Elektra actually is. As mixed-up and confused as she seems at the end, she’s confident in her identity. Matt tells her she’s Elektra Natchios, not the Black Sky– but she already knows that. That’s been the whole point of her narrative arc in this show.  

    This can be read two ways: that she has been completely consumed by the Black Sky (whatever that is– we still don’t know!), or she has finally overcome her identity issues from DD Season 2 and embraced who she has always been: Elektra Natchios, someone who’s really good at murder. We far prefer the latter reading, since it creates a much more satisfactory bit of character development and aligns with what we personally want for Elektra. She herself states that she’s embracing her true identity. But since her point-of-view is unreliable thanks to the hypothetical Black Sky influence, and since Matt seems so convinced that she is no longer herself (and claims she is lying), it’s really tough to figure out El’s actual status in this scene. If we knew more about the symptoms of being the Black Sky, and could thus separate those out from the rest of Elektra’s personality, it would be far easier. As it stands, this scene is vague and completely up to personal interpretation.   

    We’re expecting Elektra to have a reduced presence in Daredevil Season 3 (if she appears at all), if only because she has dominated the story for the past two DD-relevant shows and they’d likely want to move on to new material. We’re okay with this. We love Elektra, but Matt needs different stories. But at the same time, we are desperate for this to be a beginning for her, not an end. This would, in fact, be the ideal time for Marvel to *cough* give her her own show…

Matchmaker.

Requested by theleaguewhoalwayslocked: Can I request Merlin x Reader imagine where reader is an agent of Russian equivalent of Kingsman and she is working with Kingsman and developing a big crush on Merlin. Merlin (though liking her as well) has no idea of her true feelings until Eggsy plays a matchmaker.
Pairing: Merlin x Reader.
Fandom: Kingsman.
Warnings: None.
Word Count: 1403

Keep reading

Trying to muster enthusiasm for a job application to a department where, when I visited as a prospective student (they offered me a full fellowship for my PhD), I was warned against working with somebody because he’d never had a female graduate student make it all the way through a degree with him. He unironically uses phrases like “fascism of the left”. It’s an open secret that he’s an asshole, and many of his colleagues roll their eyes when he goes off on a tangent, but he’s good with the public and is wildly popular (my dad used to read his blog, for crying out loud!). He’s pedantic and needlessly cruel and takes credit for other people’s work.

And while the obvious answer is “don’t fucking apply for a job there”, fuck, man, if that were enough to disqualify a potential place of employment, I would literally have zero options left. This is a phenomenal job in a fantastic city close to family that would basically springboard me to the forefront of the research community. I don’t want this to be the reason, after three degrees and twelve years of work, that I don’t get to progress any further in my field.

He’s in his 50s. He’ll probably still be in the department 20 years from now. I fucking hate this.

starsofoldandyoung  asked:

All my loving hc of reddie please??

(I have already sort of done this but it’s cute so here’s some more)

~Richie was an ass. Eddie was scrunching his eyes closed so tight that he was beginning to see swirls of color. His stomach suddenly ached with anxiety and fear. He wanted to kill Richie.

~Richie picked to break the news to Eddie in public, without much notice. He’d be leaving Derry in less than a week. He had thought it would be best this way but as he felt the eyes of interested strangers behind him, he realized his mistake. 

~Eddie let out a large sigh, taking his hands off his face and sliding them down his cheeks and into his hair to ease himself but give easy access to pull at his hair in case of irritation. 

~Because he wasn’t good at words, Richie leaned over to press their lips together. Only Eddie raised his palm between them and dared him to do anything. He stood straight again, stuffing his hands into his pockets. 

~The restaurant they were currently in was a mess of 60′s memorabilia, Eddie was leaning against the jukebox as if his legs were to wobbly on their own. 

~”It won’t be that bad, Eds. Long distance relationships work out all the time-”

~”Yeah but I just have this terrible feeling you’ll forget about me.” Eddie wasn’t sure why but his gut was telling him so. Richie shook his head to tell him he was ridiculous. 

~Richie droned on and on about how he was going to write to Eddie and call him every frickin’ day. He used to collect stamps when he was little so he’d never have to worry about splurging 50 cents again! 

~Eddie was a talker when he was nervous. He tried desperately to speak up on the problems but Richie just didn’t let him. He kept talking with that grin on his face. When he was fed up, he just scoffed “Can I get a word in here?”

~Richie did stop speaking, only to press their foreheads together. “Just because I’m away, doesn’t mean I’m gonna stop loving you.”

~Eddie opened his mouth but Richie kept on

~”I’m gonna miss you so fuckin’ much, now close your eyes so I can kiss you and memorize what it feels like for when I’m gone.” Richie smirked and Eddie let his eyes flutter closed. 

~Eddie felt like a child, arms wrapped around Richie’s neck with his fingers crossed, thinking: ‘Please, let this work’ but that bad feeling never went away. 

confessions with jbj

noh taehyun

  • with taehyun a confession could go one of two ways, really
  • he’s a teensy bit difficult when it comes to truly expressing his emotions, so he definitely wouldn’t be a huge sap about it
  • he’d probably try and confess with a simple, quick joke on the side when the two of you are making light conversation—he’d be speaking really fast and kind of hope you didn’t even manage to make out his words—so if it turned out that you actually heard him he’d flush the tiniest bit and laugh awkwardly, awaiting a response from you
  • deep down he’d be nervous as hell because you were such good friends so what if he misinterpreted your interest in him and was currently on the way to ruin your friendship
  • so of course you make him the happiest man alive when you tell him that you’ve been feeling the same way about him

takada kenta

  • kenta would be such a big baby about confessing his crush
  • he’s just naturally a little shy and, obviously, very easily flustered, so that multiplies x10 whenever he’s around you
  • he’d probably whine about not being able to confess to just about anyone who’d listen, and no matter how often he’d get scolded by sanggyun for not ‘manning up’, his heart would stop and his words would get caught in his throat as soon as he tried to tell you how he felt about you
  • at some point both donghan and sanggyun would probably grow sick of it and decide to take matters into their own hands, so they’d secretly text you from kenta’s phone once he’s not looking and ask you out on a date
  • kenta would freak the hell out and probably scream and look up flight tickets to japan
  • little did he know that you were actually more than excited to go out on a date with him

kim sanggyun

  • listen. listen. kim sanggyun has the fuckboy persona down to a science, but we all know that in reality he’s a soft fluff
  • it would depend on his mood, but with him i see a more classic kind of confession that would involve a lot of quiet and soft flirting, joking and teasing when he’s walking you home one day
  • he’s the type to kind of hide his feelings behind his ‘funny facade’, but once he catches on to the fact that you like him just as much he’d be a goner
  • he’d also probably get overly excited and end up kissing you simply because you accepted his confession and he just couldn’t hold back lmao

jin longguo

  • longguo would be so incredibly helpless when it comes to confessing
  • he’s not really used to the whole crushing-on-someone-and-having-feelings-thing, so he’d most likely sulk over the entire issue for a long while without a clue as to how he’s supposed to convey his feelings
  • he probably tries a few times but trails off in the process because every time you turn around and smile at him his thoughts get jumbled and his cheeks grow hot
  • he’d pretty much confess by accident because he would’ve held back for way too long already and the words would just spill out of his mouth at some point
  • “tolbi and leusi don’t want you to leave because they always get upset when you do and to be honest i do too and can’t you just stay here with me and oh my god did i say that out loud”

kwon hyunbin

  • hyunbin would be kind of similar to sanggyun when confessing, except that with him i could see a very romantic and perfectly planned out confession instead of a casual one
  • since the two of you were very good friends that joked around and teased each other a lot, he’d want to convey his feelings for you on a more serious note
  • he’d most likely ask you to hang out with him as he usually would, maybe to get dinner with him, and he’d bring you a small bouquet of your favorite flowers and take you on a walk afterwards, pouring his heart out to you
  • he would try and be all suave and cool about it but his cheeks would be on fire and eye contact would be difficult for him to maintain and to be honest it would just be the most adorable thing
  • he should be ready for lots and lots of soft teasing from your side afterwards

kim donghan

  • donghan would be so in denial about his feelings, a confession wouldn’t even cross his mind for the most part
  • at some point though he’ll grow sick of the way he seems to be short of breath whenever you’re around or the tiny flips his heart does every time you lean into his side a little
  • he’d be the type to try and get you to confess first by teasing you—because frankly, deep down he’s actually really shy and kind of insecure—so he’d want to be sure of what your feelings towards him are before embarrassing himself
  • so when you finally do admit that you might like him a little, the brightest grin would spread across his lips
  • he’d pull you close and bury his face in your hair to hide the burning blush on his cheeks because kim donghan does not blush
  • “dummy, why didn’t you just say so earlier”

So far today, I have:

- Gone to the grocery store, gotten energy drink and Soup

- Done a load of dishes 

- Written two long Disk Horse posts 

- Eaten said soup

- Written a Running with Rats episode, all the way through (and I’m getting to the good part now!) 

- Cleaned the bathtub, which had gotten Scary; it’s not at the point where I’d show it to the Queen, but it’s clean enough for the President to eat off of

And I have 17 more hours in which to do things! Feeling good about myself rn. :D 

yozoraarashi  asked:

65. with EraserMight for the numbered prompt list if you don't mind that pairing and if you are inspired. Thanks for sharing your writing with us! I love your writing so much that you got me into the BnHA fandom when you started writing for it.

65: “I wish you could see yourself the way I see you.”

0-0-0-0-0-0

After the media circus that is All Might’s reveal comes to a semi-final close, Shouta finds his fellow teacher in the break room, looking more exhausted than both of them combined. Even coffee, when presented, barely puts a dent in it. Shouta’s tempted, for the first time in his life, to bundle All Might up and shove him in a closet for a few hours of good, uninterrupted rest. He’d even be willing to let the man use his (incredibly comfortable) sleeping bag, if that helped.

“Don’t even think about it,” Midnight murmurs to him as he passes her on the way in. “I already offered to put him to sleep for a couple of hours, and he refused. I doubt you’ll get anywhere with a man that stubborn. Mic tried, too. Had him about halfway unconscious until Blood King came in.”

Ah, that explains the glaring Mic is doing, which looks more like it belongs on his own face than the cheery radio host. “I’ll handle it,” he tells her, which earns him a snort.

“Good luck with that,” she says, and leaves the room. 

Shouta approaches All Might’s stubborn refusal to rest the same way he’d approach a student’s stubborn refusal to rest. Which is to say, with all the tact and subtlety afforded to someone of his rank and station.

“You’re being incredibly stupid.”

All Might stares at him. Mic stares at him, and then cackles and ducks behind his computer when Toshinori turns to stare at him in mute betrayal. 

“I’m fine, honestly. I don’t know what Midnight told you–”

“She told me you were being incredibly stupid by refusing her help, and then when Mic got you halfway to sleep, refused to go back to sleep. What exactly are you waiting on? A sign from above? Does God himself need to come down here and tell you to take a nap already, you’ve done enough?”

Toshinori grits his teeth. “It’s not enough. Sensei is still out there, the villains are becoming unruly, and my student–”

“Is currently in class with Midnight, and will be in class for the next four hours, at least. After that, he and the rest that decided to pull the dunderheaded stunt of attempting to rescue Bakugou will be in remedial training with me, so add another three hours to that. In short, you have more than enough time to take to get some decent rest, you’re just refusing to do so out of stubborn idiocy.”

“You’re being quite the villain right now, you know.”

“Oh yes, you’ve caught on to my evil scheme quite effectively, All Might. Here I am, the Ultimate Evil in disguise as a school teacher, and my evil plan is ensuring you get at least eight hours of decent, uninterrupted sleep. Yes, me and my mildly inconvenient plot will defeat you. You might even go so far as to call it dastardly,” Aizawa says, dry as dust. “Quick, someone call the heroes, you might actually need backup with this one.”

Mic’s cry-laughing in the corner, and doing his best to be quiet about it. It’s not working because he’s wheezing like he’s dying, but at least he isn’t roaring. 

 Toshinori’s cheeks have flared a dark red in embarrassment. “They might need me for something.”

“Then they can find anyone else to help them. And if the press come whining at our doors, we’ll turn them out as we always do. You have no excuse to push yourself this hard. You passed on the torch - we all witnessed it.”

And hadn’t that been a shock. On live TV no less, watching his colleague point to the camera, and tell Izuku Midoriya in front of a crowd of millions, “You’re next.”

It at least explained the somber attitude Izuku had when he’d returned to school that morning. He’d been spaced out for a good portion of the class, something that normally would have gotten him in quite a bit of trouble, but today was one of those days Shouta was feeling generous about people’s feelings, so he let the kid have a day to gather his thoughts. 

“That doesn’t mean they don’t need me.”

Shouta resists the urge to slap the man. Barely. “The only thing that needs you right now is this sleeping bag and this pillow, and that janitor closet two classrooms down. Here, let me show you where true evil lurks. If we go together we just might have a chance of beating it with the power of Nyquil and sleep exhaustion.”

“You’re teasing me,” All Might mutters, but at last he stands. “Somehow our positions have become reversed. I’m not entirely sure I like this.”

“Yes well, I wouldn’t have to do this if you’d stop treating yourself like nothing.” 

“That’s pretty much all I am at this point.”

Shouta barely resists the urge to snap out I wish you could see yourself like I see you. Because All Might is not nothing, especially not how. And maybe if he saw himself as Shouta and the rest of the school saw him, he might stop with the self-flagellation long enough to actually try to do better.

But that’s an argument for another day. Instead, he opens the closet door, shoves Might inside, and follows him in, shutting it behind him. 

“You’re staying?” Might asks, apparently not realizing that until just now. 

“If I leave chances are you’ll just sneak right back out. So this is the only way, short of barring the door, I can make sure you get the sleep you deserve. There’s a cot over there. Get to it.”

Toshinori slowly lowers himself down, looking at Aizawa like he’s a wild animal fixing to rip his face off. Shouta rolls his eyes, nestles down in a corner, and shuts his eyes. He listens to the sound of his sleeping bag opening and closing again, the creak of old worn hinges as the cot shifts beneath Toshinori’s body, and finally the thump of a head hitting the pillow. 

“…good night,” Toshinori mumbles quietly, clearly thinking Aizawa is already asleep. Honestly, he’s just like the kids sometimes. Too gullible and naive for his own good. Still, he’s got a good heart.

When Aizawa opens his eyes two minutes later, Toshinori is dead to the world, snoring softly into the pillow. He smirks, and nestles further back in the corner.

“Sleep well, idiot.”

New Arrival - Part 1

He’s too big to sit in my lap, so he rests his head there instead. It’s a little awkward since he has to sit up again to sign when he’s talking, but it really gives him comfort.

And after everything he’s apparently been through, he deserves as much comfort as I can offer.

I’d been surprised when Beau brought him home a few days ago, claiming to have found him in his and Rin’s old place nearby. It’d apparently taken a good bit of coaxing to get him to communicate, and even more to get him to actually come out of hiding and come here.

I run my hand over his neck and shoulders, over the layers of scars from cuts and burns and who knows what else. He pushes slightly into my touch, which makes me smile a little. He hadn’t opened up very much yet, but he seemed starved for affection in the deepest way. (Also starved for food, but that was a different matter.)

He’d initially been afraid to be near me, but came around with Rin and Beau’s help. To be honest, I’m not sure he would have stayed if it weren’t for them; he seemed terrified of humans.

He’s huge, nearly eight feet tall, with a long tail that comes out of his middle back and a strong, animalistic build. His face is reminiscent of a gas mask, but is organic, and because of it, he cannot speak but through sign language. His hands are large, with long fingers, and the skin is black up to the elbow. He wears a pair of tattered camo pants, more like ragged shorts now, and his legs are strong and similarly colored to his arms. All over his body, scars crisscross in layers: cuts, burns, bullet wounds, but the most disturbing part is the number of healed sutures he had mixed throughout. It hinted at something sinister that I didn’t want to imagine. He seemed to have a sort of camouflage ability that seemed to trigger spontaneously when he was startled, but it never lasted long, and his scars were always visible. It was horribly easy to startle him, and my heart ached every time he was, even by accident. 

I sat with him in the living room with Beau watching over us as Rin cooked dinner in the kitchen. He’d been voraciously hungry since arriving, and to no surprise; it seemed he hadn’t eaten much of anything lately for fear of being found by…anybody. The only reason he’d trusted Beau enough to follow him was because Beau wasn’t human. 

As I gently brushed my hands across his scarred shoulders, his arm wrapped tightly around my waist, and he sighed softly while snuggling closer. I glanced up to see Rin looking over at the two of us from the kitchen, and our eyes met. A silent understanding passed between us, a promise, as it were. I could see Rin’s eyes look up, and I turned to follow his gaze. Beau looked between the two of us and nodded his agreement.

We’re not sure where he came from, or what had happened to him to make him like he is, but we did know this:

He was safe now. And we’d protect him. No matter what.

anonymous asked:

seth always sounds so coquettish when speaking to roman i love them??????? i mean i thought he first said 'big dong' to roman instead of 'big dog' but i'd like to think it's his way of being suggestive to him... and roman too, back in mitb when roman kept telling seth 'you're just baby brother' i was like 👀

He does, doesn’t he? xD Even in the times where he meant it as a mockery, it still sounded somehow playful and flirty. Lmao ‘big dong’ oh well, I wouldn’t be surprised if he let it slip hahaha.

Oh my gosh, that MiTB match is so good??? All the intensity and sexual tension. The way Roman manhandled him almost the whole match, but then later protected his knee during the sunset flip. Not to mention the spear converted into a pedigree.

Roman’s conflicting feelings for Seth are the best, and I ‘m so here for them solving their unfinished business.

demons || p. jm

Originally posted by pursuit-of-my-purpose

Summary: ‘A demon in disguise as your savior.’

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Genre: Angst Angst Angst

Words: 348

A/N: Requested! OOh my first song request hahaha. This was definitely sm fun!

 !!TRIGGER WARNING THERE IS MENTIONS OF SUICIDE!!

Keep reading

Writing/ Character Development Advice: Shakespeare’s Absolutes

the thing I learned in my shakespeare class that really stuck with me was one of the points my prof made about how he approaches drama/ character, and this is, everything is on the table. His stories operate on the idea that any particular character– even the Good ones, even the heroes–can and will do anything, however seemingly counter to their character, if correctly motivated/ pushed. 

And I bring this up because a lot of character development advice I see says stuff like “what are your character’s hard boundaries/ things they’d never do?” and I’m not gonna say this is a wrong way to think about a character, but it’s. a vastly less interesting way. 

You can apply this to pretty much any shakespeare but let’s do twelfth night: Duke Orsino would never give up his pursuit of Olivia, or question his absurd, self-pitying, misogynistic beliefs about love. Viola would never let her emotions get the better of her practicality. Olivia would never fall in love or even hang out with dudes until her seven years of mourning have passed. Malvolio would never partake in any indignity such as smiling constantly and wearing yellow stockings. The best example I can think of is Benedick in Much Ado: He repeatedly espouses how terrible and untrustworthy and shrewish women are, and is known for his epic bromances with his buddies. He would never take a woman’s side over theirs in what is literally a life and death argument.

Guess what ends up happening! Circumstances become such that they do all of these things! And those Circumstances, and Things, and the consequences of those Things, are the plot. And I’m not saying you have to plot like shakespeare, but the dude is wildly famous for a reason.

So my advice is that if you think of your character as having absolutes, figure out what would drive them to give that up: that’s probably your story, or at least a part of it. The internet understanding of “OCs” tends to look at them as static beings, a list of immutable traits and backstory talking points, and there’s nothing inherently wrong with that, but when you’re writing stories, understand that they’re fueled by the dynamism of characters, by their growth or change or moral degradation. Characters aren’t precious; don’t be afraid to break them to show us what’s inside.

anonymous asked:

why do you like paul wesley so much who is that lmao

HONEY !!!! HON !!!! EY !!!!

Paul Wesley aka Stefan Salvatore from The Vampire Diaries aka the best show to ever fucking exist aka Izzy’s most dangerous addiction and obsession.

Paul Wesley and Harry Styles are !!!! the same person. Trust me. They have the same mannerisms and the same way of speaking and it’s terrible !!!!! Because there have been so many times where i watch Harry interviews and go “wow, that’s such a Paul Wesley thing to do and say” and visa versa.

Also, Harry would deadass be such a good Stefan Salvatore. He’d kill that role dude. I’d pay a good amount of money to see that happen.

I cannot wait until the day Harry Styles and Paul Wesley to meet and realize they’re literally the same person

If you would have told me a couple of years ago that Sami Zayn would be in the running for best heel in WWE, I’d have pegged you as crazy. Now, it’s crazy how good he is in this role. The way he drops insults in that same jubilant tone of voice is impressive.