but on the other hand i dunno

Shapeshifting: You’re Not Doing It Right (SU critical rant)

In Stephano Solar System, all non-era 2 gems (and Steven inexplicably) can shapeshift due to having bodies made of light (although for Steven, it’s possible because… magic). So why the hell is it used so horribly? No one on this show actually uses shapeshifting in combat and when they do, never to its full creative potential. This is shapeshifting, the power with almost limitless creative possibilities. So why does it never come up. Peridot, Steven, and Pearl at least have an excuse: Peridot literally can’t, Steven should not be able to, (although granted, his shape shifting is much less extreme than other examples) and Pearl… doesn’t like to for some unexplained reason. (maybe Pearls can’t do it? I dunno.) But everyone else has no such excuse. Garnet is shown to be able to stretch her hand to envelop Steven from halfway across the freakin’ room in “Steven and the Stevens”, not to mention her antics in “Secret Team”, but that’s all we ever see of her shapeshifting. Amethyst is a whole ‘nother story. She shapeshifts constantly, and it’s practically a main character trait for her now. But despite having some occasionally good uses, like the helicopter trick in “Message Received”, and some occasional smart uses of the Purple Puma trick, she doesn’t really use it in battle. And that’s a shame too, since there are so many other ways to use shapeshifting to fight! Turn your hand into a spear! contort your body to avoid projectiles! (Amethyst’s water clone anyone?) Turn into a giant boa constrictor and squeeze enemies! Sprout a ton of spikes to impale foes! So many possibilities, and the only one to come close to fulfilling them regularly was Bismuth. No weapon? Just turn your hands into hammers, axes, hell, even a rolling pin! Sure, it wasn’t as creative as I hoped it could be, but hey, she used shapeshifting very well and very intelligently in combat. I wish more characters would do that, since it’s a shame that this amazing ability would just be squandered by the writers, when in the right hands, it would be amazing to watch.

Killua needs more hugs!!

DOCTOR DREAMY | PT.2 [M]

pt1 | pt2 | (2/5)

pairing: jimin x reader

genre: smut, fluff, slight angst + expecting parents au

word count: 11,035

request: sperm donor ex-boyfriend jimin

description: Okay, maybe in hindsight asking your ex-boyfriend, who you never really got over, to be your sperm-donor wasn’t the brightest of ideas.

cr. 


six years prior.

“Do you wanna have kids one day?”

Jimin tilted his head as if to ponder the idea before tugging you across the bed until you were leaning against his chest, curious eyes catching your own.  

“Sure, I mean one day. One day, far, far away,” He said, pointing his finger off into the distance jokingly.

You laughed, hand skimming along the back of his neck. “Yeah, me too.”

“Any particular reason why you’re asking?” He said as he began playing with the strands of your hair.

“I dunno,” You shrugged. “We’ve been dating for a long time, just thought that it’s something we should know about each other.”

Jimin nodded, “No, you’re right. It’s kind of something you should figure out before things get too far in the relationship… Guess we waited a bit too long, but we’re on the same page, so that’s good,” He smiled, leaning down to place a short peck against your lips.

“So that means you think that information will be put to good use one day?” You asked, quirking your brow to insinuate.

Keep reading

Another Man’s Treasure

A/N: This will be a multi-part one shot because @alrightpetal and I have this thing about making Harry super vulnerable and flawed. So here you go.


…I’m gonna show you tonight! I’m alright! I’m just fine! And you’re a tool so, so what?

You belted your heart out up on stage, pumping your fist in the air to empower your words even further. It was a good thing you knew all the words, too, because your mates had bought you so many drinks your vision was crossed and blurred you couldn’t have read the lyrics to an unfamiliar song. Then you would have just been a blubbering fool butchering a karaoke performance. And that would have been embarrassing.

Singing yourself blue in the face—and drinking yourself into oblivion—served as the perfect outlet for your aching heart. Hours earlier, you’d been dumped. Or more accurately, replaced.

It’d been a week since you’d heard from your long-term boyfriend, and while you knew he was on holiday with his mates—a holiday you hadn’t been invited on—it was still odd that you hadn’t heard from him at all. Not even a text to let you know that he’d made it to Amsterdam. You didn’t expect too much communication; you trusted him to treat you right, but, silly you, you thought your boyfriend might actually miss you and want to say hi.

Last night after seven and a half days of nothing, you completely lost it and called him forty-seven times in a row. And not a single one was answered. So you rang your closest friends and they came over, laptops and tablets in hand, and intense cyber-stalking commenced.

It only took thirty-four minutes for your good mate Lindsey to unearth a damning post on Insta that your boyfriend was tagged in by a girl you kind of knew. The picture itself wasn’t awful; honestly you couldn’t make out much besides silhouettes and drinks. Even the caption wasn’t much; all it said was, “this guy” with a random slew of emojis. But the funny thing was, when you tried to search for it yourself, nothing came up. Meaning you were blocked. You weren’t meant to see this picture.

Twenty-two minutes of super-sleuthing was enough time for your oldest friend Ashley to find every social media account the girl had, and then eventually uncover her phone number.

In thirteen minutes you had a text drafted to her that was so long it was broken into five different parts when you hit send.

And one minute and fifty-four seconds is all the time your boyfriend—well ex-boyfriend—allowed you to speak to him today before he told you he was coming back tomorrow and there’d be no need for you to come see him. Tomorrow or ever again.

So your mates did what they knew best. They took you out, got you absolutely smashed, and then got you up on stage to pour your heart out. Somewhere in between I Will Survive and Total Eclipse of the Heart, you got a bit weepy and ended up calling your brother from the toilet. It took you awhile to realize you weren’t actually sobbing to him but his voicemail, and as soon as you did you pulled yourself back together and headed out for another drink and a rousing rendition of Since U Been Gone.

The few other patrons in the pub were hardly paying attention to your drunken warbling on stage, only breaking from their conversations when your mates would cheer at the end of each song, some of them even offering half-hearted claps. If they were annoyed, they certainly didn’t let on. Most likely, they pitied you; for Christ sake, you pitied you.

When your song ended, you finished the rest of your drink and began flipping through the songbook. Liberation was surging through you and you wanted a song to match your mood; something to serve as a proper fuck you to the twat you’d wasted the last few years of your young life on.

The book closed on your fingers, and you stumbled back in surprise. Were books automated now too?! You still weren’t over the automated tills at Tesco, would you now have to get used to robotic books closing on you when they’d had enough?!

“[Y/N].”

You looked up, your blurred vision slowly coming into focus as you swayed on the spot. A robotic book didn’t close itself on you, a person had closed it. Which was rather rude of them.

[Y/N],” he repeated. Finally he came into view and you cocked your head in confusion.

“Hazza?” you slurred, taking a step closer to get a better look. You nearly toppled off the stage, but Harry was quick to grab you by the waist and steady you before easing you down.

Keep reading

Inspired by this absolutely angsty masterpiece by @jackalopes-vld

This is really angsty and references intrusive thoughts, so please keep yourself safe.

WC: 1574


Annoying.

He’s not annoying. People like being around him. He’s not annoying.

Good for nothing.

He’s their sharpshooter. He has a purpose.

Worthless.

He’s worth something.

Seventh wheel.

He’s… He is the seventh wheel. There isn’t a doubt about that.

Can’t handle the stress.

He can’t. It gnaws at him every waking moment.

Can’t deal with criticism.

Fuck. It hurts, okay? Not everyone is graceful with that shit.

Useless weight brought along out of pity.

Stop.

Nothing.

Stop!

Just fucking leave.

Please. Please, just stop. Please.

Keep reading

Writing is Hard, pt 8: Slow and Steady

Summary: Dean shows you his favorite kind of sex.

Read Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

Warning: Smut, dirty talk

Word Count: 3100ish

A/N: This is all written with love for fan fic. I’m teasing, not putting it down in any way. Hope you enjoy! (Sorry, tag list is closed!) XOXO

The motel door opens quietly and you hear Dean shuffle in, his footsteps easy to recognize. You don’t move, body too exhausted to even roll over in bed and say hi.

Sam has to know that Dean comes to your room every night now. Actually, Dean just goes straight in with you now more often than not, leaving Sam to himself. You’ve never discussed it, but you suspect that Sam’s silence on the matter of you and Dean is his thank you for finally having some privacy on a regular basis.

Either way, you aren’t remotely surprised that Dean is here. You listen to boots being kicked off, a gun being placed on the night stand, and clothes being shuffled off. He’s down to his boxers when he slides beneath the covers.

Keep reading

Dunno if i should do more of those…

One week until the con! Chibis for stickers. I had to adapt my chibi style heavily since my usual kind of half chibi-ish style doesn’t fit small stickers. So this will have to do.

dean doing soft and quiet things for cas

  • helping him fall asleep by holding him close and rubbing his back and lightly playing with his hair
  • forehead kisses in the morning as a greeting when he’s already up and awake and cas stumbles down the hall in search of coffee
  • building cas a place he can garden outside the bunker, researching things like seeds and soil and what will grow this time of year
  • picking out little trinkets and knick knacks for cas for no reason other than “i dunno, thought you might like it”
  • giving him a foot massage while they lounge on the couch watching a movie, cas’ feet in his lap
  • fixing his car whenever he hears any sort of mysterious clank or rattle, giving her a checkup at least once a month just to make sure everything’s good and she’s running safely
  • grabbing cas’ hand just briefly and lightly whenever they walk past each other, stroking his thumb slightly before letting go
  • dean saying i love you to cas with his every action, and cas knowing dean well enough to hear it
the blazing bombardier.

Idk, this is just a summery fluffball of a Sterek getting-together drabble because I’m tired of winter. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Derek fundamentally doesn’t understand people who like roller coasters.

He knows such people exist because he’s been standing in line with them for the Blazing Bombardier for half an hour now, but even when he’s looking right at them, it’s hard to believe. Seriously, why. The list of things to do on a Saturday afternoon that don’t involve screaming and trying not to hurl is literally infinite. He could be lounging around in his pjs in his dorm right now and rereading The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, just for example. Or working out, or going for a drive to the beach, or watching a movie with Boyd and Erica. (Boyd and Erica are officially his favorite people right now because, unlike his sisters, they understand the basic concept that friends don’t make their friends who lose bets ride the most terrifying invention since clown costumes.)

The line moves forward, and oh god, now Derek can actually see the loading station. The seats are wicked-looking hanging harnesses painted to look like flames. He’s going to be sick before he even sits down in the thing.

Keep reading

Touché // j.j.

You can’t pin point when. Somewhere between the steady typing and the flipping of pages, between the constant supply of french fries and chocolate milkshakes, between the occasional eye contact and the brief smiles. Somewhere between the hours of three and seven o'clock, you fell.

To be specific, you fell in love with Jughead Jones, Riverdale’s resident tall dark and handsome, at least in your opinion.

It started one afternoon when Pop’s was busier than usual, every booth and table full except one.

“Do you…do you mind if I sit?” You ask, rocking slightly on the balls of your feet. “Everywhere else is full.”

You expect him to say no; he is, after all, Jughead Jones, and this is, after all, Riverdale, probably the smallest town in the world and everyone at least knew of everyone else, and you definitely know of Jughead and his preference to being alone, especially when he’s writing.

Jughead ceases his typing, locking eyes with you. He glances around the diner, almost surprised at how many people were in it.

“I’m not the best conversationalist,” he says, looking back at you, “I can’t promise anything good.”

This surprises you, you expected a flat out no or for him to even just ignore you.

“I’m not looking for conversation,” you say, shrugging, “just somewhere to sit and read my book while enjoying a milkshake.”

“Depends,” he smirks, folding his hands in front of his laptop, “what flavor milkshake?”

“The best one of course,” you smile back, “chocolate.”

Jughead smiles, actually smiles, and nods.

“Yeah, yeah you can sit,” he says.

You thank him, sliding into the booth and setting your bag next to you. You pull out your book, thanking the waiter as he set down your milkshake.

“Oh, I’m Y/N by the way,” you say, stirring the drink a bit.

“I know.”

You raise your eyebrows, tilting your head to the side.

“You know who I am?”

You remind yourself again that this is Riverdale, probably the smallest town in the world, where everyone knows everyone.

“I know more than you think,” he smiles.

“You take this dark and mysterious thing seriously don’t you?”

“I thought you weren’t looking for conversation?” He raises an eyebrow, half a smirk on his face.

“Touché,” you say, opening your book and settling into the plush seating, sipping occasionally at your milkshake.

This continues for days. Regardless of whether Pop’s is bursting at the seems or it’s just you and him, you always sit together. The two of you sit in that booth, you with a book in one hand and a milkshake in another and Jughead with his laptop on the table and fries next to it.

“You know,” Jughead says one day, fingers still whizzing across the keyboard, “you can sit somewhere else if you want.”

“And ruin the work we’ve been doing?” You smile, “I’m good.”

He stops typing, you feel his eyes on you.

“And what work are we doing exactly?”

“Bonding, Jug,” you say, turning the page.

“Is this what bonding is?”

You look up at him, shrugging.

“What would you call it?”

“Touché.”

Weeks pass, the time you spend at Pop’s growing from a one or two hours into several, your time together stretching into early dusk.

“Hey Jug?” You ask quietly one day, closing your book for once.

He notices, he stops typing, he even half way closes the top of his computer.

“What’s up?”

“How’d you know who I was?” You ask, stirring your milkshake. “That first day…you said you knew who I was before I told you. How?”

“This is Riverdale,” he says, “I think it’s physically impossible to not know someone in this town.”

Jughead opens his mouth to continue, then closes it. You can see the wheels turning in his head.

“I notice things, I notice people,” he resumes finally, “I notice when people are different and you’re different. A good different, but different.”

With that, he raises the lid of his laptop, eyes focusing back on the screen.

“You noticed me?”

He looks back up at you, a smile on his face.

“Course I did.”

When you get to Pop’s one day about a week later, Jughead’s not there, Archie is.

“Oh um…hi,” you say, stopping short in front of the booth.

“Hey, Y/N right?” He asks, motioning for you to sit.

You do.

“Yeah, that’s um…” you shift your weight slightly, feeling uncomfortable, “that’s me.”

“Sorry, this must be awkward,” Archie says with a smile, “I’m Archie.”

“Yeah, I know who you are,” you say before you can stop yourself.

Archie’s eyebrows scrunch up slightly in confusion.

“Sorry, that sounded weird,” you rush, “I just mean, you’re a sophomore on varsity football, the whole school knows who you are.”

Archie smiles a bit, nodding.

“Yeah, I guess that’s true,” he shrugs, “anyway, Jughead sent me.”

You feel your shoulders relax involuntarily, leaning back into the seat.

“Okay.”

“He had to stay after school, make up a test or something,” Archie explains, “he told me to come tell you that he’d be here though, just a bit late.”

You smile.

“Thanks Archie,” you nod, “that’s really nice.”

“Anytime,” the boy replies, smiling, “look uh…this may sound super weird but um…you and Jughead…is that anything more th-”

“No,” you cut him off, shaking your head, “no we’re…we’re just friends. At least…I think we’re friends. We just…we sit together and we do our own thing. That’s all.”

“I know Jughead, that’s definitely a friendship,” he smiles, “okay, I gotta head back to practice before I’m missed but yeah, he’ll be here.”

With another smile he scoots out of the booth.

“Archie,” you stop him, looking up at his face, “look um…god this is going to sound crazy but…is Jughead…is he seeing anyone o-or som-”

“No,” Archie cuts you off with another smile on his face, “he was, for a bit but…not anymore. Do you like him?”

You’re surprised by his bluntness, your eyes widening a bit.

“I uh…n-no I was just curious,” you shake your head, pulling your book out of your bag, “you better get to practice, don’t want coach to bench you.”

Archie smiles again, always with the smiling, and walks out of the door just as Jughead walks in.

“Hey, sorry I’m late,” he says, sitting down across from you.

“I didn’t know we had a set schedule,” you smirk, tilting your head slightly, “nice of you to send your friend though.”

Jughead looks at you, a sarcastic smile on his face.

“Didn’t want you to think I stood you up,” he says, pulling out his laptop.  

“Don’t you have to be on a date to get stood up?” You ask, sipping at your milkshake as Pop places a basket of fries in front of Jughead.

“Yeah, I guess that’s true,” he replies, shrugging.

“So are you telling me that these are dates?”

This time you surprise yourself with your own bluntness, and Jughead as well. He recovers quickly though, the shock on his face only evident for a few brief moments.

“You tell me.”

There it is, his smile, his actual smile. Not a smirk, not some no effort half smile, an actual, full blown, Jughead smile.

Looking back on it, you think that’s when you first knew, when you first realized that you were falling for him.

The rest of the night is spent in silence, well, besides the sound of Jughead’s typing and your book pages begin turned.

You arrive at Pop’s the next day to see Jughead already sitting at the booth, typing furiously. That didn’t surprise you. What did surprise you, however, is the chocolate milkshake already sitting on the table in front of your side of the booth.

“I didn’t see you at school today,” you say, sitting down, “did you skip?”

“Yeah, yeah I um…” he pauses, finishing the sentence he’s typing before looking at you, “I got here this morning because I forgot one of my notebooks and I sat down to finish this paragraph I was on and uh…next thing I knew it was one o'clock in the afternoon so I…figured I’d just stay here.”

“Archie asked me if I knew where you were,” you say, “he came up to me during lunch and asked if I knew if you were sick or not.”

“What did you say?”

“The truth,” you reply, “that I didn’t know.”

Jughead nods, looking back down at his computer screen.

“Jug?” You ask, looking at him with furrowed eyebrows.

He continues to type, oblivious to your calls of his name.

“Juggie!” You exclaim, finally drawing his attention.

“Sorry, got caught up in the story,” he shakes his head, “what’s up?”

“What’s going on with you?” You ask, sliding your book off to the side. “You seem…I dunno, off.”

“Sorry just um…a lot of stuff on my mind I guess,” he says, shrugging.

“About Jason or…other things?” You ask.

“It’s nothing important.”

“Juggie,” you say softly, sliding your hand across the table to touch his arm, “if it’s bothering you this much, it’s important. You can talk to me, always.”

“We’re friends right?” He asks, closing his computer all the way.

“Yeah, yeah course we are Jug,” you nod, “please, tell me what’s going on.”

And he does, he tells you everything. About his parents splitting up, about his dad being part of the Serpents, about his mom taking his sister and leaving, about living at the drive in, about living at the school, everything. And you let him talk, you let him go on for as long as he needs with no interruption, just listening.

“Sorry if that’s a lot but um…I needed to get that stuff off my chest,” he finishes, taking a deep breath, “thanks though.”

“Come stay with me,” the words are out of your mouth before you even think them through, but you don’t take them back, “seriously Jug, my dad’s away on business and my mom won’t care, we’ve got room.”

“No Y/N I can’t expect that from you I do-”

“Juggie, you’re my best friend,” you say, cheeks burning slightly, “please, let me do this for you.”

Jughead looks down, staring your hand touching his, both of your fingers practically intertwined on top of the table.

“Are you sure it’s okay?” He asks after a minute or two silence, looking around the diner. “I don’t want to be any trouble.”

“I’m absolutely positive it’s okay,” you reply, catching his gaze, “but I’m not going to force you.”

“As long as you’re sure,” he says, nodding, “I’d really like to not live under the stairs like Harry Potter.”

You were right, your mom doesn’t care, she even convinces your dad that it’s okay for Jughead to stay with you, and after three weeks of it, you’re convinced it is the single best idea you’ve ever had.

The two of you still spend most of your time at Pop’s, something about the neon lights and plush seating and the constant supply of chocolate milkshakes makes you feel more at home than you do at your actual house. Or maybe Jughead does. Maybe Jughead makes you feel like you’re home.

“Do you ever wonder how some people end up with the worst luck?” He asks one day, eyes never leaving his computer screen as he chews on this thumb nail.

The two of you are going on four hours at Pop’s that day, and you notice that Jughead has barely written anything.

“Are we talking about Jason?” You ask gently, closing the book you were reading and placing it on the table.

“We’re talking about everyone,” he says cryptically, “how some people are born with everything they could ever want available on a silver platter and others are born with nothing, but somehow the golden boy ends up with the worst kind of luck.”

Jughead rarely ever spoke directly about Jason Blossom, you knew by now how to read between the lines of his novel-ish tone of voice.

“I think that it doesn’t matter what you’re born into,” you reply, “I think what matters is the choices we decide to make throughout our lives, and that that’s how we end up with good or bad luck, by the choices we make and by how we live our lives.”

“Jason never had to make a choice though,” Jughead exclaims, closing his laptop and sliding it out of the way, “that’s the thing, he never in his life had to make one choice for himself and somehow he still ended up murdered.”

His bluntness surprises you, this being one of a few times he directly tells you he’s talking about Jason.

“He did make choices, Jug,” you explain calmly, “everyday, just like you and me. He made the choice to let his parents give him whatever he wanted, he made the choice to follow that stupid book Chuck made up, he made the choice to be with Polly regardless of what his parents said, he made the choice to try and fake his own death so he could be with her without fear of them, he made hard choices, some of them more tough than you and I will ever make in our entire lives.”

Jughead stares at you, and for a minute you think he’s going to get up and leave.

But then he grabs his computer, mumbling a quick thank you under his breath and he begins to type furiously.

That night you’re laying on your bed, Jughead in the guest room across the hall and you can’t help but feel like he’s a million miles away.

You can’t sleep. Grabbing your phone, you squint at the brightness before you’re able to turn it down, looking at the clock.

2:37 am

“He’s probably asleep,” you whisper to yourself as you unlock the device, fingers moving almost on autopilot to Jughead’s message thread.

Can’t sleep, you awake?

You lay the phone on your stomach, staring up at the dark ceiling and willing your body to sleep. The vibration of the device pulls you out of your thoughts.

You okay?

You smile, two simple words causing happiness to bubble up in your stomach.

Yeah, just can’t seem to sleep.

You want to come talk?

If you don’t mind.

You’re always able to come talk to me.

You don’t reply, instead you get up out of your bed, quietly opening your door and then closing it behind you. You take three quick steps across the hallway, opening and closing Jughead’s door as quietly as you did your own.

“Hey,” you say softly, standing in front of the door.

Jughead props himself up on his elbows, the first thing you notice is the lack of a grey beanie upon his head.

“Hey,” he says back in the same tone, “you okay?”

Those two words again, this time sounding even better as you can hear him say it in his own voice.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you reply, pushing some hair behind your ear nervously.

Why are you nervous? You ask yourself as Jughead motions for you to come join him. It’s only Juggie.

You slide under the covers, but only because the room is cold, and you’re next to him, but only because it’s his room, and his arm is around your shoulders, but only because he’s a good friend and he wants to comfort you.

“Why can’t you sleep?” He asks, rubbing his eye with one hand.

“Did I wake you up?” You ask.

“No I was working on my book,” he explains, pointing at the computer on the bedside table, “don’t change the subject.”

“I dunno…overthinking I guess,” you reply, shrugging a bit.

“About what?”

“Everything I suppose,” you say, “about how if Pop’s wasn’t full that one day or if I had decided not to go then we probably wouldn’t have ever met. About how if I hadn’t continued to sit there we probably wouldn’t have become best friends, about what Archie sa-”

“Archie?” Jughead cuts you off. “What about Archie?”

You curse yourself silently. You didn’t mean to say anything about Archie.

“Nothing, nothing,” you reply quickly, but the look on Jughead’s face told you that he wasn’t going to let it go, “okay um…back that one day when you sent him to Pop’s to tell me that you were going to be late uh…he said that you had been seeing someone but that you weren’t anymore and I was…I guess I was just thinking about who it could’ve been.”

He’s silent, more silent than you’ve ever experienced with the many months of knowing him. Minutes pass, they feel like hours. Finally, you decide to break the silence.

“Juggie?” You whisper.

“Sorry I um…” he shakes his head, raven colored hair flying everywhere, “why were…why were you thinking about that?”

“Curious, I guess,” you explain, “sorry if that seems intrusive or weird or whatever bu-”

“No no it’s…it’s okay,” Jughead replies, wrapping his arm around your shoulders a bit tighter, “it…it was Betty. We had a thing for a few weeks but in the end we decided we were better off as friends.”

“A few weeks?”

“Before I met you, we stopped about two days before that day at Pop’s”

“And are you?”

“Am I what?”

“You and Betty, are you better off as friends?”

“Definitely.”

You nod, falling into silence once again.

This time Jughead breaks it.

“Look I’m not…I’m not good at this whole feelings thing,” he says, “Betty was the first girl I ever really had those types of emotions for but it wasn’t…it wasn’t what I’m supposed to feel. Or rather what I want to feel.”

“Do you know what you want to feel?” You ask, tilting your head up to look at his face.

He looks almost angelic in the pale light streaming through the semi-closed blinds.

“Yes.”

“Do you know anyone that makes you feel like that?”

“Yes.”

The answer comes quick, almost too quick.

“Who?”

Another pause.

“I can’t say.”

Your stomach drops on slightly, but enough for you to feel it nonetheless.

“Oh.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” he rushes, running one of his hands through his hair, “it’s just that I don’t really know how to.”

“You’re a writer, Jug,” you say, “I know you’ll figure out how to tell her. You’re good with words.”

“Not when it comes to these kinds of words,” he laughs lightly, “I don’t want to mess up.”

“Don’t psych yourself out,” you encourage, regardless of the weight on your heart, “maybe you don’t need your words this time, maybe actions is the way to go. I believe in you, I know you’ll figure it out.”

Jughead finally looks at you, dark hair falling in front of his face as it’s still free of the infamous crown beanie.

“Actions?” He repeats.

“Yeah, you know what they say,” you smile, “actions speak louder than words.”

He blinks a few times, it’s almost like you can see the thought processing through his brain.

And then suddenly his hands are cupping your face and his lips are on top of yours, your eyes closing as if they had minds of their own. You’re shocked, who wouldn’t be, but it only takes a fraction of a moment for your mind to kick into gear and then your kissing him back, one hand on his shoulder and the other on the back of his neck.

If I’m dreaming I hope I never ever wake up.

He pulls away too soon for your liking, both your chests rising and falling little faster than usual.

“That thing you said about actions,” he says breathlessly, “I believe it.”

You smile wide, Jughead pressing his forehead against yours.

“You were talking about me?” You ask, still a bit shocked.

Jughead nods a few times, a smile on his face as well.

“I like you, Y/N,” he finally says, “I know that’s not poetic or artistic or anything like that but I just…I don’t have any other words. I really like you.”

You think your face is going to split in half by the giant smile you can’t keep off your face.

“Juggie,” you bite your bottom lip lightly, shaking your head, “god I can’t even tell you how much I’ve been wanting you to say that.”

Jughead’s smile widens and you swear the room brightness a bit.

“I’m really glad you couldn’t sleep tonight,” he whispers, laughing quietly.

“Me too,” you smile even wider, if that’s possible, “Juggie I’m…I’m really really happy right now.”

“God I am too,” he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “do you maybe want to have dinner with my friends tomorrow? I know they’re going out after the game, I can finally introduce you, properly too.”

“Ooh, dinner with the friends,” you say sarcastically, “I don’t know, you think our relationship is ready for that? We’ve only been together all of five minutes.”

Jughead laughs loudly and you shush him, the two of you falling silent to make sure your parents were still asleep.

“My dad will kill you if you wake him up and he finds us like this,” you whisper, shaking your head, “but in all seriousness, do you think it’ll be awkward for Betty? I don’t want to cause any trouble or anything I know you guys ar-”

“Y/N,” he stops your rambling, a soft smile on his face, “it’ll be fine. Betty and I are good, like I said, we’re better off as friends. Trust me, she’ll be okay. I wouldn’t bring either of you to meet each other if I didn’t think she’d be okay.”

“Okay, I’ll come to dinner with your friends,” you say, “on one condition.”

“Oh god, what?”

“I get to wear the infamous beanie,” you rush out, reaching over Jughead’s body and plucking the hat from on top of is computer.

“Y/N!” Jughead exclaims, trying to grab the hat back from you.

“Hold on hold on,” you say, pushing his hand away.

You put the beanie on your head, smoothing your hair out under it and looking back up at him.

Jughead stops struggling, half a smile on his face.

“Well you do look adorable,” he says, brushing a stray piece of hair off your cheek.

“I wear the beanie tomorrow,” you ask with raised eyebrows.

“You can wear it to dinner,” he compromises, tilting his head to the side.

“Touché.”

Jughead keeps his word, and when the two of you leave your house that evening and head for Pop’s, he takes the beanie off his head and places it on yours, shaking out his hair. Jughead intertwines your fingers together, smiling at you and at how happy you look.

Jughead explains his friends to you, telling you a bit about each one of them as you both walk towards the diner.

“They’re probably going to say something,” he says, “about the beanie.”

“Have any of them ever seen you without it?” You question.

“Archie has a few times, Betty once or twice,” he explains, “but other than that, no.”

Jughead’s warnings were a bit understated. In fact, when the two of you walk into Pop’s and find his friends at a booth, it seems all conversation in the entire diner ceases.

“Jug,” one of the girls, Veronica, says, mouthing wordlessly for a few seconds, “you made it, we thought you weren’t going to come for a while.”

“Yeah, yeah we left a bit late,” Jughead shrugs, “guys um…this is Y/N. Y/N, this is…well this is everyone.”

Once the awkward formalities were out of the way and Pop had brought over everyone’s celebratory milkshakes (the football team won that night), everything felt normal.

You laugh at all the jokes, even tell some of your own. You feel like you’ve been part of this group for years, and you know Jughead can tell.

“Hey um…sorry guys I gotta take this,” Jughead says after he pulls out his phone.

“Juggie?” You ask. “Everything okay?”

“What? Yeah,” he replies, “it’s just…it’s my mom. I should take it.”

“Yeah, yeah of course go ahead,” Betty says, “we’ll keep her company,” she smiles at you.

Jughead thanks them, walking out the door to the diner with the phone up to his ear.

“So,” Veronica says, holding her head up with her hands, “you and Jughead.”

You furrow your eyebrows.

“Oh come on, don’t make her spell it out!” Kevin says, “he’s letting you wear his most prized possession for pete’s sake!”

You feel a blush spread across your cheeks, looking down at the half empty milkshake in front of you.

“I think you guys make a cute couple,” Betty says, licking some whipped cream off of her straw.

“Thanks Betty,” you reply, smiling again.

“This is going to sound awkward but uh…” Archie trails off, “has Jug told you anything about what’s going with his family an-”

“Yeah,” you cut him off, “he has. About everything, including his dad and that stuff. He’s um…he’s staying at my house. Has been for a couple weeks.”

Veronica smirks, Betty elbows her in the ribs. Archie and Kevin rolls their eyes at the two girls.

“Hey, I think he’s talking about you,” Kevin says, nodding in Jughead’s direction.

The four of you look over at him, you watch as he talks into his phone with a huge smile on his face, running a hand through his hair to push it back every couple of seconds.

The night draws to a close all too soon, everyone heading back to their houses as you and Jughead walk hand in hand down the asphalt road.

“I think that went really well,” you say, smiling at him.

“I agree,” Jughead says, stopping you both from walking and standing in front of you.

Before you can ask what he’s doing, he places his lips on yours, cupping your cheek with one hand while simultaneously tilting your head up. You feel him lift the beanie off of your head, but honestly you don’t really care. He pulls away with a smirk, fixing his hat back on his head.

“Archie,” you say, looking over Jughead’s shoulder.

“Really?” He asks with semi-wide eyes, “that’s what you’re thinking about in the middle of our moment?”

No, god you’re an idiot,” you shake your head, pointing over his shoulder, “Archie’s window, which happens to show Archie watching us right now.”

As soon as Jughead turns around Archie slides his curtains closed, causing you and Jughead to burst out in laughter.

“Did you kiss me just to steal your hat back?” You ask in a fake shocked tone.

“Possibly,” he replies, quirking an eyebrow.

“Touché Jones, touché.”

Mysterious Galra Theory or “That Time Keith Rescued Princess Romelle”

Alrighty, my children, gather your popcorn and your blankets and get comfortable, because Mama Shards is about to take you for a ride along another one of her wild theories!

For those who aren’t familiar with GoLion/Defender of the Universe, Princess Romelle was Allura’s cousin, and pretty much her twin except literally. She was kidnapped and held captive by Lotor as a harem girl because of this likeness (in case anyone had any doubt how creepily obsessed with Allura Lotor was in the original). For this particular theory, this is really all you need to know.

Going back to the mysterious Galra in the Weblum, we’ll call them “MG”, we only know two for sure things about them:

  1. They’ve been there a while.
  2. They were there for scaultrite.

Keep reading

welp. i don’t really know how this happened, but it just kinda did. WC: 1510

klance, mild klangst, confessions, first kiss


Lance hums. “Really? You think?” 

The alien giggles, a small, tinkling laugh that makes Keith’s fists ball at his sides. He works his jaw, fixing his gaze on the beautiful red, blue, green, yellow, and black banners hanging from the ceiling.

The planet, Xylo, had been overrun with Galra, it’s inhabitants, the Xylans, being treated as slaves, working to harvest the precious gems in near the core of the planet. Many had died in the work, the heat, radiation, and brutal conditions too much, but those that lived fought side by side with Voltron, with a valor unmatched by any other planet they’ve ever encountered. 

It had been a sight Keith is unlikely to ever forget. He remembers this planet’s queen, Kani, charging an entire squadron of Galran sentries, ripping a blaster out of one of their hands and taking down each and every one before Voltron even had time to turn to offer her any sort of assistance.

Another tinkling giggle. Keith’s eye twitches, feels his nostrils flare. He needs to leave before he ruins a happy alliance before it even starts.

Keith grabs a drink off of the tray of a waiter, downing it one go, placing it back on the tray, and making his way for the door.

He pushes through the crowd. Everyone is gathered around the main floor, one traditionally used for ballroom dances, but all music had been destroyed by the galra. All the Xylans are still in their makeshift armor, and the Paladins still in their own colored suits. 

As he pushes through them, a couple pieces of their armor falls off, but no one seems to care. A hand places itself on his shoulder, he pauses, sees a large hand with Black Paladin armor, and shrugs it off as he resumes. There’s a sigh, but no footsteps follow him.

He trudges his way out the door and through the blue-brown dirt towards the Castle.

Fuck Lance. Fuck Lance and all his flirts. Fuck him and his crass carelessness. Fuck him and his stupid, beautiful face. Fuck him and his dazzling smile. Fuck him and his kind, caring heart. Fuck him and his ability to make anyone laugh. Fuck. Him.

He knows he has a crush on Lance. Knows he wants to cuddle him, kiss him, hold hands with him, boop his nose, peck his cheek, massage his legs. He knows this. 

But Lance doesn’t. Lance and his thick skull paired with Keith’s inability to do jack shit about his feelings means that that’s all he’ll know. He’ll never know how much Keith wants him. He’ll never know about how he dreams of Lance, hoping to wake up to his bubbly face and low, tired voice. He’ll never know that Keith is so far in over his head that he did a full on backflip. 

Finding himself somehow at the door of his room, he presses the control panel, clicking to slide it open.

God, he just wishes he could say something. At least if Lance said no, he’d be caring enough to not just flirt with every being in existence right in front of Keith. Well, that or he’d very purposefully do just that, but Keith doesn’t really think he would.

Keith flops onto his bed, armor still on. It’s uncomfortable, but he doesn’t care. He focuses on the armor digging into his back and thighs, trying to keep his mind off of Lance.

He takes a deep breath, feeling the twinges of anger leaving his body, only to be replaced by a deep-set ache. A loneliness yet to be filled. A hole so open in his heart, one that he knows one person could fill perfectly, and yet it won’t ever happen.

It sends a chill throughout his body as it weighs it down. As the knowledge that the one man he wants, the one man he knows he could truly love, has less than no interest in him.

He pushes his head further back into the pillow and lets out a huff. 

Knock knock

Keith raises his head slightly, but doesn’t say anything. If he’s quiet, they’ll go away.

“Keith?”

Lance. 

Nope.

“Go away, Lance,” says Keith, frustration tinging his voice.

He can almost hear the hesitation at the door.

“I’ll talk through the door if I have to,” says Lance. It’s meant to sound like a threat, but there’s an air of… helplessness in his voice. And it’s just that that makes Keith get up, walking over to the door and open it for Lance.

Keith doesn’t say anything to him, just turns and flops back down on the bed, leg hanging off the side.

Lance grabs it under his knee, lifting it up as he sits down before placing it back down, on top of his

Keith pretends like he can’t feel the sheer warmth coming from Lance’s thigh and pretends that merely being able to rest his leg over Lance’s isn’t make his face slowly become hotter and hotter. 

He doesn’t dare look at Lance, but he can feel a slight movement, probably him moving his arms or shaking his other leg or something.

There’s a long, awkward silence, neither of them willing to speak, but both waiting for the other to start. 

Eventually Keith gives in.

“What d -” starts Keith.

“I’m sorry,” says Lance.

Keith furrows his brows, but doesn’t say anything. Lance takes the hint.

“I didn’t… She was just…” Lance sighs. Keith feels his elbow through the armor on his calf. He raises his head slightly to see him, his head is in his hands, one elbow on his knee, other on Keith’s calf.

“I like you, okay? I thought that if I… If I flirted with people in front of you, you’d get jealous and you’d come running, and I dunno. I know that that’s dumb, everything I do is dumb, but I just wanted you to like me and more than just a friend and I just… I dunno,” Lance trails off at the end, fingers slitting open, letting one eye peek over at Keith. 

But Keith doesn’t hear the rest. He doesn’t hear anything after okay? Even if he wanted to, his pulse spiked, pounding in his ears. His breathing quickened, every inhale and exhale echoed five times over in his head. 

He bolts straight up, but his leg over Lance’s makes him lose his balance. Without hesitation, hands - Lance’s hands - land on his hip and shoulder, stopping him from falling back over. They burn him where they rest, for him to remember for the rest of his days.

Not even thinking, Keith surges forward, but he misses. He kisses the corner of Lance’s mouth, feeling it tug into a shy smile under him. Lance pulls away, but his hand on Keith’s shoulder slides up to the back of Keith’s neck.

Keith blinks at him, heart beating up into his throat as Lance’s shy smile disappears. As the hand on the back of his neck slowly pulls him in. As lips press a nervous, tentative kiss onto his own. Keith tries to kiss him back, add more - more flare to it, but only succeeds in colliding his nose with Lance’s.

He feels his face flush even more as Lance chuckles as they pull back. “It’s okay,” he whispers to Keith. “We can work on it.”

Keith ducks his head, a hand coming up over his eyes. Lance chuckles again, low and soothing, as he places a hand on Keith’s wrist, gently tugging it from his face. Keith lets him.

Bringing it up to his lips, Lance presses a soft, fluttery kiss to the inside of his wrist. Then in a circle around his palm. Then to the pads of each and every one of his fingers.

His eyes flick up to Keith, who wants to look away, whose every instinct is telling him to look away, but just can’t. Lance leans forward, tilting his head too much to be coming in for a kiss. No, instead, Lance places a peck to Keith’s cheek, nuzzling his nose into it before sitting back down.

They just stare at each other, happy with the silence in between them, happy to sit there and take in every single detail of the others’ face.

Keith had always known that Lance’s eyes were a blue, but he never noticed the slight green tint they had to them, or the fleck of brown in the top left of his right one. He’d never seen the smattering of barely-there freckles dotting his nose and cheekbones, or the one noticeable freckle hidden in the hairs of his right eyebrow. He’d never realized just how long his eyelashes were, nor how his deep brown hair framed his face so gently it seemed like it was almost too afraid to be around such beauty.

Keith’s heart flutters in his chest. He can’t believe this is real. He may not know exactly what they are yet, but that doesn’t matter. All that matters is that Lance likes him. Lance really, truly likes him. 

anonymous asked:

I need more Voltron memes,,,, spifificly about pidge,,,, please omg yours are the best I've seen ily,,,

  • names all pieces of technology as if they’re dogs. ex: “Spot” “Rex” “Fluffy” etc
  • everyone asks pidge for increasingly ridiculous modifications for their lions (hunk asks for a bathroom, lance asks pidge to give keith’s a mullet)
  • “where is [insert object here]??” “i dunno pidge probably made it invisible”
  • kinda just. hangs out in the castle vents. will sometimes drop into rooms to scare the shit out of people (mostly lance)
  • *someone says something inappropriate* pidge, in complete deadpan: “oh no, my young impressionable ears”
    • alternatively: *someone says something inappropriate* lance, throwing his hands over pidge’s ears, scandalized: “NOT IN FRONT OF THE BABY”
  • does the anime glasses thing and says “ah yes, all according to keikaku”
  • will sort of just climb onto the others when she doesn’t feel like walking places (does this to shiro a lot, he continues going about his business as if he doesn’t notice the extra weight)
  • whenever lance fucks up you can be sure that pidge is right there…. ready and waiting with a “get rekt”
  • acts disproportionately scandalized when allura and coran ask mundane questions like they’re Very Offensive on planet earth
    • “*loud gasp* you can’t just ask someone what shoe size they wear”
    • allura realizes it’s a joke early on, coran continues to apologize profusely
  • lance, gesturing at pidge: is this a pigeon

jewish-fangirl-life  asked:

Mom mom mom! How is Nathan gonna keep kosher if he's a werewolf? I think I might have missed whether or not he can control himself while he's a wolf, but how does it work?

True blooded werewolves in Hunger Pangs are better able to control what they do as wolves, with full moons being the exception where the human brain takes a backseat and tries not to cringe too hard at the stuff that goes on. It’s sort of accepted mythology that an agreement with the gods was reached, and that in exchange for their powers they have to go through the change once a month without fail as payment for their long lives and supernatural abilities, and as with any culture when new people come into it, certain new traits and beliefs shifted and changed over the years, and at some point the werewolf culture in Nathan’s part of the world, began to include the practice of keeping kosher during human phases of their life, as a means of separating themselves from actual wolves.

And I’ll level with you at this point, this idea is something purely from my childhood. 

My dad was raised by his Jewish grandmother, he grew up keeping kosher and went on to become a kosher butcher and our household was kept kosher purely out of habit and familiarity even though us kids were all baptized Christian. 

He was also a story teller and liked to mix and match his myths, and at the time when I was getting super into the local Celtic mythology and reading everything my grubby little hands could reach in the library, was also when my dad started writing stories for me and telling me about Great Grandma who was Different from my other Grandma and also why we had two kitchen sinks in the house and two fridges and two sets of knives for everything, and why the family sometimes lapsed into Yiddish when arguing, because I dunno if you’ve ever heard angry Scottish people arguing in Yiddish, but it’s a damn fine way to be expressively ticked off.

One of the stories was a werewolf (wulver in Celtic lore) whose angst came from needing to atone for the things he ate as a wolf, not because he was inherently a monster, but because he was Jewish and couldn’t keep kosher on full moons. And my dad made it funny, he made up stories about all the things this wulver would do to try and keep to his faith, about going to see his Rabbi and asking really specific and weirdly obscure questions and the Rabbi was eventually like listen, kid, whatever is going on, take it up with the Big Guy, you’re doing your best and that’s all you ever can do. If He doesn’t like it, that’s His problem for letting it happen, tell him that…in the meantime…make amends however you see fit for…whatever you got going on. Just be a good person, kiddo, or…whatever you are. G-d will understand.

Which was how my dad worked in the Celtic lore part about how wulvers would guard children and feed starving families and give money to charity and just generally be a swell guy who after the end of every full moon had a tendency to brush his teeth really hard while muttering about being chosen for this life. In the end, the man realizes it is not a curse, but a means to help people who need it the most. What is actually a small inconvenience to him (ie not always being able to keep kosher due to circumstances outwith his control), has prompted him to do great wonderful things for those around him, and perhaps without his monthly suffering he would not be the good, kind person he became. Which I suppose was my father’s heavy handed way of trying to tell me—in the way his grandmother told him—you can overcome suffering, and that which you cannot overcome, you persevere with and try to do good anyway.

A little thickly laid on perhaps, but it stayed with me, evidently, as some 20 years later I write about a werewolf who doesn’t quite know if he believes in gods, but still keeps to their in-world-version of kosher out of habit and looks at the suffering in the world around him and decides kindness is the remedy.

Did this with number 1 from those post break up prompts I reblogged a few days back! 

Character A is on their way to sell the engagement ring they once bough for Character B (but the never got to propose) when they run into Character B again.

Wolfstar of course :)


Sirius wished the universe had at least had the decency to make it a cloudy, dreary, possibly miserable but that might be taking it a bit far, day. If this was what it had led him too, it was the least it could do, really.

He stared at the blue sky through the small front window of James and Lily’s flat, then back down at the small, velvet box in his hand. His thumb was poised to open it, nail in the soft crease between the top and bottom… and he couldn’t.  He couldn’t. If he saw it again he’d never get rid of it. And it was of no use to him. Not anymore. He’d spent enough hours staring at it, the gold rim, the small inside engraving. It had promised him everything and, now that everything had been lost, it was just a heart breaking reminder. It was worthless. He knew this. But he couldn’t see it. He couldn’t see it sitting there, cold in the box still. It should be with him. A sudden image of Remus kissing him, palms to his cheeks, and feeling the cool pressure of the ring on his left flooded through his mind. He pushed it away with difficulty.

He shoved the box into his pocket, grabbing a jumper from the back of the couch and pulling it roughly over his head while calling to James.

“Going out!”

“Okay!” A beat, and then, “Actually, wait, wait!”

Sirius turned from the direction of the door as James appeared in the kitchen doorway, tea in hand. His other rubbed the back of his neck.

“Are you, um…” He coughed, eyes flicking down to Sirius’ hands, searching, “Are you going…”

“Yeah.” Sirius said too quickly. He cleared his throat, “Yeah, and?”

James shook his head a little, shrugging and bringing his tea to his lips, “Nothing. Nothing, alright. Right…”

He shuffled his feet a little and Sirius rolled his eyes, “I’m fine,” He definitely wasn’t fine, “I’ll be back in a bit, yeah?”

James didn’t look any more at ease but he nodded, “Yeah.”



The day felt just as nice as it looked and Sirius scowled at the sun, defiantly putting his hood up and his head down.

The feeling of the box knocking against his thigh with every step was excruciating, a constant reminder of what he was about to do.

It should be with him.

His feet felt heavier with every step, every bump, and he found himself staring at the lump in his pocket. He clenched his fists tighter and tighter at his sides until his nails felt like pin pricks and the box felt like a scorching iron across his skin.

“Fucking hell-“ He dug it out of his pocket roughly, just as he collided with something— someone. Sirius’ head knocked right into a rather bony shoulder making his swear again, only to have the word mix with another curse.

“Shit, sorry, didn’t see.. you.. oh.”

Sirius’ heart started thrumming painfully in his chest. Remus straightened up in front of him.

Sirius went straight back to cursing the universe. Not now. God, please not today.

Sirius just stood there, unable to open his mouth. Remus looked… thin. His hair fell in messy curls over his forehead, as apposed to the usual neat swoop to the side. Really, Sirius couldn’t stop looking at his eyes. They were rimmed with soft purple, and as golden as ever. He thought he might drop to his knees, right there in the middle of the sidewalk, under the weight of the sheer longing that was coating his heart.

Remus opened and closed his mouth a few times before, “It’s a bit hot for a hood.”

Sirius blinked because what? “Wh- What?”

Remus’ cheeks flushed, “I- I don’t know why I said that. But- I- don’t you think?”

Sirius stared a moment more, then slowly raised his hand, swiping his hood from his head, “Right. The sun was just feeling a bit too…” He shook his head, still caught too off guard by how—normal—this conversation sounded.

Remus just nodded distractedly, eyes suddenly not on Sirius’, but trained on Sirius’ hand that was still resting on Sirius’ shoulder from removing his hood. He looked uneasy, panicked even.

Sirius watched as he swallowed thickly, voice coming out horse, “Meeting someone?”

Sirius knit his brows, cocking his head slightly at the sudden question, and the look crossing Remus’ face. How could I be meeting someone when that look is out there somewhere needing someone to kiss it away?

“No. ‘m not, why?”

When Remus’ eyes didn’t move to his, Sirius followed his gaze. His stomach dropped at what he found on the other end. The small, velvet box was still grasped in his hand. In plain sight.

“I- Oh. Fuck, no-” He realized what this must look like to Remus and it only made his heart tighten further. The mere thought that Remus could have it in his head that Sirius would ever, ever be with anyone else right now drove a knife in and twisted it, “No, Re- Remus,” Sirius corrected himself quickly at the way Remus winced.

“It’s fine.” Remus mumbled, “I- I don’t know why I asked. I guess I just…” He trailed off, “Dunno.”

Sirius’ mind whirled, desperately trying to find some lie to tell. He definitely wasn’t about to give Remus the truth, not with the way he wouldn’t even look at him.

“I- This is- I mean, I bought this for— these.” He corrected himself as a thought formed in his head, “I’m going to sell. This is- these are… cuff links. For James’ birthday. He- He didn’t like them.”

Remus’s eyes, which had still been fixed on the box, found Sirius’, “Oh.”

Sirius, gripped the box tightly in his palms, thumb, out of habit, wedging the opening but unwilling to follow through, “Y-Yeah.”

Remus’s expression suddenly changed. His eyes shifted from glazed over, and seemed to fill with a flicker of… something.

“Sirius…” Remus took a step forward.

Sirius’ eyes nearly closed at the way Remus said his name. Like he used to.

“Yeah…” Sirius breathed.

Remus’ eyes flit over his face as he stares down at him, “James’ birthday is in March.”

“I..” Fuck. “Yeah. It is.”

“It’s July.”

Sirius closed his eyes, taking in the close proximity of Remus’ presence and being silently furious with himself at the same time, “Yeah.” He sighed, defeated, “It is.”

Remus’ voice came out soft, “Can I see?”

Sirius’ eyes flashed back to the pools of bronze, panicked, “They’re really not much. Pretty plain. I mean-“ You never saw it. You didn’t want it. “They aren’t- It doesn’t really matter. He didn’t want them.”

Remus cocked his head, “How do you know?”

“Because he kind left before I could give them to y- him.” Sirius sighed, feeling heat bubble in his chest. He wasn’t sure what emotion it was, there were too many flowing through him.

Remus’ brow furrowed, “Well if you had stopped him maybe you could have found out. Let me see.”

Sirius flushed. They definitely weren’t talking about James anymore. “How was I suppose to know he wanted to be stopped?”

“Of course I wanted to be stopped!”

The silence that followed left what little space there was between them now heavy with Remus’ words. They were both breathing hard. Remus’ hand had somehow made its way over Sirius’ on the box. Sirius was burning at the touch.

Remus closed his eyes, letting a breath out through his nose, “Of course I wanted to be stopped.” He repeated.

Sirius stared at him, the crease between his eyebrows, the frown on his mouth, the tightness of his jaw. He swallowed hard, voice coming out shaky, “You can’t expect me to know that, that’s- that isn’t fair. You were so.. You were so angry with me, I thought-”

Remus opened his eyes, fixing them on the ground. The sun cast eyelash shadows on his cheeks. He looked more tired and thin than he had when they started. He shook his head, “No, it isn’t fair.”

Sirius’ heart tugged when Remus let his hand slip away.

Remus still wouldn’t look at him, “‘m sorry, I… I don’t know.”

He turned, carefully avoiding brushing against Sirius again, and started to walk away. Sirius reeled at the loss of contact, the sudden empty space in front of him. He was thrown back in time, standing in their old flat. He was staring into Remus’ tear stricken face one moment and was hearing the door slam the next. There was a velvet box in his pocket and he was very, very alone.

Not again. He decided. Not again.

“Remus.”

Sirius turned at the same time Remus did, eyes meeting. He was sure his looked wild. Remus’ looked just as untamed. He tried to slow his breathing, fingers tightening around the box.

He took a step forward.

“It isn’t cufflinks.”

Remus let out a breath, “No?”

“No.” He took another step, slowly closing the distance between them, “It’s-“ His eyes flitted over Remus’ face, hating ever worry marked there, every frown, each tired rim around his eyes, “God. It’s what I should have stopped you with.”

“You couldn’t have known-“

“I should have known.” He took the final step, thumb finally flicking the box open, “I should have let you know how much I…” He didn’t look down at the ring. Instead, he watched Remus’ eyes widen, he watched his lips part. He watched what he had wished he had watched for months. What he could watch for years. Remus’ eyes went back to his and they were glassy. He looked so tired. Sirius needed to fix it.

“Re..” Remus’ brows knit, eyes shutting at the nickname. He let out a soft noise when he felt Sirius’ hand on his cheek, holding him together.

“Re, I should’ve know. I- I know now, okay?” He ducked his head a little, desperately needed Remus to look at him, “Please, Re-“

But Remus was kissing him, hands on Sirius’ cheeks, a few tears on his own. And Sirius was melting, nearly dropping the box, the ring, as his arms made their way around Remus’ waist.

He closed the box as he kissed Remus. He had a lifetime to give him that ring. He needed this now, they needed this now. He slipped it into Remus’ back pocket, causing him to let out a watery laugh against his lips, and smiled as he wound his fingers in Remus’ hair, pulling their mouths back together.

And with Remus against him, laughing into his kiss, Sirius thought that maybe it wasn’t so bad the sun was out today after all.

Punk (Chap. 2)

Originally posted by kryzx

Summary: You’re head over heels for you’re best friend Bucky and hate the nickname he gave you as it doesn’t exactly scream romance.

Word count: 1805

Warnings: Cursing, low-self esteem, chubby!reader x bucky, idk….

A/N:  I hope you like this chapter, for some reason I enjoy it a lot though it’s not much.  I have a three day weekend coming up so hopefully I can continue working on my fics.  Thanks for your patience and I LOVE the feedback :]


 

Natasha Romanov was many things: ace assassin, hotshot hacker, super spy.  Pleasant in the morning?  No. Not one of her virtues. You might as well have poked a sleeping bear with a pointy stick; their reactions were generally the same.  Though the bear was more likely to let you live, come to think of it.  But desperate times called for desperate measures.

 The red head cradled her mug as she shuffled back towards the bed with eyes half open.  You took that as an invitation, though it probably wouldn’t work on vampires, you’d have to remember that should the time come.  You kicked the door shut and plopped onto the bed where a half-naked Clint was slowly entering the world of consciousness.  You signed “good morning” to him once his confused expression grazed from Natasha and back to you.  He grinned puckishly before speaking aloud, “Is it my birthday?”

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which character should you fight (ft. Gen 1 FE:A dudes)

Chrom
Winner: You
look at this guy. look at his fashion choices. look at his nerd-ass lying on the ground in the smash trailer. someone needs to set this boy right. you may incur the wrath of everyone you dont want to fight but hey. do it for us. do it for all of humanity. (warning: he may try to marry you after. or before. or during.)

Frederick
Winner: who do you fuckin think
why would you even think about fighting frederick why would that thought ever cross your mind i mean 1. have you seen him. he has grown ass men and seasoned warriors on their knees praying, tears or sweat - fuck if they know - dripping down their faces just from his workouts. he’s the one who has to carry the bullshit of an entire kingdom, including his lords. 2. it was his ass that carried your slovenly ass through the first four chapters of lunatic/+ so how about you show some fucking respect. get fredereckt

Virion
Winner: You
are you kidding me? punch him in the crumpet. take his tea and pour it out in front of him. you get some on your clothes? no problem, rip his godforsaken cravat off and mop it up. if you’re a girl you might get away with it. otherwise he might fuck you up. who cares, it’s worth it.

Stahl
Winner: Stahl
fighting him will accomplish nothing. you’ll go up to him all ready for a tussle and he’ll glance over at you with a sleepy lopsided grin and a “oh hey, what’s up?” and that’s it. you’re done. you’ll lose all will to fight. his chill is contagious. and if you do somehow retain your fighting spirit? he’ll knock you flat on your ass. probably apologize too. it’ll be embarrassing for both of you. i mean the dude was trained by frederick after all. but i mean he’ll probably help you up and offer you food so idk. if you’re starving go for it.

Vaike
Winner: 50/50
look, i know what you’re thinking. look at all those muscles. the dude is ripped. fight him anyway. do it. he’ll probably forget his axe somewhere so you probably wont die. fuck him up. someone has to for the abomination that is “teach just got tenure.” Let him atone.

Lon’qu
Winner: Depends
If you aren’t a girl, you will be sliced into pieces so thin tharja might mistake you for her mesh body suit. if you are…. i mean you can try, but he’ll run. you can win if your cardio is good enough. go. chase him. Be Free.

Ricken
Winner: You
okay he’s the nerdiest of nerds but he’s also a fucking child so. idk man you can fight him if you want but what’s the point. if anything getting beat up by you will fuel his teenage rage and he’ll keep it stewing inside himself until he’s big enough to fight back and then you’ll have to deal with years of pent of rage and a napoleon complex but on a full sized being and no one wants to play therapist in a scrap. it just isnt worth it. i mean unless you’re like itachi uchiha then by all means go ahead

Gaius
Winner: You, but only with careful planning
ok so gaius isnt the toughest cookie, but he doesnt want to fight and he has access to the assassin class and i dont know about you but in my experience fighting assassins is no bueno. you get one punch in maybe if you’re lucky and take them by surprise but then youre dead and you cant fight for shit anymore. BUT if you take all his candy, his blood sugar will get low, making him weak and agitated. this is the optimal time to fight him. make sure he knows you’re the one who stole his candy. make sure he can smell the sugar on your breath. note: he may not spare your life if he gets the upper hand.

Gregor
Winner: Gregor, but you win friendship
i’ll be frank, gregor will beat the everloving shit out of you and there is nothing you can do about it should you choose to fight him. he’ll do it laughing and smiling, not even realizing he broke three of your frail ribs with one pulled punch. but he will absolutely take you out for a round after and exchange drunken stories with you. so fight him. even if he refuses, pay him to fight you. he cant say no to money and nothing is more valuable than fire-forged friendships.

Libra
Winner: Libra
why the fuck do you want to fight the priest. fuck fine, you know what? fight him. see what happens. he’s the only one who will pray for your immortal soul while you bleed out. but guess what, jackass? the gods are gonna see you tried to fight a priest and they’re gonna send your ass to the void anyway

Henry
Winner: ???
man fuck i dunno what this guy’s deal is. on one hand he’s a dark mage genius who was raised by wolves and then sent to a horrific boarding school/orphanage making him literally the stuff horror films are made of. on the other he can be a pretty nice guy if you’re his friend and he’s kinda fucked up so he might let you win. his crows will probably peck you to death either way though so its a lose-lose situation.

Basilio
Winner: Basilio
same deal as gregor, except basilio is hard-mode. he might accidentally kill you while you fight and his friendship is an even rarer flower. you gotta be charming. you gotta be smart. you gotta be somewhat strong. but if you do manage to get your ass beat and stay alive in such a way that he wants to grab a pint with you, take that beautiful budding friendship, hold it close to your breast and never let go

Donnel
Winner: You
he’s by far the sorriest character you get at recruitment. if it weren’t for that pot on his head, a feather falling too hard could kill him. but he’s a farmer that works day in and day out just so his village can survive. do you really want to fight the paradigm of the wondrous and wholesome rural life we should all aspire to? you capitalist pig.

i hope i didn’t forget anyone

“Shiro, Lance stole my jacket! And he’s using it as an apron!”

“Don’t listen to Keith, Shiro, he’s lying!”

“YOU’RE LITERALLY WEARING IT RIGHT NOW!”

“Spacedaaaaaad, tell Hunk he has to let me help cook!”

“Shiro, don’t let Pidge in the kitchen!”

Shiro’s left eye had most definitely developed a twitch. He was trying to be patient, truly he was, but after two hours of sleep and a battle the day before, there’s only so much a 25 year old can take.

“Why do you guys do this?” he groaned.

“Because you’re the Spacedad guy?” Lance shrugged awkwardly. “I dunno.”

“Well then who do I get to tattle to?” Shiro groused, folding his arms.

The other Paladins scratched their heads.

“I dunno, Coran, I guess?” Hunk stroked his chin thoughtfully.

“Works for me.” Shiro said flatly. He took a deep breath.

“Coraaaaan!”

From the bridge, the Altaen in question absently answered, “What’s wrong, Number One?”

“The Paladins keep tatting to me!”

Coran waved a hand over his shoulder. “Leave Shiro alone, guys.”

Shiro pumped a fist and quietly hissed “Yesss!”

That Was Not Acting - Cody Christian imagine

Summary: Y/n is an actress, she stars as Theo’s beta on Teen Wolf and has been for the past 1 ½ years. Her character Rebecca is required to have a steamy make out session with Theo leading into other things. No one knows that both Y/n and Cody are actually in a serious relationship until now.

Warning: Steamy make out sesh,kinda fluff and suggested smut.

A/N: gif credit to their respected owners ps ignore the fact i used Scallison as a gif it was the closest to my imagination XD

Originally posted by asplittingoffrerard

MASTERLIST


The day started like any other I arrived on set at a quarter to 8 as I always did, as usual Shelley and Tyler were on set first. I parked my car,grabbed my phone and bag then made my way out locked the car and went on with my way.

“Hey Y/n,on time as usual” Tyler greeted “that’s my girl” Shelley embraced me sweetly “So whatcha wanna do till showtime?” I asked “I dunno how bout pull a prank?” Tyler smirked wickedly “yes totally” Shelley moved her hands like a wicked scientist “but who?” I wondered “well we’ve done Dylan,Sprayberry,Ryan,Victoria-” Tyler began but Shelley cut him off “Khylin,Michael, Ian,J.R,Melissa,Holland,Each other” I pondered “Cody..we haven’t done Cody” I smiled nervously “that’s so true” Tyler exclaimed “let’s get a move on it he gets here by before 9″ Shelley expressed.

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Ten Years (Part 11)

Summary: AU. When a major account is on the line at work, reader is forced to revisit some old connections at her ten year high school reunion for a chance at success. Will she let the past consume her, or will she see the future in her grasp?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 2,876

Warnings: language, fluff, confrontation

A/N: Tags are closed. I originally had something completely different written, but it no longer felt like it fit with the narrative here, so I rewrote it. I accidentally increased the amount of parts needed for this story, too. I don’t really know how I feel about it, but I feel like it was necessary. Please don’t hate me, haha. BTW - Thank you so much for the sweet messages, they are simultaneously slaying me and getting me through the day.

Part: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11 - 12 - 13

Originally posted by theimpossibleg1rl

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