bits of sunlight

be kind. be ridiculously, radically, endlessly kind. be a part of someone’s good day. send nice thoughts, send positive vibes, send support and love and well wishes. be kind. so often we wish for tomorrow to be a good day when we are at our lowest. some sort of sign that it gets better. be a part of that better day for someone. the world does not magically decide that it will be softer on you today, tomorrow, the next day. and sometimes it starts with a message from someone else, maybe a little bit of inner strength to pull yourself up and take a shower, maybe a bit of sunlight makes the day better. but it’s these small things, these soft things that make a day better. so be kind. don’t ever think about being anything other than kind. be a part of someone’s good day because you don’t know how desperate they might be for it. 

hey guys! i’ve noticed lately that a lot of gifsets/edits of moana, especially pastel ones, have been whitewashing her skin, and i know that this isn’t just a problem in moana gifs, so i thought it might be a good idea to make a comprehensive guide on how to avoid whitewashing poc/color poc in general. this guide will be split into three parts: vibrant gifs, pastel gifs, and dark gifs (any of the tips i give for gifs can be applied to edits as well – it’s even easier to avoid whitewashing poc in edits, because you can color it normally and then erase the lightening layers over the person’s skin).

so, without any further ado, here we go!

Keep reading


Request: Can you write one where the reader was captured by hydra when Bucky was still the WS? She was just a teen at the time and they told him his mission was to have his way with her but something in his mind said that was wrong so he snapped killing everyone in the room giving her a chance to escape. Now he’s an avenger and during his morning run he sees the reader again and they make eye contact but instead of running away she runs to him hugging and thanking him for helping her those years ago.

Note: guys, I know I suck at posting. writers block on top of depression isn’t easy. but I felt well enough to get this posted after working on it for two weeks. thanks for the request, anon! I hope you all enjoy it. feedback is always welcome! .c

Translations (online translator):  Солдат, ваша миссия состоит в том, чтобы иметь свой путь с ней. Soldier, your mission is to have your way with her. / красивая. Beautiful. / молодая. Young. /  Нет нет нет. No, no, no. /  Я должен вытащить тебя отсюда. I have to get you out of here.

Originally posted by teamcaptainstucky

Eighteen years of age. Your fate was set in stone since the moment you were born, as these things go. You grow into your destiny as the years pass. Stars aligned and Hydra was after you. Having been on their radar for quite some time; the reason being that your Dad had worked with them and tried exposing them, ultimately leading to his sudden death. You tried to run but they were faster and stronger, they hunted in packs while you were a lone wolf.

They thought of using you as an asset. They could train you, experiment on you, brainwash you and erase your memory, freeze you until they wanted to take over the world. No, that was The Winter Soldier’s job. They had someone to do that for them. But they had other plans for you. You’ve been captured for a year now and this was the moment they decided to use you.

You overheard them speaking from inside your cell. Agent Lane and Agent Cooper. They were sick and twisted, not more so than Pierce and the rest of Hydra, but enough to make you fear for your life. Their little plan for you made your stomach sick as you listened against the cold door.

“Make her The Winter Soldiers pet. Just imagine how well he’d perform if he took his pent up aggression out on a woman after missions.” Agent Lane cackled and you heard the other agent snort in response. “I know I’d be relieved if had I a piece of ass like that every night.” Agent Cooper mumbled lowly, the sound of a cell door shutting down the hallway making him speak in a hushed voice.

Your heart started to race as you heard footsteps approaching. “Maybe we can do it. For now, let’s go.” Both agents left the room and you sank into yourself, hugging your knees to your chest. There’s no way they would do this to you. Someone like The Winter Soldier would kill you.

As visions of what could happen started to flash through your mind, your eyes watered and your breath came out shakily. “Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.” You chanted to yourself, squeezing your eyes shut. You couldn’t be weak, not at a time like this, not ever. You couldn’t let them break you down.

You lost track of time as you thought of an escape plan. The little bit of sunlight that shown through your window had gone away and the moonlight replaced it. There were hushed whispers coming from the hallway, the sound of heavy boots getting closer and closer to your cell.

Your heart rate picked up again and you gasped when you heard a set of keys jingle. Your jaw clenched when you heard a key enter the lock and the sound of it clicking sent shivers down your spine. The two agents smiled deviously as the door slowly opened.

“Ready for a trip, Y/N?” Agent Cooper stalked towards you and you scrambled away from him, kicking your legs at him. “Don’t touch me!” You yelled, aiming a kick to his shin. He groaned and bent to grab your ankle, flipping you onto your stomach. “Fucking bitch!” He growled, dragging you out of your cell.

Your nails clawed against the floors as he pulled you. “NO! Please, stop!” You screamed out, watching Agent Lane chuckle and clap as he followed behind you. “Nobody will hear you, sweetheart. Scream all you want.” His laughter got even louder and you bit your trembling lip.

Agent Cooper drug you all throughout the hallways and made a left turn. There was a door at the end and you gasped. It was his door. “Stop! I’ll do anything, just- PLEASE!” You screamed and cried, only to be ignored. You planted your other foot on the ground and tried to use that as leverage to pull your foot from his tight grip.

Agent Lane nodded at Agent Cooper and he let your foot go. You scrambled to get away but Agent Lane grasped onto your arm and jerked you up to your feet before you could. “Not so fast.” He chuckled, turning you around so you were against his front. His hands held onto your wrists behind your back so you couldn’t run.

Agent Cooper unlocked the door and you let out a sob as he walked inside, revealing The Winter Soldier. The room was chilly and lit up by a lamp on the bedside table. He was sat on his bed, his head hanging low. “Soldat.” Both agents said simultaneously. The soldier lifted his head quickly, his long dark locks framing his face. He analyzed the three of you and remained silent.

You avoided his stare as the agents brought you over to him, jerking you forward. “She’s yours. Do what you want.” Agent Lane spoke with little to no authority. Agent Cooper scoffed. “Really?” The other agent shrugged, unsure of how to voice their plan. Agent Cooper turned to the Soldier, his face serious and his tone firm. “Солдат, ваша миссия состоит в том, чтобы иметь свой путь с ней.”

The Winter Soldier sat upright at the order and his eyes landed on yours, void of any emotion aside from a hint of curiosity. Your breath hitched in your throat when you locked eyes and you felt your wrists being released slowly. The two agents laughed menacingly as they left the room, not forgetting to lock the door.

You were afraid to move, to speak, to scream, to try to get free. The Winter Soldier stood to his feet, the bed squeaking at the movement. He was much taller than you would’ve thought; his body towered over you in a dominate sense. There was no way in hell you could fight against him. He was full of muscle and that metal arm of his could do more than enough damage.

He stopped in front of you, his eyes looking you up and down slowly as the words from the agents circled around in his mind.

“Солдат, ваша миссия состоит в том, чтобы иметь свой путь с ней.“

His eyebrows creased and he licked his lips, stepping closer to you, your bodies nearly touching. He lifted his right hand towards your face and trailed his index finger down from your hairline to your collarbone. It sent shivers down your spine but in a way that made you afraid. Your hands shook by your sides as you waited.

“красивая..” He whispered, inching even closer to you, his eyes falling to your cleavage in your tank top. Your breath came out in shallow huffs as you stared up at him, your bottom lip trembling while tears filled your eyes. His hand cupped your cheek and his thumb traced your bottom lip. The urge to kiss you and bite your lips nearly made him act on his thoughts.

“ молодая.” His hand moved down to your neck and slowly trailed further, coming close to your chest. He stopped and his eyes trailed along your body once more before he met your eyes. His were a grey/blue color and had you been in a different scenario, you’d be hypnotized.

He watched you closely, getting lost in his mind. He’s felt feelings he’s never felt before, or so he remembers. Desire, lust, attraction. It felt so good to feel something. But the way the agents worded his order, the way your eyes were spilling tears and the way they held fear, he knew that this was wrong.

The Soldier’s eyes widened suddenly as he thought about the order longer. He backed away from you and his hands flew to his disheveled hair. “Нет нет нет..” He mumbled, pulling at his roots. He growled loudly and punched through his headboard with his metal hand. You gasped and backed into the door, terrified that he was going to kill you instead. 

He whipped around and looked you straight in the eye. “Я должен вытащить тебя отсюда.“ He looked desperate and your eyebrows creased with confusion. “I don’t understand.” You whispered shakily, hoping he could speak English. He rushed towards you and you quickly sank to the floor, blocking your face with your hands as you started to scream.

“I’m not going to hurt you!” He spoke above your screams and sank to his knees in front of your shaking body. You stopped screaming when you felt his hand rest on your knee. “Please, I… I can’t do that, please, let me help you.” He pleaded, his voice shaking with fear. You sat still for a second to make sure he wasn’t lying to you. Your breathing slowed and you bravely moved your arms down to look at him.

His eyes were watering and he moved his hand from your knee when your eyes fell to it. Your brows creased and you let out a harsh breath. “Why would you help me?” You whispered, confused as to why he wouldn’t follow his orders no matter how bad they are. 

He reached for your hand and raised an eyebrow. You gently took his right hand in yours and he pulled you to your feet. He thought for a moment before he walked towards his bed. He bent onto his knees and pulled out a backpack, shuffling through journals and different things. A picture of a man fell out onto the floor and he quickly slid it back into a journal.

You stood in place, patiently waiting as he checked the clip of a handgun. He slid it back in when he saw that it was full. He stood back up and kicked the backpack under his bed and quickly approached you. “I’m getting you out of here.” His voice was rough and the longer he stared at you, the angrier he got. It pissed him off at how they could just bring you in here and order him to do something so horrible. The Winter Soldier has done some horrible things but nothing like that.

“Stay back.” He gently grabbed your shoulders and moved you away from the door. Suddenly, he kicked his leg up and kicked the door off its hinges. It made a loud bang noise that echoed through the hallway. “Are you ready?” He turned back to you, holding his hand out again. You nodded and grabbed his hand, following him.

It was hard to keep up, he was running so fast. You both stopped at the end of a hallway and he held up his gun. “If you have a metal arm, what’s the gun for?” You asked curiously, making sure to whisper. He smirked only a tiny bit and handed it to you. “Only use this if I say so.” You eyed the gun and swallowed nervously. “Okay.” Your voice came out in a squeak and the gun felt heavy in your grasp.

The Soldier grabbed your hand once more and ran with you down the hallway. A group of guards started to run towards you and he let your hand go, charging after them. You watched as he punched and choked out guards, your shaking hands holding onto the gun in case you needed to use it.

Loud alarms started to go off and he finished off the guards, the last ones neck snapping as they fell to the ground. The Soldier turned towards you and you ran to him, letting him rush you through more hallways. He didn’t stop even when he saw two guards aim their guns at you. He pushed you behind him and you prepared for the bullet to pierce through him when they shot but the only sound you heard was bullets ricocheting off of his metal arm.

You watched in both horror and amazement as he fought them off, choking one while roundhouse kicking the other out cold. He did it so easily and without any remorse. He led you towards a large metal door and he turned to you, blocking you from anything but his eyes.

“Run. Do not look back, whatever you do.” His eyes searched yours and you saw a hint of sadness behind them. You didn’t want him to be here anymore, hearing his screams and hearing him call out for a man named Steve, it broke your heart. They tortured him and you wanted him to come with you.

Before you could speak, you heard guards yelling in the distance. The Soldier quickly placed a kiss to your forehead then he moved around you to pull open the door and you quickly ran outside. It was dark and cold, but you could handle it. You turned back and he was watching you, his blue eyes watering as he started to shut the door.

“Look for me!” You yelled into the air, your breath coming out in a puff of fog. The door shut with a loud thud and you started to run, never looking back.

3 Years Later

His breath came out in puffs of fog as he ran through the many sidewalks. It was early in the morning but there were a few people walking around; some with their dogs and some with briefcases. The city of New York was always alive, bustling with energy and it only fueled him more. It got his mind off of the terrible things he’d gone through and it got his mind off of wondering about you. 

He wondered if you were alive, if you had gotten far enough to escape. If you hadn’t, they took you to a different base, one where he couldn’t be there to save you again. His nightmares not only consist of being frozen or the flashbacks of an old life, but of your tear stained cheeks and fearful eyes.

The last words that left your lips that night chilled him to the bone. He’s looked for you ever since he had escaped. He wasn’t The Winter Soldier anymore. He was just Bucky. Your name was a mystery to him and he could only search the many faces he passed. None of which were you. But he hoped. He kept looking. He had been to so many different places, looking for you.

He continued to run but noticed that the sun had risen now and the streets were beginning to crowd with angry drivers. His eyes scanned the sidewalk across from him and he saw a woman looking to her side, as if she were searching for someone. 

His heart jolted in his chest as he stared at her longer. It’s like time itself came to a complete stop when she lifted her head and looked straight at him. His mind screamed at him. It’s her! 

Your eyebrows creased in confusion. You thought the man staring back at you looked so familiar. Then your mind went to the Winter Soldier, but it couldn’t be him. Could it? 

He felt himself smile as it clicked in both of your minds. You finally found each other. Before he could come back down to the ground from being in the clouds, you started running across the street. A busy street, no less. Your feet carried you through traffic and a taxi came to an abrupt stop just before running you over. You quickly apologized and got an angry expression in return.

You ran across and he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when you slammed your body into his. He couldn’t believe his eyes. You’re here. You’re right here. “It’s you! I can’t believe it’s you!” You cried as he wrapped his arms tightly around your body. His breathing was erratic and his knees felt weak. He thought he’d never see you again, to tell you how sorry he was.

You pulled away far too soon and looked up at him with a smile. You looked happy and so, so beautiful. “I can’t believe this. You’re actually here.” He mumbled, taking your cheeks in his hands, but the metal one was covered with a glove. “Three fucking years.” He whimpered with a trembling lip, his eyes blurring with tears. 

“I’m here but how did you escape?” You asked, shaking your head as you tried to process everything that was happening. He took a shaky breath and swallowed his tears. “I knew I couldn’t live like that anymore. I don’t do those things anymore. I’m not him.” He spoke with such pain and heartbreak, it made you feel sad for him all over again. 

You would dream about him, wonder if he was okay, if they put him under again, where he was. You never stopped looking for him. New York was a place you always wanted to live and it was hard getting here, but you did it. And so did he, with some sort of twist of fate. 

He wiped at your cheeks, his fingers trembling. Knowing that he’s free of Hydra made your heart swell. “God, I’m so happy for you! I knew you were strong enough to overcome that. And I can’t…I can’t thank you enough for saving me. I’ve wanted to tell you for so long.” Your voice was thick with emotion. 

“I couldn’t do that you, to anyone. Those sick bastards are all gone and- I’m just so happy to see you again and know that you’re safe. I’m so sorry for what might’ve happened.” He let out a shaky breath, pulling you into a tight hug and pressing a kiss to your head. It felt right just like it did that night.

After a few moments, you pulled away and searched his eyes. “What have you been doing all this time? We have so much to catch up on.” He let out a laugh and wiped a tear that fell down your cheek. The one thing that kept him going, the only thing he could think about, the only thing he spent his days doing other than being an Avenger.

“I was looking for you.”

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You Never Know

Originally posted by harryandthecambridges

Some of you have asked to be tagged and I am happy to do that but for some reason, some names won’t pop up to let me tag you. If that is the case, I will contact you and try and figure out why this is being stupid.

Again, thank you for your messages, I love each and every one of them.

Also, this gif fucking hates me. It’s working sometimes, not on the dashboard: only on moblie or if you actually go to my blog. So if you want to see his face, that actually goes well for this part, go moblie or click to go to my blog.

Part 4

Part 1 2 3 

| Steve Harrington x Reader |


“Aaaa! I love you never know!…”

The night went quicker than you anticipated. You stayed up all night trying to understand every word, sentence, that was coming out of Mike’s mouth. On top of that, you were collecting every bit of information Eleven had on her ‘sister’. Steve had cleared off one of the walls in the basement so that you all could connect the dots. Eight's―rather her birth name, Kali―backstory, her newspaper articles, her gang of misfits even a list of some of her victims. Eleven claimed that Kali was out to those that worked in Hawkin’s Lab, the ones that hurt her and experimented on her.  El left her sister behind, in Chicago, not being able to kill for the same reason and came back to Hawkins, where she was needed.

You gently rubbed your eyes, snuggling more into the couch as bits of sunlight were peeking into the basement window. You didn’t mean to fall asleep in the Wheeler’s basement but after working past two in the morning, you were having a fight of your own with your eyes and you sadly lost that fight. What had woken you were the faint calls of Mrs. Wheeler, trying to find and wake Mike up from school. When you finally opened your eyes, you sat up on the sofa, looking around the room to see that everyone―minus Max―had stayed over. You felt something resting lightly on your waist, drawing you to come closer.

You glanced down and saw a hand there; the hand belonging to none other than Steve. He was still asleep; his hair was disheveled, his clothes slightly wrinkled as you appeared to be using him as your pillow and source of warmth.

You turned to look at the wall; the wall covered in string, paper clippings, and sticky notes. Never would you have thought that something so dangerous, so supernatural but so amazing would happen to the small town of Hawkins. Your gazed went up towards the ceiling to see the time, the moment you saw it: your heart dropped.

You shook Steve trying to wake him from his slumber, “Steve, we’re going to be late for school.” You whispered to him, shaking his chest with a little more aggression. You grew antsier with him as the noise of the clock was becoming more sharp, louder: hitting every nerve in your being. “Wake up, Steve!” You shouted. Steve’s eyes shot open. He had freaked out a little, taking him a while to comprehend what was happening. When he looked down at his chest, he noticed your hands but his eyes trailed up your arms, to your neck then your face to make sure they belonged to you. Knowing that they were yours, his grip on your waist got a little tighter.

“Hey,” He whispered, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Morning,” You couldn’t help but smile back, your hands fisting a bit of his shirt but you shook your head. You snapped out of your fantasy. You leaped to your feet, grabbing ahold of your back. You went around the room, shaking every sleeping kid that was around, “Get up, you lazy asses!” You ordered. You smacked Lucas’ shoes off the table which caused him to stumble and waking him in an instant. You placed your hands on your hips, looking down at the five kids, “You need to get out, go home and get your butts to school!”

As they each gradually started to get a move on, you turned to look at the clock. Your heart racing. You were biting your nail, beginning to shake your head, “Oh, man.” You let out a small whine, “I’ll never make it to school on time if I go home and change.”

“Just wear my clothes,” Steve proposed. Your eyes widened. You turned to look at him as he was finishing tieing his shoes. He looked up at you, letting out that sweet laugh of his, running his hand through his hair to try and fix it, “What?” He couldn’t help but laugh more at your reaction you were giving him. You looked like a deer in headlights. He stood up, grabbing his bag and keys off the table.

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Feysand Mate Reveal AU

So I’ve always wondered how it would have gone if Rhysand had gotten the chance to tell Feyre about him being her mate himself. So this slight AU takes place the day after the Inn scene and assumes they had never been shot down and the Suriel wasn’t in the picture.

Rhysand grasped me tightly in his arms as he aimed us towards his Velaris townhouse below. The city was a canvas of lavender and orange in the fading light, the lanterns lining the winding Sidra like a chain of stars.

As he held onto me, I tried not to notice the way his torso was pressed up against mine, every contour of that strong body matching up with every soft curve of mine, the way his muscles eased and stretched with every flap of his enormous velvety wings. 

I let my head lean in to the crook of his shoulder and jaw, resting there beneath. I could almost fall asleep, despite my usual terror at flying with the Illyrians. I was so comfortable in his arms. I let my eyes close for a moment, savoring the warmth between us.

My mind wandered, and maybe it was the closeness of our bodies, but my thoughts took me to the night before…remembering the way we had tangled and touched in that tiny bed at the Inn…the way he had felt propped up behind me as I yielded to him…the way he had run his hands over me…how much I had wanted him to just take me fully…it was enough to set me aflame right there in the sky.

I jerked my eyes back open and tried to focus on the leather detailing of the lapels of his Illyrian training jacket, anything to stem those traitorous thoughts. I counted the threads in the silver embroidering of his undershirt, counted the buttons below that, opened loosely over the russet skin of his tattooed chest. The chest that was broad and smooth with muscled strength…another wave of warmth ran down me, pooling at the core of me and I bit my lip hard, hoping he wouldn’t notice the strain across our bond. 

I edged a glance upwards at his face, wondering if perhaps he too was remembering our night…but his dark brows were furrowed, his eyes faraway and focused. I swallowed, wanting to say something, address this thing between us, whatever it was.

We had scarcely spoken the entire way home after those hours training in the Steppes. I could sense he had wanted to say…something. I had indeed caught him several times opening and closing his mouth as if starting to speak before thinking better of it. I had shrugged it off, busying myself instead with my own training. But I wouldn’t be able to ignore it much longer, especially now that we had permanently crossed some invisible line that had been drawn in the sand between us these past few months.

As we touched down on the Townhouse roof terrace, I let out a relieved sigh at the reliable feeling of a steady surface below us. He set me down gently and removed his hands from me quickly, as if he were afraid of repeating last night so soon.

He straightened up, adjusting his elegant leather jacket as I tried to rearrange the tussled strands of my windswept hair. I watched his deft and graceful hands button the places his shirt it had gone loose from our day of travel, wanting so much to feel those nimble fingers in me again…

But no. I couldn’t let those thoughts in. I reinforced my mental walls of adamant, envisioning them wrapping in more vines of protection. Whether from his intruding thoughts or my own traitorous ones, I wasn’t sure.

“Dinner,” was all Rhys murmured after a moment, gesturing to the stairwell to our right. His eyes did not meet mine as we quietly made our way down to the dining room, where I hoped to find Mor or Amren or…anyone really. Anyone to fill the heavy silence between us.

The corridor of the Townhouse was dark, the last bits of sunlight streaming in from the stained glass windows casting a low glow over the floorboards. I watched my boots as we descended each flight of stairs, marking each of his steps behind me, thinking about how much I wanted to just turn around and hide in one of the passing bedrooms.

When we finally reached the dining room, I was disappointed to find the large oak table spotless and empty, save for two steaming plates of chicken and vegetables flanked by a glass of wine each.

“Cerridwen and Nuala,” Rhysand said in answer to my questioning look, pulling out a chair for me. “I sent a request directly to their minds an hour ago while we were flying. I assumed you would be too tired to go out,”

Indeed he was right, and I tried to arrange my face into some semblance of graciousness as I took a seat. I jumped slightly as I felt his broad hands graze my shoulders, but he was only spreading the napkin out into my lap for me. 

Ever the gentlemen, but it irked me for some reason. I shot him a mildly indignant look and snatched the napkin back.

“I can handle that myself, thank you,” I curtly unfolded it myself.

But Rhysand only smirked as he made his way around the table to the opposite side where his plate was set.

Damn you, and your damn smirking.

Surprise flashed across his face as he took his seat, before being replaced by that feline amusement I was so used to. I felt a wave of relief at that. Maybe we wouldn’t have to acknowledge last night at all. Maybe we could continue on as normal, unchanged after all.

But something told me that wasn’t going to happen as my body thrilled at the sound of his deep voice in my head, replying,

But that winning smirk worked so well for me last night.

I felt a hot flush creep into my cheeks, but I refused to look at him. I gingerly began cutting my chicken, trying not to let my knife and fork tremble in my hands.

You’ll end up cutting yourself that way, Feyre darling.

I shot my eyes back up to meet the crinkled violet of his as his smirk deepened. I scowled and ignored him, carrying on with my tenuous cutting.

The clock on the mantel chimed half past eight, nearly causing me to jump out of my skin at the sudden noise. My eyes caught on Rhys’s movement across the table, it seeming to jar him as well.

“Is it really that late already?” I said, in a lame attempt at small talk. 

I watched his face, trying to read any reaction there. But it indecipherable was as he replied smoothly, “It’s been a long day, we should get some rest,”

“Yes, I want another good night’s rest,” I slyly hoped he would catch my intention behind the words. I had slept more restfully last night than I had in months. The fact that it was due to being in his arms was a small matter I wasn’t sure I could handle.

But he only cast his eyes down at my plate.

“Feyre, you’ve barely eaten anything,” he said, and I could see the veiled concern etched within his eyes. I looked glumly down at my barely-touched dinner, the food indeed more moved around on the plate than anything.

“What is it to you?” I asked casually, putting down my utensils on the smooth wood varnish.

A muscle feathered in his jaw. “Are you hurt? Sick?” he asked softly.

“No,” I replied, sitting back in my chair. “I’m fine,”

“Why aren’t you eating?” he asked, lying his hands flat on the table, as if ready to spring to my aid at a second’s notice. 

I resisted rolling my eyes as I said, “I’m just…not hungry. Really,” I hoped it would quay the emergent worry in his face. He relaxed, though I could tell he didn’t fully believe me.

“Well, then I suppose if I am just being a distraction,” he muttered curtly, swiftly standing and disappearing the plates with a wave of his hand. 

I felt an unwelcome pang at the word. Distraction. What I had asked for last night…not friendship, not a bond…not even love. I internally cringed and watched his dark silhouette disappear up the stairs.

I instantly wanted to run after him…to apologize or flirt more, I didn’t know. But my legs would not move, and any words died in my throat as I heard the distinct click of his bedroom door shutting upstairs.

Ten minutes later, I found myself pacing outside his room, up and down the hallway, praying he couldn’t hear me, couldn’t see what a fool I was.

I nearly knocked once, but couldn’t bring myself to. Couldn’t think of what to say. I had too many questions for him. But I also felt a need to apologize. To explain. But the nerve never came.

Not knowing what else to do with myself, I hid in my room the rest of the evening, holed up in bed with a book in my lap. But I read without really comprehending anything, my hands mechanically turning the pages as my mind wandered elsewhere. These months I’d spent here…how he had taken me in, given me clothes and money and food and shelter and everything else. It had begun as a bargain, yes, but now?

I had had his tongue in my mouth and his fingers inside me last night. Yet I had stupidly told him it was just meaningless fun…but I knew, deep inside, that it wasn’t just fun. It wasn’t just a distraction.

And that terrified me.

I sat there in bed, trying to find the right words to say to him until the clock on my cherrywood dresser tolled eleven. So, I gave up and dressed for bed, though sleep sounded as equally unappealing to my racing mind.

After slipping on my satin nightgown and silky robe, I crawled underneath the plush green duvet and switched off the lantern at my bedside. Instantly, the darkness sweeping across the room seeming to gloat at me, yet another reminder of the High Lord no doubt sleeping peacefully down the hall.

But as I drifted, my mind wandered back to that cramped room in the Inn…to the feel of his hands on my breasts, his fingers moving in me, his lips devouring my neck…how I had wanted so badly just to yield fully to him, to let him have me completely. How much that meant to me. How much that frightened me to my very core.

I shivered and clamped my knees together, as if it could keep the wave of want at bay. My mind played the night over and over…the way he had spoken…the bits and pieces he had given me…Let me touch you…Because I was jealous and pissed off…She’s mine.

I stiffened. That was it.

I needed to know. Needed to know what it all meant. What I meant to him.

I clenched my jaw, let out a sharp breath and sent one word down the bond;


The seconds ticked on, and my heartbeat fluttered faster. Waiting. 

We have one awkward meal and you’re back to calling me Rhysand?

I fought the tug of a smile that lifted my lips and I shot straight up in bed, though there was nothing in the darkness of my room. It was just his voice inside my head.

Please. I want to talk to you. In person. 

A pause.

Might as well address me as High Lord, while you’re at it.

I rolled my eyes and just sent one word back down the bond: 


For a few horrible moments, I thought he wouldn’t come. Perhaps he had decided I was too indecisive, too spiteful, too soiled for him. I put my hands over my face, feeling shame creep in, and slumped down against my pillow.

“Well I suppose if you say ‘please’…”

I shot back up, throwing the covers off me as he appeared in the darkness, as if made from mist, silent and swift as the night. I clenched my bedsheets as I took him in; he was shirtless, loose silk sleeping pants the only thing covering his form, his velvet wings hanging unceremoniously behind him. 

With some effort, I fought to keep my eyes from tracing the contours of his torso, the way the pattern of his tattoos tapered off towards his lower abdomen…the corded muscles of his forearms leading to strong hands now dipping into his pockets as he leaned against my bedpost.

“Feyre,” he said in a singsong voice, no doubt tracking where my eyes were. It snapped me from my observance and I flushed warmly. 

I could see the slight amusement in his eyes as I met his eyes again. 

“You wanted to see me?”

I rose quickly and rather shakily from my bed, the hem of my satin robe hitting the floor and opening the front, revealing the simple albeit very short nightgown I had put on underneath.

“Or perhaps you wanted another distraction,” he said as his eyes drank me in, not a question at all.

I watched Rhys watch me, saw the panic and lust and unsureness cross his face as he took me in, from toes to eyebrows. Saw the silent restraint in his body, the body I had become so used to seeing over these months of training together.

I took a slow step towards him. He stood unmoving, not taking his eyes from mine, though I could now see him grasping that bedpost like it was supporting him entirely.

“Not a distraction,” I said firmly, trying to convey everything I felt in those few words.

He did not hide his reaction to me as he again cast his eyes down my body. I tried to ignore the way my nightown rode up with each step, at the growing impulse to throw my legs around his waist right there and then.

“I need to know…” I hesitated as I finally closed the gap between us. My shoulders tensing, I continued, “…what there is between us,”

His face was unreadable and again he didn’t move, did not even flinch as he held steadfast onto that bedpost, as if one wrong move would send us spiraling into dangerous territory again.

“I need to understand this, Rhys,” I gestured to the small space between us.

I watched his face change again, into something hopeful, but hesitant. His hands finally let go of that post to grasp my arms, lightly running up and down them. It raised goosebumps in their path. 

Something drew me into him, something I couldn’t name. Like a tether, ever shortening as the minutes passed…

“Feyre…” he voice was guttural as he angled his head to rest against mine. I heard him breath in. Breathe me in. I did the same, reveling in the citrus and sea that always hovered around him.

“You said you just wanted fun,”

I cringed, and swallowed thickly. “I know what I said, but that’s not what I want,”

“Then why am I here, Feyre?” There was the question. His hands left my arms. My lower lip trembled as I took in his beautiful face. So devastatingly beautiful.

“Rhys,” I steadied my voice, as I asked a question of my own, “Why do you bother?”

Confusion darkened his eyes.


“With me,”

“I happen to find you quite attractive, Feyre,” His hands resumed their exploration, this time running slowly over the curve of my hips, gently tugging the fabric of my gown upwards. “As I have told you many times,”

“Evidently,” I breathed, pushing my pelvis against the new hardness of his, wishing we could just throw away all that had been said and submit fully to this feeling. He gave my thighs a long squeeze as his mouth met my cheekbone, trailing kisses down towards my earlobe. I could feel the cool air kiss my now exposed upper thighs. He bunched the fabric up more, his own hips moving ever so slightly in to crush gently against mine. I stifled a groan, tried to ignore the melting feeling soaring across my body.

“But why bring me here? To Velaris?” I whispered against his jaw as his mouth roamed to my ear, placing a restrained kiss upon its point.

“I happen to find you quite interesting, darling,” Rhys breathed into my ear, but there was panic in his eyes as he straightened back around to face me. He couldn’t hide that, not from me.

“But why bring me here to your home?” I broke from him, taking a step back, stemming this flow of warmth before it consumed us fully. “Why let me sleep in your private rooms? Why introduce me to your family, your court, your—”

“I…care about you Feyre,” Rhys interjected, scanning my face.

“Why?” My voice became strained.  “Is it just petty revenge against Tamlin, still?”

“No,” Rhys hissed. “He has nothing to do with this, Feyre,”

“Is it our bargain then? Are you not able to break it or–”

“The bargain is nothing,” Rhys’ voice was flat as he placed both his broad hands on either side of my face. “Nothing,”

And I believed him, but still there was something missing. Something I couldn’t quite reconcile…

“Then why am I here?” Tears escaped my eyes, tears I had kept at bay for too long, tears of frustration, tears of hopelessness. I still didn’t understand. Why he had gone through all these pains to give me a place to be happy. Even if he now felt as strongly for me as I did for him, in the beginning we had been barely more than strangers. It still didn’t add up.

“What am I to you?” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

Rhys struggled for a moment, his jaw set, his eyes furiously scanning my face again, as if trying to read something within it.

“Feyre, I have to tell you something,” His voice sounded almost shaky, his lips near trembling. “Something I should have told you sooner,” 

I had never seen him so…vulnerable. Not in this way.

I waited for him to go on. But he didn’t say anything for a long moment before he gently backed us up until my rear met edge of the mattress. I reached behind me and grasped onto it, anything to keep me steady, to keep my hands from grasping onto him and never letting go.

He leaned in and laid a soft kiss on each side of my neck, before lifting his mouth to my tear-stained cheeks. He gently kissed away my tears, as he once had done Under the Mountain.

“You’re not just a distraction,” I whispered against his face. “You’re…more than that, Rhys,”

I locked eyes with him, and before I could decide against it, I swiftly brought my face to his and kissed him deeply. There was hunger and desperation in that kiss, a kiss we had not truly shared yet. 

His hands returned to my hips, running over the bend of them as I pressed myself fully into him, wanting to taste him and feel him and understand this pull between us. And from the way his lips drank mine in, the way his hands roamed my thighs, I knew he was trying desperately to understand, too.

“Rhys…” I said from behind his lips and broke us apart again.

He stood panting before me, eyes closed. His hands went slack at his sides, and he angled his body away again.

“Feyre, don’t…” he trailed off. “I don’t think I can handle it…not again,”

My heart broke for him as I took his hand back in mine.

“Rhys, I’m not going anywhere,” I said. “Just…tell me, please,”

“Feyre…” He gave me another kiss, this time long and sweet, like it held all the words he was about to give me. “There is a story I need to tell you first,”


I imagine after this, Feyre reacts very much the same as in the original, with her fleeing to Mor and demanding to be taken away to think. So you can assume the cabin scene plays out the same in my AU :) Hope you all enjoyed!

dreams he doesn’t have

Sherlock doesn’t dream, but if he did, it would go like this:

 John, small and pale and unhappy in a grey-walled room, his lips pinched, his shoulders back. Brave.

 "Don’t I get a say in this?“

 Soldiers, Mycroft reminds him.

 The gun is heavy in his hand. He has never been a good shot. That has never bothered him, because he has John.

 "He’s right,” John says, and he squares his shoulders and waits.

Brainpower, Mycroft says. And then: Make your goodbyes.

 Sherlock does not want to make his goodbyes. He has spent far too much time on goodbyes, in balance.  

 John nods at him. His gaze is steady. He is afraid, but accepting.

 Mycroft is speaking, but Sherlock is not listening. He is memorizing John’s face.

 "Sherlock,“ John says, and there is an unamused smile on his face, his hands have curled up against his thighs. "Please. Just get it over with.”

 Don’t prolong his agony, Mycroft drones.

 "Don’t prolong my agony,“ John echoes, and he is joking, he is making a joke, and the sight of him, brave and waiting, is at once the most terrible and the most wonderful thing that Sherlock has ever seen.

 Sherlock shakes his head, because he cannot.

Do it, Mycroft says.

 Do it, Eurus says.

 "Sherlock,” John says, and he steps up close, very close, so that they are breathing the same air. His brow is pinched tight with stress. His eyes are sad. “I know,” he says. “I know. But you have to do this, and you have to keep going. The plane, remember? All those people?”

 "I don’t care about people,“ Sherlock says. I care about you, he doesn’t say.

 "Yeah you do,” John says. His voice is gentle.

 "John,“ Sherlock says.

 "Complete your mission, Soldier,” John says. He shuts his eyes.

 Sherlock lifts the gun, presses the muzzle against John’s chest, against his warmly beating heart.

 Hurry up, Mycroft says.

 "Do it,“ John says. His eyes are still closed.

 The room blinks red and Moriarty’s voice fills the air, singsong and cheerful, invasive.

 "Sherlock,” John says, and there is a subtle tremor in his voice. He is straining to keep up the appearance of steady calm.

 Sherlock kisses him. He has always wanted to. There has never been the right time. This is not the right time either, but it is the only time he has.

 John inhales in surprise, pulls a bit of Sherlock’s breath into his lungs.

 His eyes fly open when Sherlock pulls the trigger.

 —and Sherlock’s eyes fly open in the claustrophobic quiet darkness of his own bedroom. His limbs are trembling and cold. His face is wet.

 He doesn’t dream.

 He has often convinced his mind of certain things, simply by tenacity of repetition.

 So. He doesn’t dream.

 Except his door creaks open, and there is John’s face in the moonlight, looking small and pale and unhappy.

 "Sherlock,“ John says.

 Sherlock looks at him, and then looks away. In his dreams (the dreams he doesn’t have) he sees the life vanish from John’s eyes. It happens all at once, like flipping a switch.

 "You were crying out,” John says. He sounds uncomfortable, caught-out.

 "I don’t dream,“ Sherlock tells him.

 "Of course you don’t,” John says, and there is a tired good humour in his voice. He comes over and sits on the edge of the bed, then sighs and scoots up against the headboard, gathers Sherlock close. He does not seem to mind the cold sweat that has soaked through Sherlock’s clothing.

 Sherlock finds himself too stunned to respond. Too stunned to protest.

 "I shot you,“ he says. It is absurd, because it happened in a dream. A dream he didn’t have.

 "Mm,” John says. He does not appear surprised, or put off. “Hope you made it quick. It’s worse, bleeding out. Fading away.”

 Sherlock blinks, reconsiders. John’s face, alive and then not. All at once. The flip of a switch. The pull of a trigger. Thinks of him instead draining away, bit by bit. Blue desert sky. Indifferent sunlight.

 He shivers.

 "Has this been happening every night?“

 "I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 "Sherlock,“ John says. "There are so few areas where I have the upper hand on you. But this is one of them, I think.”

 "Every night,“ Sherlock says. "Since.”

 "Always the same?“

 "Details vary.”

 John is silent for a long time. His chest lifts and falls with steady, comforting breaths underneath Sherlock’s head. His heartbeat thumps in Sherlock’s ear.

 "Does this help?“ John asks, after a long time. He sounds genuinely curious.

 Sherlock knows that John has had nightmares. He wonders, for the first time, if there had ever been anyone on hand to hold him through them. If he’d ever wanted that.

 "Yes,” Sherlock says. The admission feels momentous.

 "Good,“ John says, quiet. He shifts so that he is lying down, pulls the duvet up and over himself. His grip slackens, but he does not let go. "Good.”

Black Butterflies

Pairing: Y/N/Tattoo-Artist!Calum

Rating: All

Request: No

Words: 1.700+

Summary: Trying to entertain a four year old can be hard at times when nothing seems to be right. But when Calum comes home and saves the day by drawing butterflies on his daughter just like real tattoos it seems to save the whole day

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(n) an escape from your everyday routine

❝We’re in costume and I know exactly who you are but pretend I don’t so I have an excuse to make out with you just once❞

pairing: jimin + reader
word count: 5747
part of the miracles in october collab with @neoworks

You really don’t know what to expect from a phone call and a text from one Kim Taehyung announcing his upcoming arrival until you open your apartment door to find him standing in your doorframe with a sly smile and a dress bag perched over his shoulder. You can already see the lace trimmings of the garment through the packaging and know better than to ignore the warning bells that chime in your mind.

You elect to speak upon it. “It’s a terrible idea,” You say as a form of greeting.

The smile slips off Taehyung’s face as he gifts you with a pout instead. “You haven’t even heard it yet!”

“I don’t need to,” You retort, stepping away and leaving the door open despite your eagerness to shut down his idea. If Taehyung had any other standing in your life, you would have had no second thoughts on closing the door right on his face, but he is (by some miracle) a good friend of yours. You leave the door open partly because he’s going to keep knocking until you let him in and partly because he’s going to tell you his ‘terrible idea’ whether you like it or not. “When have your ideas ever worked anyways?”

“For your information,” Taehyung says, kicking the door shut and strolling into your apartment like the place is his second home (it is). He swings the dress bag onto the back of the couch before plopping himself down upon the cushion. “My ideas are amazing; it’s not my fault the circumstances get out of hand!”

You give him a side glare. “Your ideas are supposed to consider the circumstances but you just—you know what, never mind.” You take a seat on the center coffee table in order to face Taehyung just to spare him the hassle of having to ask you to do the same thing. The boy wouldn’t just walk into your apartment with some big dress without the equally big news to match with it. “So, what’s up with the dress?”

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anonymous asked:

Hey!!!! Dumb question but what exactly is the Iliad?


The Short Version: A yarn about blokes getting shitmixed in a war over Miss Hellenic Beauty Champion because some gods thought it would be a Lol.

The Long Version: A Homeric epic poem passed down through spoken word over generations that was penned down in about 800 BC. In the mythological timeline, it ends the Age of Heroes (by wasting them all). It covers the Greek seige of Troy, a whole lotta gods Messing With Shit, a Poseidon who needs anger management, a few hundred names and lots of General Epicness ft Diomedes and Patroklus. Sit back my buddy, let’s go through a quick summary of the books.

Book 1: Apollo ghettoblasts the Greeks with Pain because Agamemescunt kidnapped his priestess Chryseis. Being a douchebag, Agadouchebag Mr Steals Yo Girl from Achilles, which leads to  in͟ten̛şȩ ͟śul͜ki͢n̶g͡ . Achilles’ divine Ma brokers a deal with the Zeus goose (not literally thank goodness, although it’s a definite possibility) so that the Greeks won’t win until they realize how fucked they are without Achilles and go crawling back to him for help.

Book 2: Zeus messes with Agafuckface by telling him to attack Troy. Agamemhoe messes with Zeus by telling his entire army to fuck off back to Greece. Odysseus, with Athena’s help, uses his wicked ol’ tongue to lick  Agaiceheart back into  shape (not literally, although very possible in Ancient Greece). There are 31 paragraphs of names about Greeks and 16 paragraphs of names about Trojans going to war. The epic story continues.

Book 3: The armies meet. Memealaus (sorry, Menelaus) and Paris decide to have a 1v1 to end this shindig. Paris is saved by Aphrodite and a cloud because he is a Weak Bitch, so we gear up for another 9 years and 11 months of war. Helen tells Aphrodite to go fuck Paris herself if she likes him so much, but Aphrodite threatens Godly Bitch Revenge is Helen ever talks back to her like that again.

Book 4: Menelaus gets grazed by an arrow. Like a football player with a stubbed toe, this means war. He also apparently had ‘shapely thighs and fair ankles’. Watch out for the Zeus eagle, boi. Fighting commences. Diomedes appears. He is awesome, as usual. We continue to the next chapter.

Book 5: Pretty much an entire chapter about Diomedes being a son of a gun and killing fucking everything thanks to Athena. A dude called Sthenelus gets a rock hard boner watching all of this. Aeneas thinks it’s a good idea to take on Diomedes. Mistake. Big Mama Aphrodite has to save him, also with a cloud. Diomedes hasn’t quite reached Critical Awesome yet, so he stabs Ares and Aphrodite as well. Hera calls Ares a little bitch and we carry on.

Book 6: Just a lot of death really. Diomedes was going to kill a bloke, but they realize they are family friends, so just do a little swapsie of armour. Hector gives Paris a spray for being a cowardly little bitch, Paris agrees, and they set off for battle.

Book 7: Hector decides to 1v1 and get this over with. Menelaus tries to accept, but his wingmen Restrain Him. Ajax gets picked out of a hat to fight, but after a bit of a tussle it gets dark, so the fighting pair give each other presents and go home for the night. The next day, they all take a holiday from fighting and the Greeks build a wall. Poseidon is triggered. (reason here.)

Book 8: Due to Poseidon being triggered, Zeus forbids any godly interference on both sides of the war. Hera and Poseidon bitch about Zeus as the Greeks get casually wreckt by the Trojans, but decide not to act on it. Lucky for the Greeks, the Trojans decide sleeping is better than winning, so leave off for the night.

Book 9: The Greeks hit Fuck It and decide to grovel to Achilles for help. Before they do, Diomedes gives Agasaggytitnon a spray for being a douchebag, and everyone agrees that he is indeed a douchebag. Sthenelus probably pops another boner. Back in the tent with the power pair, Achilles and Patroklus, Patroklus tries to be the polite bf to the pleading Greeks, but Achilles is still thinks Agamoomoo called him a ‘vile tramp’ so refuses to help. The drama continues.

Book 10: Odysseus and BAMF Diomedes go on a sneak mission and  heroically stab the Trojans in their sleep. They also heroically steal some horses. The epic heroism continues.

Book 11: Hector takes a leaf out of Diomedes’ book and decides to shitmix the Greeks. He successfully shitmixes the Greeks, giving Agamugface a well-deserved arm wound. Paris shoots Diomedes in the foot, but Diomedes literally does not give a shit. Some random dude gives Odysseus a bit of a stab, Ajax gets Confused By Zeus but survives, but things still look Grim. Sweetheart Patroklus sees the Grimness and decides to try and use his wiles to break Achilles out of his Uber Sulk.

Book 12: The Trojans continue to roadhaul the Greeks, which will come back to bite Hector, but we do meet a dude called Thootes. He doesn’t do shit, but his name is great. There is graphic violence, and the Trojans go to chuck a Greek ship on the barbie. 

Book 13: Poseidon rises from the sea, back being a buddy to the Greeks now the his great enemy The Triggering Greek Wall has been overcome.There is a shit ton of fighting wherein the Greeks do well and Poseidon is happy because he’s getting vengeance for his other traumatic wall experience.

Book 14: Hera sees Poseidon disobeying Zeus and getting sweet wall vengeance and while probably thinking she married the wrong brother, decides to use Titty Distraction so that the Greeks don’t get chucked on the Trojan barbie. Titty Distraction predictably works A+ and the Trojans get slightly shat on with gratuitous eyeball violence. Hector gets hit by a rock and almost has the most anticlimactic death since Amycus, who suffered death by Elbow Punch.

Book 15: Zeus wakes, calls Hera a scurvy knave and tells Poseidon to Fight Him. Poseidon does not want to Fight Him, so melts back into the ocean and stops helping the Greeks. Apollo resurrects Hector from his rock to the face and the Trojans joyously return to their mission to barbeque the Greek ships.

Book 16: Honeyboo Patroklus (still on his way to Achilles since Book 11) sees Apollo and his Brojans on the warpath and breaks Achilles’ heart with Man Tears. While Achilles and Patbroklus have a very, very long, heartfelt conversation, the Trojans start to toast the Greek ships. Achilles gives (yes gives) Patroklus his armour and tells him to fuck shit up, but not to win without him. Fighting commences, we discover the word hurly-burly, Sarpedon dies in a shower of Zeus-induced blood rain and Patroklus becomes Diomedes 2.0 until he is gang bashed by Hector, Apollo, a literal god, and some awkward random called Euphorbus. Sasstroklus delivers a final fuck you, pulls the finger at all three of his killers and blazes it down to Hades.

Book 17: Hector takes Achilles’ armour off Patroklus, marking him as target #1 for the Sulk King. The Trojans and the Greeks spend an entire chapter having a tug of war with Patroklus’ body. Ajax and Menelaus comment mildly on how Zeus is helping out the Trojans, and the god shines a bit of sunlight in chagrin for being called out. The Greeks win the tug of war thanks to Double Ajax Tactics.

Book 18: In which Achilles goes nuts. Everybody has a cry because Patroklus was a Swell Guy (seriously,as swell as a Hawaiian surf that guy). Achilles goes and therapy-screams at the Trojans, who see the mad bloke and back the fuck off -  rightfully so, as Achilles is planning some good old human sacrifice to his dead ‘rider’ Patroklus. Meanwhile, Hephaestus quick-smelts some smashing new armour for Achilles with his household robots.

Book 19: Achilles gets dolled up for battle. Agadickbutt and Odysseus try to placate the madman with gifts, including Briseis, the dame Agamemnope stole from Achilles, but Achilles’ quota of fucks has run out indefinitely. He saddles up and gets ready to fuck up his bae killer.

Book 20: Zeus R͡ELE҉ASE͜S̵ ͝T̀H͜E͡ ́ǴO̷D͞S͝ and lets them play for whichever team they like, so long as Achilles doesn’t sack Troy just quite yet. It’s probably a friendly game similar to football in god terms. Athena invents the spear boomerang, Hera and Poseidon do some casual sunbathing, while Achilles paints the town red rather literally. 

Book 21: Achilles finds men too weak and decides to take on a literal river (Scamander). Achilles realizes this was A̴ B̸ad ̶I͜de͟a͡ and decides he’ll stick to men. We’re not sure whether Diomedes would have backed off from a river, but I guess we’ll never know. Apollo saves a dude called Agenor from Achilles molestation and in doing so also saves the Brojans. The epic story continues.

Book 22: Apollo says surprise Achilles, tricked ya into chasing me boi, I’m immortal. Achilles stares him dead in the eye for a full minute then says ‘fuck you’ and rides off back to Troy. Hector decides it’s time for another 1v1, but at the last minute considers that this idea was insane and fuckin legs it. Achilles chases Hector around the wall of Troy three times presumably to this soundtrack. Hector finally stops to fight, and thanks to the Athena Spear Boomerangᵀᴹ, Achilles avenges his Patroklus. Hector performs the minor miracle of talking whilst having a spear sticking out of his throat before he dies, then Troy’s hero gets roadhauled and everyone is Sad. 

Book 23: Ghost Patroklus pays Achilles a visit, like a sexy Obi wan Kenobi and tells Achilles to bury him already. Patghostklus also beseeches that their bones be laid (ha) together when Achilles inevitably gets fucked on by Fate. Achilles says of course bby I was gonna do that anyway, and tries to make out with a ghost, but this isn’t a Whoopi Goldberg type deal, so Patroghost gets sent back down under. They put the fun in funeral by having games and giving out toasters and such as prizes.

Book 24 (The End): After ‘yearning after the might and manfulness of Patroklus’, Achilles continues to roadhaul Hector until Apollo gives his fam a spray about the dishonour of it. Hera says he’s only mortal scum so who gives a fuck and Zeus says chill wife and commands Achilles to RE̵L͘E̡A̷S͢E ̴T́HȨ H̀ȨC̕T̵O̷R͡ (sorry I can’t help it). With Hermes as a bodyguard, Priam (Hector’s dad) goes to get the body back. Achilles and Priam have a man-cry bonding moment over Dead Loved Ones, Hector is whisked off to be buried and there ends the Iliad! There’s none of the ankle-shooting, wooden-horse-building shenanigans in there, they all come in later texts such as the Aeneid and Ovid, although I still can’t find the exact text where Achilles gets shot. If y’all know, send me the link ;)  I fucking found it nvm

Anyhoo, that was…Jeez, that was The Iliad (aka the longest post in existence). Well, my retold, abridged more slightly less serious version.It’s definitely worth a read, if you can get past all the names!

Check out more Greek Stories here :D

Each wild stroke of Prompto’s brush moved mountains, spun the earth a second faster, and made the world a bit brighter. He sat next to Prompto. The blond startled. A constellation of freckles beneath the spray of blue and purple. “Hey.” Gladio smiles. “Hey” Prompto leans forward for a kiss. Gladio pulls in a bit of that sunlight. Hides it inside. (by Anon)

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John has to meet Sherlock for a case whose crime scene just happens to be on a roof. His first response is to panic. The last time he saw Sherlock on a roof… 

John was already in the cab, and only a few minutes away, when Sherlock’s name finally popped up on his phone. John rolled his eyes. After multiple ring outs he’d resorted to texting Anderson of all people for the location of the crime scene. He considered not answering, as payback maybe, but held the phone to his ear all the same.

“Would you look at that? Only took me five tries. Shall we call that the new record, then?”

Sherlock payed no mind to John’s sarcasm (he rarely did) and simple pushed forward, “Brilliant case, John. Brilliant. Who’d have thought to use sunlight as the weapon? Sunlight. A bit of well-directed sunlight would do the job, yes, of course-”

John laughed softly, shaking his head as Sherlock rambled on, “Yeah, of course. Why not.” He sandwiched the phone between his shoulder and cheek, listening while counting bills for the cabbie. He cut Sherlock off somewhere between recounting the effects of UV Rays on skin cells, “Where shall I meet you then?”

There was a beat, “You aren’t here?”

John slammed the door shut with a little too much enthusiasm at that, “What? No. Why did you think I’m calling you?”

Sherlock started to speak then stopped. John could picture the frown that was surely now set in place, “I was just talking to you…” Sherlock mumbled.

“Well, do you mind a bit of a repeat?”

Sherlock huffed, “Hate repeating myself. But you’ll be no use if uninformed, so, I suppose. The primary evidence wa-“

“Not now. Jesus, just tell me where to meet…”

“John?” Sherlock sounded more annoyed by John’s sudden lack of voice than concerned. He huffed, “We didn’t loose service, this is a prime spot. I’m on a roof for god sake. I can also hear you breathing. John, hello?”


John felt as if the air had been kicked from his lungs. The feeling was a sudden, horrid squeezing that he hadn’t expected. He could see Sherlock very plainly on said roof. He could pick out the way his coat flapped around him even from below. Sherlock was stood near the edge, hand pressed to the cement ledge, forensic people milling about him. Much too close to the ledge. John squeezed his eyes shut, and suddenly Sherlock was standing on the ledge, arms out, falling forward-

He opened his eyes. Sherlock was behind the ledge, not falling, phone still held to his ear. He blinked and he was falling again. John stumbled forward.


“Sh.. Sherlock, don’t-“ His words gave out to a gasp of air, and his feet were carrying him forward at a run, “Don’t-“ He tried again.

“Don’t? Don’t what?” John watched as Sherlock turned, swore he could see the confused squint. His heart lurched. He was facing the ledge now. Totally oblivious to how it looked.

“Don’t move. God, don’t move.”

John took the stairs two at a time. The elevator would be too slow, and he wasn’t sure his heart could handle that right now. You’re being irrational his mind told him, and yet his heart thudded and images of fallingfallingfalling played behind his eyelids.

He burst through the roof door, gasping and zeroing in on Sherlock immediately. Sherlock’s eyes found him just as quickly, but it couldn’t have been that hard with the speed at which John was coming at him.

Sherlock held his hands out in a frustrated manner, “What is the point of phone calls if you aren’t going to-“

The rest of his sentence got lost in John’s hands fisting the collar of his coat and yanking him away from the cement barrier, the only thing separating them from air and space and fallingfalling

Sherlock’s composure crumpled for just a moment, utter surprise breaking through at the contact. His hands came up to cover John’s as they stumbled, John nearly slumping against him. Sherlock stared hard at him, mind reeling:

Hands shaking. Anxiety. Cheeks flushed. Usually embarrassment but given trembling most likely also anxiety.

“Just- don’t stand there will you? God, just-“ John pulled Sherlock closer to himself by his jacket rather harshly, “Jesus..“ He bowed his head slightly, desperately trying to control his breathing.

Sherlock tried to steady John, tried to figure out what was wrong, assessing the situation. He added John’s sharp breathing to the list.

John had run right to him so clearly Sherlock was the source of this reaction. He backtracked to what he had said on the phone. The case. They’d only talked of the case. Not verbally triggered then.

General triggers for anxiety. They listed themselves, sparking through his skull. Verbal, Personal, Sensual, Locational-

Sherlock’s thoughts froze for a fraction of a second, then were sent reeling left, back to their phone call.

“Just tell me where to meet…”

Trail off. Tone change.

“I’m on a roof for god sake.”


Verbal and locational trigger all in response to…

His mind screeched to a halt.

“Oh, John…”

“I know.” John was breathing deeply in through his nose, fists still tight on Sherlock’s coat, “I know. I just- saw you there. Up. Near the- Jesus, I know it’s-“

“John.” John finally stopped trying to speak at the sheer softness present in Sherlock’s voice. It was so rare that he was sure he’d always stop when it made an appearance. He didn’t look up though. He could still feel an insufferable sting behind his eyes.

“I didn’t even think. I didn’t realize the… the weight of those particular- of this particular situation.” Sherlock’s fingers tightened fractionally around John’s where they had remained from Sherlock’s surprise, “I’m sorry.”

John took one more breath, exhaling harshly and then straightening, slowly letting go of Sherlock’s coat, “Right. No, it’s fine. I should be able to be on a roof with you. This is… ridiculous. Sorry.” He huffed again, blinking and finally looking up at Sherlock, “Right. Okay, the case. Sunlight, UV rays or- something, what were you saying? Shall we take a look-“

John stopped again, closing his eyes briefly at the feeling of cool fingers catching around his wrist. He looked back at Sherlock, hoping his eyes didn’t show how hard his heart was still pounding. “C’mon then.” He tried. His voice cracked a little.

“I wouldn’t. Again. You don’t have to worry.” He was taken aback by the look on Sherlock’s face. So close to desperation, “John, I don’t want you to ever think I’d… leave… you.” He seemed tentative at his choice of words. “Not intentionally. Please don’t worry.”

John stared for a moment, aware of Sherlock’s hand still around his, aware that he was real and standing before him. He was hit again with what still felt like an unreal, monumental second chance with the man who he never expected to mean so much to him.

“I’m always going to worry.” He shook his head, offering a smile that was half pain half relief, “Sherlock. I’m always going to worry.”

Sherlock let John lead him back to work this time, images of bonfires and bomb vests consuming his thoughts.

He’d always worry too.

(I. love. them. God. Thank you to this fic for finally breaking my writers block THANK YOU)

First Blush~s.m.

Originally posted by couplenotes

(not my gif)

Short and unedited oops.

Some more fluff (bc my angst sucks balls) for my lovelies, hope y’all enjoy :)


She was fast asleep. Buried under the fleece blanket I had gotten for her from my trip to Moscow, wearing only one of my button ups and her panties. Her hair was piled into a messy bun on top of her head, a few unruly strands spreading across her face and over the pillow. Her mouth was slightly agape, pink, plush lips parted to let shallow, soft breaths escape. Occasionally, she would close it, contort her lips a bit, then open it again. Or maybe she would shift her head, either higher or lower on the pillow. Or she would twitch her eyebrow slightly- almost unnoticeable. But she never turned her face away from me, almost as though she knew I was watching her slumber. Like she didn’t want to deprive me of the beauty her face delivered to me.

Sure, I could bask in her glory all day, she was mine. But there was a certain wonder to it when she slept, whether it was a little catnap in nothing but our underwear with her head nestled in my lap on the couch, or in the wee hours of the morning (like this very moment) when I was up and she wasn’t. Her rested features somehow managed to be emphasized when she slept. It was like she radiated even more while dormant.

I had been watching her for a decent 10 minutes. Once or twice, my phone would attract my attention, either Andrew texting me a reminder of my upcoming appearances and performances, or someone posting on Instagram.

I reviewed Andrew’s messages and sighed deeply. Over the course of the following two months I had about 7 events in all. I had only been home from an 8 month tour for about 4 days, yet still, work crept upon me and snatched any opportunity of relaxation I was being given.

 Y/N and hadn’t had nearly enough time to catch up. Work had her tied down. She was a senior editor and a workaholic at that. Her job, according to her, could never be done. Or at least done in a way she was satisfied. Those who called me a tortured soul (other than myself) had never encountered Y/N when she went full ‘work bitch mode’. Her words, though. Not mine. I would just define her ethic as passionate and no nonsense. Maybe a bit too much at times. 

But, I couldn’t reprimand her or I’d be a hypocrite, because I myself had a tendency to go off the edge when I got to deep into my line of work.

I simply replied to Andrew with a quick ‘Okay’. Then, my eyes went back to Y/N, who remained still, aside from chest movements and nose flares- usually a sign she was close to waking up.

Her head bobbed back a forth a bit, though the movement was barely there. She brought a small hand up and gripped the edge of the blanket that didn’t cover her body and pulled it up a bit more, then stayed there. She normally did this. She would move around some, like she was contemplating whether or not to get up, and then remain still. Either she would have fallen back asleep or was just in thought, gathering herself, wondering silently what her day held and what she had to get done and who she would have to deal with. Though, she had a day off. The only person she would have to deal with was me. But of course, she wasn’t conscience enough to realize that.

 There was only an inch of distance between us. That was all I would give her if she wanted to move about. When he lay together, I wanted our bodies to be as close as possible. We spooned last night, much like any other, and when I woke up, I let her go, but let my arm lay above her head. My palm was pressed against the side of my head as hers lay opposite my chest.

I brought my free hand up and lightly brushed the strands of hair out her face, letting my fingers graze over her jaw and cheekbones. Her silky skin soothed the callous pad of my thumb as it traveled to her lips, pulling the bottom one down ever so slightly, not enough to cause discomfort- I didn’t want that. I touched her top lip, pressing into it softly before swiping across it and then pulling the finger away all together.

I brought my face down to hers and touched my lips to her forehead, for a few seconds. One, two, three, four….

My lips moved to her temple, then to the apple of her cheek, then the corner of her mouth. I pulled back as her eyes sprouted open.

I chuckled deeply, a low thrum escaping my chest as she smiled lazily. 

“Good morning, darling,” I muttered, kissing her ear lightly, grazing the outer shell with my teeth before biting her ear lobe softly. My hand snaked under the blanket and gripped her waist. The shirt had ridden up while she slept. My fingers came in contact with her warm skin, sliding slowly down the curve of her hips, feeling the lacy terrain of her underwear against my palm until the tips of my fingers could dig into the globe of her bum. She let out a small giggle and I removed my hand, holding her chin and pecking her slightly. She pouted, but we had the whole day to ourselves, there was so much more where that came from.

“Morning,” she purred. She bent her arm and put her hand below her head as she looked into my eyes. She was still tired- it was obvious, or maybe she hadn’t fully woken up yet.

“How did you sleep?” I asked as she skimmed her fingernails over my chest, passing over the scarce curly strands that sprouted from the skin. She loved them.

She shrugged. “Okay, I guess,” she sighed. She was never one to speak much in the morning. Her answers or general statements were always sparse.

“You guess?” I raised my brows.

“Well….yeah,” she said simply. “It wasn’t much different from any other night you’ve been home. Its just….,” Pause.

I waited for her to continue but she didn’t. She looked away from me, biting her lip.

“What? What’s wrong, darling?” I pushed.

“Why’d you let me go?” she asked, and thrust her lower lip out, pouting for the second time this morning.

I furrowed my brow. “Huh?” as far as I was concerned my arms never left her once that morning, even if it was the tiniest of touches.

“You had your arms around me,” she explained. “And you let go. Why?”

I blinked before I realized what she was talking about. And when I did, I felt my lips tug into a smirk, which made her roll her eyes. “Ohhh,” I nodded. She was so needy in the morning. I was never allowed to not touch her as we lay in bed. During the day she liked her space sometimes, but in the bedroom, if my hands ever left her for even a second, that was a serious offence.

Without warning, I rolled on top of her, hovering a bit as though not to crush her. My hands took her wrists and pulled them from underneath the blanket, pinning them to the sides of her head. “Okay?” I asked, my lips attaching to her neck as I peppered feverish kisses across the surface, moving rapidly.

She sucked in a harsh breath before speaking. “I…I was hoping we could sp-spoon, but this works too,” she said shakily, curling her hands into tiny fist as my lips moved up her jaw.

“Mmm,” I hummed, masking her tiny moan as my teeth nipped at her lips teasingly before I attacked them fully. 

My his tongue delved its way into her mouth, parting her lips gently. She giggled a bit as I poked my tongue with hers, before tangling them into each other. I removed my mouth from hers, and put her bottom lip in between my teeth, pulling on it gently. She exhaled deeply. She loved it when I did this.

I let her wrists go and immediately her hands were shoved into my messy bed hair, scissoring through the loose curls. My hands slipped under the shirt she wore, as I ran my warm fingers up and down her sides, tracing shapes and pinching teasingly. I took her bare, sinful legs and wrapped them around my waist, as I threw my arms around her waist, pulling her closer. She moaned against my mouth. I leaned back a little, caressing her thighs.The blanket had been tossed to the floor in a heap at that point, forgotten in the midst of our make out session.

A few beautifully heated minutes later, I pulled away breathlessly. I panted into her face and she inhaled what I exhaled, staring at me through hooded, sparkling eyes. A line of light adorned her forehead from the bit of sunlight that bled through the blinds above our bed. The room was dim and all I could see was her. That, however, was totally okay with me.

“So,” I began. She perked up, awaiting what I had to say next.

“How should we spend your day off, darling?”


Hope y’all enjoyed :)

Up and down

Pairing: Yoongi x reader

Summary: It´s a hot summer day on set and Yoongi can´t handle watching you lick a popsicle without wanting to fulfill his fantasies.

Word count: 4.326

Genre: Smut

Warnings: graphic smut.

Author´s note: This was on private but I´ve arranged it so that I can  repost it since I had to correct a few things.

It´s smutty and I´m not ashamed lol

You hadn´t planned this at all. You were supposed to be in your apartment, probably taking a nap or watching one of those movies that made you cry rivers even if you couldn´t relate to the character´s love life in any way possible. Yet when you had received a rushed and frantic call from your boss saying they needed you for today´s shoot, you had submitted to readjusting your plans and had driven all the way up to a forest in the middle of nowhere after cursing in three different languages. And now, there you were, almost whining at the lost of your day off.

On top of that, it was bloody hot. You squinted your eyes trying to block the sun as you made your way through the crowd, cameras already placed all over and staff members running across the set almost bumping into you and barely muttering an apology. There were various insects in the air that added up to the dry ambient and the fact that there wasn´t a single tree near enough to shelter under its shadow didn´t help at all. Your hands worked with a hair tie tying all the strands into a bun in an attempt to cool off and, slapping a mosquito that you had caught trying to suck your blood, a heavy sigh escaped your lips. Coming here - you could´ve rejected it, but it would only make you feel more miserable.

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kitty thing idk

it was early in the morning, too early for anyone else in the institute to be awake- except for kit and ty of course.
during the night like they always do, one of them snuck into the other’s bed. last night, kit went to ty’s room.
the slightest bit of sunlight leaked from the window. ty woke up before kit, and propped himself on one elbow, watching kit’s chest rise and fall steadily, eyes shut. he was amazed about how kit was put together, his elegant features and herondale eyes. ty brushed his fingers so gently on kit’s cheek he wasn’t sure kit even felt it.
apparently he did, because his eyes fluttered open and it was like the world brightened from his blue eyes. kit was too dazed and sleepy to reply or react, so ty took advantage of kit’s confusion to pretend to sleep, so kit wouldn’t think anything of the slight brushing of his cheek.
“i saw that, tiberius,” muttered kit, shifting his whole body on its side to face ty, whose face was stuffed within his pillows.
“saw what?” ty replied as innocently as possible, though it came out muffled.
kit smiled and ty moved his head so that he was face to face with kit, noses almost touching. it sent shivers down kit’s spine. it was the affection, the love, the overwhelming thought that ty was before him and he was his. ty smiled back, grey and blue eyes interlocking. kit knew ty didn’t like eye to eye contact, and it made kit happy that ty would look into his own eyes.
kit wanted to kiss ty, to brush his hands all over ty’s chest, feeling his heartbeat, to lie on ty’s chest and hear his heartbeat, but instead, kit took his hand and slid it under the back of ty’s shirt, kit’s warm hand on ty’s even warmer back.
kit gently rubbed and scratched ty’s back, and ty closed his eyes, sighing deeply.
“did you sleep well?” whispered ty.
“i did,” replied kit. “until you woke me up.”
ty’s eyes opened and kit felt ty stiffen underneath his fingers.
“ty, i was kidding.”
ty relaxed and smiled. kit removed his hand from ty’s back.
he leaned ever so slightly toward ty, and they met in the middle.
it was the kind of kiss where it was passionate, the kind of passion where they shifted around just to get more of each other, ty grabbing kit’s face in his hands, kit’s hand’s snaking up ty’s shirt without anything being sexual. the touching was to feel that they were alive, warm skin and hot lips, soft fingertips. they would stop to stare at each other, or they would giggle between kisses. every part of their body was desperate for the other’s, legs intertwining and pajama pant legs rolling up, so their skin was touching.
when the kissing was over, they lay again facing each other, kit stroking ty’s cheek with his hand until he shifted onto ty, listening to his heartbeat. ty closed his eyes and went to sleep again, with kit on his chest.
and of course, julian, livvy, emma, and dru peeked into ty’s room. emma saw jules grow teary eyed because his baby brother is growing up, falling in love. dru almost squealed aloud until livvy put her hand on dru’s mouth but smiled at her just as excitedly before taking a million pictures, ty’s sleeping face and kit’s face hidden on ty’s chest, ty’s arms around kit

Sunlight #7

Here we go, our first day at school as a couple! I must admit, I’m really nervous. I’ve never been on a date with anyone before, so I don’t know how to act in front of everyone. Sunset says it’s as simple as walking among them any other day, but the way everyone’s staring and calling out to us, I feel a little under the spotlight.

Still, her hand is very warm. I feel… nice. My stomach is in knots, but otherwise I’m okay! I’m really okay…

Whew, this one was a bit of a victim to some trial and error, but I got there in the end! Also I noticed that Sunset’s colours were in their pre-Friendship Games contrast, so I toned that down and updated a couple other bits on her outfit.

The After

JUNE, 2002

Scully tugs at the hood of her jacket, pulling it forward to shield her face from the onslaught of rain that falls from the hazy gray sky. The rural two-lane road before her barely glistens as she walks down the center, and the only sound she hears is her own footfall, the soles of her boots sloshing through the puddles. The soaked tendrils around her face sway heavily with each step she takes, swinging back and forth like auburn pendulums keeping time.

It’s serene moments like this that she finds herself longing for all of the color that the world used to offer, the vibrant shades of green that would line the horizon at the beginning of summer. After all of the vegetation had finally withered to mush and succumbed to the incessant rain, survivors were left with a bleak perspective. The once bold scenery that was loud with life had fallen mute, luscious trees were stripped bare, grassy fields melted into swamp lands.

Just under two years ago civilization dwindled down to its most basic level, any sort of advancement had ceased, and society had fallen to its knees. After Richter Scale topping earthquakes shook the country and coastal states were broken free, tsunamis that stood hundreds of feet tall towered over sea level and rushed the new shorelines, flooding miles and miles inland. The enormous waves swallowed from the entire state of Maine down to what little of Florida was still attached, from the northern part of Washington through the shards that remained of Oregon and Nevada. Rumor has it that the state of California and the majority of Oregon are the Northern Pacific Ocean’s city of Atlantis.

In just a matter of a few days, a country of fifty states was downsized, cut nearly in half. Roughly thirty states remain. Once the tsunamis had subsided, it had started to rain and has continued every day for the last two years. What some would call a flood, the survivors call The Wash. The orientation of the phrase is unknown, but it spread like wildfire through the the settlements.

As the power grid shut down– submerging the country into darkness– the government fell with it, and a new law arose. The law of survival. Some call what happened Mother Nature’s fury, her retribution for global warming. Others call it an act of God.

Scully doesn’t call it anything.  

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