au ed sheeran

6

The third and final page of the comic nobody asked for.

To explain this: Autumn knew that she might not make it out of the fight alive, so she left a piece of herself in her favorite hair clip and was in hopes of Toffee singing her favorite song, which coincidentally happen to be a falling soldier song among monsters. She did the same thing to the girls, but they don’t know that.

REBLOG if you like anything written below. (I want to make friends)

•5SOS

•All Time Low

•One Direction

•Ed Sheeran

•Fall Out Boy

•Green Day

•Halsey

•Nirvana

•Twenty One Pilots

Panic! At The Disco Shawn Mendes Follow me and I will follow you back.

Fanfiction - Happier

I wrote this short thing for the needle wizard, pencil sorceress and all around magnificent friend, the lovely @outlanderedandoverhere. Master Seamstress shares with me the love for Ed Sheeran and I couldn’t resist the urge to have her doing a happy dance over this. Enjoy! X

Happier

I entered the small coffee shop, unfolding my scarf as soon as I felt the merciful warmth of the heating system, aiming towards a quiet table at the corner, as I shook off snowflakes from my curls.

As I waited for the small waitress to bring me my cranberry scone and a large cup of steaming tea, I opened my notebook and started reading the notes I had taken. It was a very hard case, a young patient with a rare tumor compressing his bile duct – presenting with jaundice, looking like the most recent character of The Simpsons. The previous surgeon in charge of the case had announced it to be unresectable, which gave him about three months of life expectancy. At the age of thirty, you are seldom ready for your life to end – least of all without throwing a good fight.

And that was what I was planning to offer him – a risky procedure, only done in the past by a handful of surgeons in the country. If it worked, he would be cancer free – and it was my job to guarantee it worked. I had barely slept the last couple of nights, immersed in planning the surgery to the finest detail.

I loved my job, fiercely – even in the moments I hated it. I never lost the tingling on my palms when I held the scalpel or the sudden feel of a jump inside my belly, like I had missed a step, whenever I finished a hazardous procedure. Besides, it was a very welcome distraction from the wreckage of my personal life.

I sipped my tea, delighted with the smoky taste of the Highland blend, strong and homely on the back of my tongue. It reminded me of the taste of his skin against my lips and I swallowed hard, slightly shaking my head to disperse unwelcome memories.

The bell above the door rang, a small tornado of snow allowed in as new customers entered the cosy place. I bit the back of my pencil, tilting my head to better discern an approach, as I mobilized the invisible pancreas before me. I smiled, seeing the vessels and ducts so well exposed in the eye of my mind, ready to be conquered, and raised my eyes to ask for a second congratulatory scone.

I saw his back but recognized him immediately – I had kissed that spot just behind his ear, where his hair curled at the nape, countless times.

He was wearing his pilot uniform underneath his overcoat, the flight captain’s hat placed next to his elbow on the table. I had a sudden flash of his hands placing that hat on my head, a playful smile on his full lips, his slightly callused hands roaming my otherwise naked body. No.

Without thinking, I was already making myself small on my table, shrinking to the point where I could almost hide under the tasteful tablecloth – wishing I had gone to another place, in another time, in another world.

Only then I noticed he had company - a cute blonde girl wearing stewardess clothes, her lips painted red to match the satin scarf prettily tied around her neck in a bow. She sat in front of him on the table, a complicit smile plastered on her face, as he talked – probably sharing something about a recent trip.

He was always coming and going, flying around the world – I remembered all too well setting my alarm to the middle of the night, just so I could listen to his voice in Tokyo. Kissing him goodbye – there had been so many goodbyes, not enough hellos – before he left to New York. Texting him, unsure where in the world he was exactly – but painfully aware it wasn’t by my side.

The nights became so long, always craving, always wondering. I felt split in two, half of myself scattered in the wind, travelling on the air - while the other half was forced to anchor it, bearing down, struggling with heaviness. There weren’t enough kisses to ease the constant ache, as much as he tried – and he had tried.

“Do ye not want me anymore?” He had asked me on the final night, broken – Oh, so broken.

I hadn’t answered him and in my silence he took his leave, shoulders hunched in pain. In truth, I couldn’t fathom a time when I wouldn’t want him – and that was the problem, wasn’t it? I kept wanting and wanting and wanting, wanting so much everything hurt, wanting so much I feared I would physically break.

The flight attendant touched his hand – to my horror he didn’t shy away from it. It lingered there, natural and possessive, and I felt the scone doing cartwheels inside my stomach like a flour acrobat.

She leaned over and told him something, slightly sticking her tongue out in mischief and he laughed. Throat and lungs and vocal chords, clapping and singing, an orchestra on a perfect rendition of amusement. Standing ovation from the crowd. Claire Beauchamp dead in the audience.

He used to laugh like that with me. Jamie always laughed with his entire body. He was that kind of man – whole in everything he did. I recalled the sensation of his laugh as I laid my cheek on his chest, a scientist studying the mechanisms of happiness. For a moment I closed my eyes and covered them with my hand, foolishly disturbed by the realization I didn’t hold his laughter in exclusiveness.

Jamie looked happy. I could see the outline of his smile, the corners of his mouth turned up in contentment. Had he been that happy with me, once? Before I filled our lives with insecurities, demands and frailties?

She squeezed his hand – fingers touching, skin meeting, hearts melting? - and got up, putting on her elegant coat. With a swish of blonde hair, she kissed his cheek – clearly no amiable kiss demanded such duration, in my opinion – and with a light caress on his forehead, left him finally alone.

He looked around, searching for the waitress to ask for a refill and – of course – spotted me. It was like standing on stage, two spotlights beaming on us, everything else left in darkness. Jamie glanced at me and I proudly endured his gaze, asserting that I saw his happiness and wasn’t shaken at all by it. Liar.

Slowly I made my way to his table, a slug crawling on a lettuce leaf, ugly but brave. I seemed to be ken on eating every crumb of my cake of sorrow and then smile, pretending it was sweet.

“Hello, Jamie.” I greeted him, bracing myself on the notebook I carried. His hair was somewhat shorter than the last time I had seen him, a couple of months ago, his uniform impeccable, the tie on his neck just a bit loose. I used to make his knots and suddenly panicked, fearing that the blonde girl was a master of turns and twists, able of fixing his heart as well as his tie.

“Hello, Claire.” Jamie replied, his voice cautious. “How are ye?”

“Good.” I smiled nervously. “Are you back from work?”

“Aye.” He fidgeted with the mug in front of him, a soft hesitant smile on his lips. “Just got back from Brazil. It was a wee furnace there.”

“Ah.” I swallowed hard, struggling to come up with other pleasantries I could share with him. Do you smile in your sleep when she touches you? “You look good. Happy.”

“What are ye asking me, Claire?” He avoided my gaze, his face abruptly serious.

“Nothing.” I replied in a hoarse voice, well aware that he could spot the tears forming on the corners of my eyes, in the fountains of my soul. “Just that. You looked happy with her.”

“She’s a good lass.” He glared at me, his eyes outrageously blue and intent. “She understands what life is for me. I feel that I can talk to her.”

“As you couldn’t talk to me?” I tried to smile again and failed miserably, the glass of my face polished and glistening, reflecting the thousands of small sorrows hidden in the corners of my eyes.

“I told ye all my soul and heart.” Jamie lowered his eyes, grabbing his hat. “In the end it wasna enough. That is my utmost regret, Claire - that it wasna enough.”

I stood there, speechless, as he gathered his things and left. I thought of the bleeders that elude the most capable surgeon, the cardiac arrest that lasts forever, the hands inside where we are most private, touching the core of what we are, unable to reach what had been lost. I slammed my heart at him as he closed the door behind him – “Jamie!” – knowing all too well I had no one to blame but myself. I had traded all for nothing, convinced it was a worthy bargain – blind, blind, fool.

I crawled home, shaken to the very marrow of my bones, oozing love and loss – sticky and queasy with it. In medical school they had told me how the brain works to protect itself – the clever barrier surrounding it, the plasticity, the temperature regulation – and yet my brain seemed decided to finish me, incessantly playing memories of Jamie, smacking me with my own recklessness. I had no self-preservation left, for I loved him to the atoms of me.

I had seen him happy without me – there was joy there to be sure, in knowing him well. But the pain was almost unbearable, no last redoubt of magical thinking left, where I could hide and pretend we would find our way back to each other. He was gone. Pushed away by my own two hands.

I collapsed on the couch, curling into fetal position, making myself small and smaller. My ears were filled with the sounds of my own heart and I willed him to stop, to let go of beating, to be still and let me be.

He kissed my cheek on our first date. I kissed his lips on the second. Loved all of himself by the tenth. My heart leapt when I saw him, tall and gallant in his uniform, almost running to hold me in his arms at the hospital. When he told me flying was his second favourite thing. When he told me I was first. Red Jamie, my Jamie.

A knock on the door, fast and rhythmed. A secret code for the lover coming.

I padded to the door, afraid and wanting. Hopeful.

I opened the door and he was standing there, snowflakes turning into rivers on the brim of his hat. He reached out with his hand and I took it, already knowing I’d never let go again.

“I was happier with ye.” He whispered in a husky voice. And I remembered it all, the happiness and love I’d known, waiting in him as kisses on his lips.

Dive

Hey, look. Another Ed Sheeran inspired fic. You tired of these yet? This gets a bit obnoxiously inspired at the end because hot damn I could not resist. Well, actually, the middle – it was originally going to be the end but they decided to fuck instead so… fairly explicit smut ahead? I don’t know how to class this, people – <overshare> but if we’re classing smut based on a 1-10 ‘how thirsty is the author’ scale, this is about a 100000000 </overshare>. ANYWAY – No, I didn’t put the lyrics actually in the bloody thing, but I recommend a listen (if only because this is a damn good song).

Also – last one shot for a while. After the next chapter of The Underground goes up (this weekend???) I’m going on fic hiatus until mid-May because your girl has seminar papers to write. I know, I’m crying too.

Summary: James is in a band, Lily is thirsty af. Muggle AU, Met in a Pub AU (a thing?), Smut.

Find it on FF or AO3


The pub was packed.

It was loud and sweaty and the air smelled like hard liquor and beer and the cigarette smoke wafting in off the street. Her local was normally a quiet, subdued place (though it occasionally got a bit rowdy on pub quiz night) - it was a lowkey pub, the bartenders were all really nice (though she had her favourite), and the regulars were cool. On New Act Fridays, though, the place exploded. It was a scene she’d long since moved on from since leaving uni, one full of writhing bodies and spilled drinks, but she always made a special exception for what was, probably, her favourite pub event. So, it seemed, did everyone the hell else in Leytonstone.

Lily tipped her head in thanks to the bartender as he dropped off her third gin and tonic, squeezed the lime into her glass, turned back around on her stool. She swirled her drink, leaned her back up against the bar, and surveyed the crowd. Everyone was largely chatting amongst themselves while they waited for the next act to get set up - a few people were pressed up against the wall and snogging furiously in the far corner, but Lily knew the number would at least double by the end of the night.

There was a pair of men on the small stage in the corner, a lanky blonde and a tall one with a mop of jet black hair, setting up their instruments as they prepped for, Lily assumed, their set. A man with a leather jacket stumbled out of the crowd, grabbed the blonde one by the neck with one hand, a fistful of his white t-shirt in his other, whispered something in his ear, pressed a kiss to his lips - the blonde smiled, beamed, before shoving the man, now laughing so loudly Lily could hear him from across the pub, off the stage.

Her eyes flicked away from them as the blonde sat down at his drums, began twisting something she couldn’t see - she turned back to the black haired man. He was fiddling with the tuning pegs on his guitar, his fingers plucking the strings, a look of deep concentration on his face. She moved her eyes over the long, lean muscles on his forearm, the tendons popping out in that absurdly sexy way that they always seem to do on guitar players, took another sip of her drink. He was part-way through tuning the fifth string when his eyes snapped up and met hers almost immediately, like he’d felt her eyes on him. She couldn’t tell what colour his eyes were, not from this distance, but she watched his gaze travel slowly down her body (her breath caught in her throat) before his eyes met hers again and he arched an eyebrow. Lily bit her lip - his lips hitched up into a cocky, lopsided smirk.

Keep reading

Arthur and Molly Weasley // Nancy Mulligan - Ed Sheeran 

Never had I seen such beauty before
The moment that I saw her
Nancy was my yellow rose
And we got married wearing borrowed clothes
We got eight children now growing old
Five sons and three daughters

She and I went on the run
Don’t care about religion
I’m gonna marry the woman I love
Down by the Wexford border

Perfect (Sirius)

Requested- Some Sirius fluff please & Hey, I was wondering if you could write sirius x reader based on Perfect by Ed Sheeran? Thanks! Love your work! X

what’s your favourite song from Divide? I really love Barcelona :)

- - -

You are at the year-end gala, dancing with your partner. It’s your seventh year, and you are starting to feel nostalgic. The disco ball hangs from the ceiling and reflects the different shades of light in all directions. An upbeat song is playing, and you are having a good time. A familiar voice comes to your hearing as the song comes to an end, “May I have a dance?”

Sirius is standing right in front of you, with his hand reaching out. You take it skeptically since the two of you haven’t talked for a while now. Painful memories slip back into your mind, but you ignore the stabbing feeling in your chest and try to focus on having a good time and getting this song over with. Unfortunately for you, someone decided to choose a soft tune. You recognise the beginning of the song as the one you loved from before.

Before, when you were both younger and naive, that is.

Cause we were just kids when we fell in love
Not knowing what it was

Sirius slips his arm around your waist gently, as if he is scared to hurt you. You place your hand on his shoulder, feeling like he has grown even taller than he was just one or two years ago. But as the song goes on, you find both your arms wrapped around him. Sirius keeps quiet, although you can feel his heart beating out loud. And you believe he can hear yours, too.

Keep reading

Shape of You

Characters: Au!Jim x Reader

Request: Anon requested Shape of You (here) with Jim! Yay!!

A/N: guys i love ed sheeran so much. That’s all.  Also this one went a little of plan, so apologies, i dk where the end came from…

Warnings: fluff, slight angst? allusions to emotional abuse…but mostly fluffy jim

words: 2764

tags: @yourtropegirl, @outside-the-government

(guys i love this gif more than i love my own life)


The loud pulsing music surrounds Jim, seeping into his ears and making his head throb.  He groans and leans against the wall, closing his eyes and trying to shut out the music and writhing bodies around him.  Maybe he was coming down with premature old man syndrome or something, but he just doesn’t enjoy being in clubs as much as when he was in his early twenties.  He sighs and sips his beer.  

He doesn’t hear Bones join him, and jumps when he leans over.  “You not feelin it, man?”  He has to shout over the music.

Jim shrugs and looks out into the crowd.  He sees Sulu near the bar, laughing at Chekov, who’s trying to shake off a couple of girls clinging to him.  He catches Uhura and Spock dancing in the far corner and he shakes his head.  They look like they’re having too much fun.  Bones leans over again.  “We could go to the bar down the street.”

Jim sets his beer down and groans.  “Yes, please.”

Bones slaps him on the shoulder.  “I’ll round up the troops.”

Keep reading

Music Artist!Tom Holland AU Spotify Playlist

Alrighty! Here’s the playlist for the Music Artist!Tom Holland AU. It’s not perfect but if you have any song recs, feel free to send an ask!

link here / imagine / moodboard

Full track list below the cut

Keep reading