blame you entirely


So Mercs/Blackwatch AU, where Locus has an embarrassing crush on Commander Reyes.

I blame each and every single one of you for this.


VOLTRON ACTOR!AU where Lance’s actor is always snapchatting behind the scenes during shoots 

The ones who mess up their lines the most are Shiro, Lance and Allura and you can blame the entire Voltron cast for actually starting conspiracy theories in the fandom

Pidge’s actor likes to give the fans heart attacks by teasing about Shiro’s “death” in the S2 trailer

Miss Grant,

You failed to warn me that hangovers are excruciating torture.  I blame you entirely for the cymbals crashing in my head and the vertigo.  It is a mentor’s job to warn about such things, no?

The being drunk part was fun, though, what I can remember of it.

I woke up with my face on my phone and a string of text messages to my old Art History professor, causing me to check my text and call history this morning.

Consider this my apology for whatever rambling, incoherent nonsense I may have said on the apparent three-minute phone call at 11:43 pm that night.  I don’t remember if we spoke or if I left a voicemail.  I’m sincerely hoping I merely butt-dialed you and carried you in my pocket for a few blocks.

I met… someone from my old life, from before I lost my family and he’s proven to be a handful.  He brings out the worst in me and I’m sorry you were collateral damage.

Things continue to change too rapidly for me to keep up.

Alex is… pursuing new interests, James is distracted and moody, Snapper has me permanently enrolled in the school of hard knocks and I still just feel… floaty.

I dove, Miss Grant, like you told me to, but what if the water was too shallow, and all I did was hit my head on the bottom?  It sure felt like it a few mornings ago.

Where are you, Miss Grant?  I still wish I knew.

Wherever it is, I hope your water is deep and clear. 

Loud and Clear

Castiel x Reader : Fluff.

A chance meeting on the bus with a certain angel.

Song played is ‘Waltz Sleeping Beauty’ by Tchaikovsky. I listened to this version here. You can blame this entire fic on the fact that I’ve been binge listening to Your Lie in April soundtrack. 

The piano. Fingers gracefully hitting every key perfectly. Up beat, abrasive at first. You moved your own fingers as if you were playing. Then it slowed down, the song became a familiar tune. Softly beautiful as you closed your eyes and played to an invisible piano, invisible crowd. Your wrist flickered with pain, but it goes unnoticed.

This was the only way you would ever play a hall again, the only way.

Then you felt a tap on your shoulder that jerked you from your fantasy.

It was a cold day in November, as you opened your eyes and looked to the assailant who broke you from the music. Blue eyes.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

I followed you for LoK and just hung around afterwards. Today i started RWBY and I blame you entirely

I’m glad you gave it a shot!!

Honestly sometimes I’ll reblog a Korra thing and some of the blogs I knew from the LoK fandom will reblog it from me and I’m like “you absolute saint, why are you still following me?! I love you!” 

I take the blame for your ventures into RWBY ;D

to @badromantics I blame you entirely for this

to @assbutts-and-angelwings and @thoughts-of-a-teenage-garbagecan and @kanadianwithashippingproblem who also want to read my terrible shamefic despite not knowing what awaits them

to everyone else: I’m so sorry, but at least it’s the night time and you’re all hopefully sleeping through this

The door jangles, and Hamilton strides in like he owns the place. “Mr. Burr! Glad to see you well today!”

Burr pauses at the words, quill in hand. “Hamilton, good afternoon.” He says, because being polite is important. “With how often you come to visit, it’s a wonder you haven’t interrupted a client meeting yet.” He adds, because he has no intentions of actually being polite.

“Oh please,” Hamilton saunters over to Burr’s desk, confidently leaning a hand against the corner. “You never take clients before dusk.” His eyes flick to Burr’s, challenging, waiting for a reaction.

For a moment, Burr does not breathe. He forces himself to exhale, very carefully not reacting. “So I do,” He fights the urge to swallow, winning by a bare margin. Hamilton had been over often lately, asking certain questions. Never too many at once, never enough for Burr to really worry- a “wow, you sure keep your office dark” here, a “How come I never catch you in town anymore?” there. Now though, Hamilton is being bold, Burr’s suspicions slowly edging into confirmations. “Why are you here now, Hamilton? Don’t you have your own practice to run?”

Hamilton leans further over the desk, almost entering Burr’s personal space. Even so, his hand edges dangerously close to the inkwell, crowding over several important documents. Burr grits his teeth silently. “I’m nearly next door, it’s hardly an inconvenience. Much easier to come to you directly, when I have,” Hamiltons lips quirk upward, “questions.”

Hamilton knows. Burr doesn’t know how he put it together, but clear as day, he knows. Burr’s mind flashes white-cold with panic, heart suddenly hammering. “I see,” He says, in lieu of actual words. “Unfortunately, I’m busy right now. If you could come by again another day?”

“Oh, surely you can’t be too busy. I just need a little advice, for a case of mine.” Hamilton smirks, other hand fiddling with something in the folds of his jacket. Burr succeeds in not chasing the motion with his eyes, but loses against the impulse to swallow.

He hasn’t done anything, Burr reminds himself; and then says, “Just make an appointment Hamilton, like anyone else. I have things to do.”

Something glints from between Hamilton’s fingers, catching the light of Burr’s table candle. The hand on his table curls slightly, fingers splayed against the smooth wooden surface. “It’s very important, though. You see, a certain client of mine has been noticing strange tendencies in their work friend.” Hamilton’s hand curls. The candlelight flickers, reflecting for a moment, a sharp silver outline. “This may sound outlandish, but my client suspects that it may very well be a case of vampirism.”

This time, Burr really does freeze. Hamilton’s limbs are bent, somehow before Burr even noticed. His eyes flash. Burr sets his quill down gently against the desk. He summons his strength. With as much speed and strength as he could summon, Burr surges from the chair.

Hamilton is just as quick, throwing his body around the table. Burr charges, nothing but pure instinct. Maybe that is why Hamilton manages to throw an elbow deep into Burr’s diaphragm. Burr wavers, gasping, and that’s all the time Hamilton needs to carry his momentum forward, slamming Burr against the wall so hard his head knocks hard against the vertical surface.

Burr snarls inhumanly, throwing himself forward; but Hamilton has the leverage, hurling one arm against Burr’s chest, and the other against Burr’s outstretched arms. In a quick flurry of movement, Hamilton has Burr’s arms locked above his head, trapped between wall and forearm and bruising grip. Hamilton’s body traps his, legs preventing his own from kicking up, other arm forcing his chest back.

“Easy now,” Hamilton whispers, face far too close. Burr can do nothing but flail wildly- the grip on his wrists falters- “Easy!” Hamilton hisses, louder. Burr freezes at the sudden feeling of ice-cold-burning-silver at his neck. He stops struggling, forcing his head back against the wall, away from the burning metal.

They stay like that for a moment, heavy breathing filling the air. “That’s better,” Hamilton praises with a smirk, teeth flashing. Burr smooths his face, forcing away every last bit of anger and panic and fear. Some of the last remains despite his best efforts, a tiny tremor of a frown in the corner of his lip. His hands clench and unclench, tendons flexing against Hamilton’s steel trap of an arm. Burr pushes back the instinctive desire to shake, forcing iron into his spine instead, his posture ramrod straight.

“Now, open up, let’s see them.” Hamilton speaks softly, as if Burr were a wild animal in need of encouragement. For a moment, Burr doesn’t know what he’s talking about, but Hamilton gestures at Burr’s mouth, as well as he can with the knife, both hands occupied.

“If I say no?” Burr tries, eyes tracking the blade. It is good quality silver, enough that Burr can feel it from here, a slight wave of heat-cold rubbing against the hair of his skin.

Hamilton’s smirk drops slightly, not all the way. “I can always try finding my proof with this,” The point of the knife twitches, tipping towards Burr’s neck and then away. “But I was hoping it wouldn’t be necessary. It won’t, if you show me.”

Burr keeps his eyes on the blade, and then opens his mouth slowly. When it is halfway open, Burr carefully pulls his lips back and flashes his fangs. Hamilton flinches back, but his grip stays strong and already, he’s crowding forward. “Open more, I want to see,” Hamilton doesn’t bother to disguise his interest, tipping his head down so his eyes are level with Burr’s mouth.

“I’m not a spect-” Burr’s protest is interrupted when Hamilton suddenly releases his hands. Before Burr can blink, fingers are thrust between his teeth, prying his jaw open. Burr gags at the intrusion, tasting salty sweat and bitter ink and blood pumping under skin. Hamilton runs the pad of his finger along one fang, humming with pure, unfiltered interest. He gasps as his finger draws too quick against the sharp tip, drawing the tiniest bead of blood, and the spell is broken.

Burr throws his now-free arms down against Hamilton’s shoulders, not sure if he means to push Hamilton away or pull him closer- the blood is intoxicating, he’d been leaving it too long again- and then silver is burning against the hollow of his throat. “Burr, don’t get carried away,” Hamilton warns, still wearing that Godawful smirk. He’s clearly enjoying the power trip. Burr slowly lowers his arms to his side anyways, tender skin already blistering. “Good boy,” Hamilton praises.

Burr balks, tries to say “don’t call me that”, but the other hand is still in his mouth, jammed far enough back that he can’t bite down properly. The tiny bead of blood drips down Hamilton’s finger and onto the back of Burr’s tongue, slowly rolling down his throat. It tastes like the sun used to feel. Burr shivers. Only because it’s been so long since his last feeding, he convinces himself.

“Now, I have to admit, even knowing I was right,” Hamilton pauses as if to confirm that yes, he’s always right, “It’s still a little overwhelming! All this time, you’ve been a monster of the night?” Hamilton’s question hangs in the air. Burr stares, finally summoning a proper deadpan. With a sheepish chuckle, Hamilton removes his saliva coated fingers. Burr’s tongue automatically follows the cut fingertip, but he forces himself back, cursing inwardly as Hamilton bites his lip to prevent a laugh.

After a careful stretch and settle of the jaw, Burr hinges his fangs again and answers. “Not the whole time. I was turned during the war, after succumbing to illness. I suspect it was done in a bid to save my life.”

Hamilton snorted. “But now you’re undead, no?”

Burr can’t hide his flinch, or his sudden defensive anger. “My heart still beats, my lungs still breath. The only thing that changed is what I need to eat, and what I need to avoid.”

Hamilton hums again, staring shamelessly at Burr’s lips. “I see. Is it true that the sun would kill you instantly? Burn you to ashes?”

“God, no!” Burr bursts, despite himself. “I merely grow weak in the sun. At dawn and dusk, or in very short bursts, I can manage without falling prey, but even if I do, it is only to sleep. I would wake again in the dark.”

Silence fills the air. Burr curses himself for revealing more than necessary- what harm was there in letting Hamilton assume what he wants? “That’s interesting,” Hamilton almost drawls. “It would certainly explain how you’ve gone so long without being caught. Of course, you still were, in the end.”

Burr glares, fear abated. “Indeed.” When Hamilton fails to speak, Burr presses, “And what do you plan to do, now? You can’t keep me up against a wall forever.”

“No, you’re right,” Hamilton sighs, “As fun as it is, I can’t.” Burr bristles at the blatant teasing. “Why, what do you think I should do?”

“I don’t suppose letting me go because I haven’t and do not intend you any harm would be on the books?” Burr snaps.

Hamilton snorts. “That wouldn’t be very responsible of me, as a good, responsible Christian man. After all, you’ve been harming humans all along just to sustain yourself, have you not? How can I trust your word that you won’t turn on me the moment I release you?”

Burr twists his mouth into a scowl “I’m not interested in games, Hamilton. Just do what you came here for, you’ve won.”

“I have, haven’t I?” Hamilton’s eyes light up in glee. His hand shifts up again, finger brushing against Burr’s lips. “I could just keep you, lock you in my house somewhere. You’d never be able to harm anyone again, never risk getting caught. I could take care of you.”

The fear that had faded rushes back again, full force. “Absolutely not!” Burr hisses, popping his fangs in an instinctive act of intimidation.

Rather than be intimidated, Hamilton makes a sound of admiration, not unlike a mother cooing over her small child. “I don’t see why you’re protesting.” He skims a finger under Burr’s fang again, this time deliberately pressing down. The cut is longer, starting to drip almost immediately, scent intoxicating. Burr can’t help himself- his tongue darts out to catch the droplets. “You seem to appreciate my blood enough.”

Burr growls, forcing his instincts back under control. He bites his tongue; Hamilton’s blood drips to the floor. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. It’s been a while.” Burr stares at the dribble down Hamilton’s finger. A while, indeed.

Hamilton laughs aloud at that, pulling his hand away. “Oh, so you mean you don’t want my blood?” He watches Burr like a hawk, as he plucks out a handkerchief with his other hand and moves to wipe the blood.

Burr hisses again, high pitched and animalistic, with his fangs out. He can hardly breathe through the scent. “Well, if you insist,” Hamilton holds his hand out instead. Burr grabs the wrist before Hamilton can change his mind. He pops it back in his mouth, finding the cut finger and immediately sucking. It’s embarrassing and utterly humiliating and Burr can’t help himself.

He closes his eyes to block Hamilton out, concentrating only on the heavenly taste of fresh blood. It’s impossibly sweet, and Burr doesn’t know if that’s unique to Hamilton or if the taste is just better from a willing subject. He doesn’t care, pulling the finger so he can poke a cut just a hint wider. Burr moans at the fresh burst of blood, shamelessly gutteral. Before he realizes it, Burr has both hands on Hamilton’s, lost as sweet, fresh energy flows through his body.

If this was what he got, maybe being kept wouldn’t be so bad, Burr thinks dazedly, and then snaps back to himself. He forces his eyes open, almost throwing the hand from his mouth. Hamilton is staring at him with a look that can only be described as hungry. “Uh,” Burr stutters, flushing.

Hamilton is flushing too, a bright cherry red, far worse than Burr. Still, he manages to act like he has nothing to be ashamed about. “Well, that was, something.” He shakes his head. “I was just going to lead into blackmail. Your support in my political endeavors in exchange for your secret. But, I would certainly be amenable to more of… that.”

Burr’s eyes widen. “I choose the blackmail!”

Hamilton frowns. “Truly? You would never want for anything, and clearly, you enjoy it…” His eyes hood as he licks his lips.

Burr tries not to shudder. “That’s not true, you’ve had me up at knife point and then you drip blood on me when I haven’t fed in days! That’s hardly proof of preference!”

Hamilton smirks wide. Burr realizes that he is tired of seeing the expression. “I haven’t had that knife on you for a while now.”

With a start, Burr glances down. Hamilton’s hands are free- both of them. His eyes snap back up. Hamilton’s smirk is now a playful grin. “Don’t worry, we can still do the blackmail. But the offers open, if you’re ever tired of trying to survive in a world of humans who want to kill you.” And with that, Hamilton steps back.

Burr falls from the wall, legs boneless and unable to hold him. It’s humiliating, but Burr doesn’t care, his nerves caught up to him. Hamilton huffs a short laugh at the sight, then turns to the door. “I’ll see you around, Burr. Seriously,” He fixes one last stare. “I’m sure you’re considering running away, changing your name or something. I’d track you down though. I have the resources.” The threat lay silent between them. If Hamilton has to track him down, he really will keep Burr.

The door closes quietly behind Hamilton’s retreating form. Burr breathes in, and out. The scent of Hamilton’s fresh blood still pervades the room, thick and cloying.

Burr cancels his appointments for the evening. He has thinking to do.



@kawereen replied to your post20, 21, and/or 24 for your sweet angel Athelas?…

Flowey? Flower? Athelas is a name of a flower right? 😆

More like a weed or (healing) herb, but it does have small white flowers!

@blame-it-on-the-fade Fair point! 

From these two suggestions, I think I’m settled with ‘Bloom’, for what Varric would call Athelas. I have two reasons, but let’s see what bloom means:

Reason one: a flower, literally. Athelas’ name is derived from Middle Earth’s healing herb called Athelas, also known as Kingsfoil. It has little white flowers that I love because it reminds me of my favourite flower Baby’s Breath. 

Reason two: Story time! Before Athelas was sent to the Conclave, her personality was cold, quiet and distant. Her guard was always up and there was none who wanted to invest their time to know more about her as they perceived her as ‘bringer of bad luck’. The only person to know her as much as she allowed them to, is Keeper Deshanna. She’s a closed up flower bud. 

But after the Conclave, and especially after relocating to Skyhold, she blooms. Her personality is much warmer, she talks a lot, her guard laid down and all these happened thanks to the Inner Circle and Solas. ; v ; the events following the Conclave influenced the change of personality, making her bloom to a beautiful flower!

Keep reading

you have shaped me in ways that no other person has. in those brief moments before i am about to sleep my mind drifts and the place it wanders to is always you. i have imagined this year countless times last year, and although i’ve imagined many different situations with varying degrees of hurt this is the worst kind. but you’re good at disappointing in ways i didn’t even know were possible, you always have been. not that i’m blaming that entirely on you - my expectations were too high. you were like, not a human to me though. you were someone superior than the rest of us, and that is why it hurt more when you let me down. i want you to know the feeling of missing you echoes within my heart to my ribcage. i just don’t know what exactly i’ll do with that information.