collected confessions

turquoiseey  asked:

Reaction HC's for Muu,Judal and Aladin if a girl approches them, being really shy,stuttering and having a red face. Somewhat trying to confess to them, stating they do not mind getting rejected but they watend to get it off their chest. Praising them, pointing out they really admire them and obiviuosly being really in love with them yet trying to be strong and bowing to them after theire done waiting for the rejection.

Muu

> Blushing, Muu will be taken aback by her sudden confession, not being able to neither reject nor accept what she just told him. Sheepishly scratching his chin and looking away, he’ll slightly lean forward, so that not everyone can hear their conversation right away, suggesting the two of them could go on a date some time, so he can think about her words once more, before having an answer to her feelings


Judar

> Normally it’s so easy for Judar to keep a collected mind, but a confession out of nowhere doesn’t even leave him unaffected. Staring at her bowing, he’ll huff, crossing his arms and turning away slightly, before replying that what she said isn’t anything new to him and he already heard these words ever so often. Facing her again, he’ll order the girl to straighten up again, adding that even though she’s not the most original, he feels like rewarding her courage in some way, inviting her to accompany him on a stroll around town sometime


Aladdin

> His cheeks turning light pink, he’ll urge her to stop bowing to him, taking a split second to look her deep in the eyes, once she raises her head. Taking a step back and breathing out worriedly, he’ll give her a big smile, thanking her for being so open with him, going quiet before adding, that as the things are right that moment he can’t reciprocate her feelings, but if possible would like to meet up again in the future and see where it takes them

2

i let you go, annie

Send some hearts to tell my muse how yours feels about them.

❤️: Wants or is in a romantic relationship with them.

💛: Loves them platonically.

💚: Is a little jealous of them.

💙: Feels pretty indifferent towards them.

💜: Finds them sexually attractive.

💖: Finds them aesthetically attractive.

💗: Finds them romantically attractive.

💞: Feels attracted to them, but can’t work out if it’s platonic, sexual, or romantic attraction they’re feeling.

💝: Looks up to them as a role model.

💓: Is intimidated by them, but wants to be friends with them.

💔: Hates their guts.

💘: Doesn’t really like them, but doesn’t flat-out hate them either.

4

Master Devil Do Not Kiss Me  恶魔少爷别吻我 S2 Ep.1
Chu Xia x Qi Lu 初七夫妇 ~ Confession Again

“Let’s be lovers”

7

KINGS 👏🏻 OF 👏🏻 PEACE 👏🏻 SIGNS 👏🏻

So many ways to tell you // A certain kind of smile

“You’ll have to be patient before uncle will be able to tell you a compliment", Fíli ovserved. “It seems Mistress Arna has gotten hold of him.“
“Amad doesn’t like her”, Kíli added helpfully. “Basically she thinks Mistress Arna is ogling at uncle.” He shrugged at his brother who gave him a stern look. “Just telling the truth.”
Bilbo frowned as he realized how Thorin smiled at the merchant. It was the kind of smile that usually only Thorin’s kin got to see …

For Lionesspuma who requested a shouted reveal of love … I hope you like what I did with that prompt :)

You can read it now on AO3 :)

“I love you daddy” 
Big Bang five part drabble.

PART 1
Member: Choi Seunghyun, T.O.P

GENRE: FLUFF

A/N: TALK TO ME, YOU BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE. MY ASK BOX STARTS TO COLLECT DUST INSTEAD OF CONFESSIONS AND ASKS.



A warm breath.

A kiss on the forehead.

An “I love you” whispered in the light night air.

And then coldness.

It slowly but surely woke me up in the middle of the night. The stars and the moon were so bright you could almost mistake it for a day. And the pillow next to mine was empty and cold. As it was most on the nights.

But he was here. His heavy masculine scent was floating in the air.

Slowly getting off the bed,the black ribbon of the lace panties was shown under the white dress shirt that belonged to the black prince himself. He likes art,chairs, aesthetic talks and alcohol.

Alcohol gives him a certain pleasure that I can’t understand as a non-drinker. It never gave me any pleasure. Only headache. And since the first time I drinked I haven’t done it again.

The living room was quiet as usual. Only the sound of cracking fire from the fire place and the cars down on the road could be heard.

The black leather chair or as I call it his throne was turned to look at the windows and the back of it was facing me. On the small table a bottle of whiskey and a glass filled with it were reflecting the lights from the town . The smoke from his ciggarete was going up,making a beautiful oreol above his head.

But something was different.

His hair was back to pitch black. Last night it was cotton candy pink. Pink made him look innocent and lovely.

White and brown hair made him pure and nice and all the cute shit.

And black…black was my favourite. When his hair was black no one could mistake who was the boss in the house.

And I loved watching him. In his peace. Watching the town, thinking about his own things, while I only observed him as a piece of art sent by the gods to protect me.

“Go back to sleep, kiddo. Sorry for waking you up. It wasn’t my intention.” His raspy voice was a melody that I loved so much. I felt something was off. His voice had hidden sadness that I couldn’t leave alone.

“Choi Seunghyun, do you need a hug or am I feeling things?” a laugh escaped his lips. I knew he was smiling and that was a beautiful sight, although behind him, I could just see it, feel it. “Choi Seunghyun? Since when you are allowed to say my full name?” his rules were unbreakable. Why did I even try? “Ok. I got it. Oppa, do you need a hug?” ”I need you to come and cuddle up in my arms. Now.” From sweet to daddy. Really Choi Seunghyun? Fine.

I did exactly as he asked. I curled up in his arms, my feet falling of the throne, with one of his hands curling around my waist and at the same time taking a puff from his cigarette. “You are the little kitten I always wanted when I was small, you know that, right kiddo?” A short full of emotions kiss landed on my hair. ”Now sleep. I will protect you as long as I can.”

I believe you,Choi Seunghyun. I beliеve you.

4

my goal when i first wanted to publish poetry was to personalize each book. i wanted to draw in them, hand write notes, press flowers, add more to them. but i didn’t know how to do that with Become, and Soft Human was something separate from what i want to do with my work. that book was more a collection of reminders and confessions. i would not call any of it poetry. but now i am working on poetry. real poetry. and i am being patient with this process. i want to write more than i want to publish. i want it to be a small collection, too. i keep writing the same poems over and over and trying to rework them and i have never really done that before. it has been years since i’ve written poems that exceed a page. now they’re reaching 3, 4. they aren’t for anybody but myself. and they’re love poems. i’m trying to commit to love poems. but i want to order maybe 20 books at a time and personalize each one of them and just have those available. and when they sell, i will order 20 more and personalize those. i never really wanted my poetry to be mass produced and always the same. that’s why i like when other people draw and write in my books when they buy them. but i think i’m going to do it myself this time around. i think it’ll be a lot more intimate for people. i feel like i lost myself and lost sight of my little dreams the past couple years when it came to writing and putting my work out there. i can feel myself coming back to myself in this way. 

The End...Almost
  • Me: Almost finished with this book. This chapter is half-written and then two after that.
  • Me: 😭
  • Me: It's an amazing accomplishment. How many people say they want their first published work to be over 120k and 30 chapters
  • Me: I'm not ready for it to be over! 😭
  • Me: You have other WIPs and stories on the backburner
  • Me: But it's not the same! 😭
  • Me: Well, what are you thinking about?
  • Me: Spin-off series...
  • Me: That's a lofty undertaking.
  • Me: I know...but Albus and Polly in Japan...Lily as an investigative journalist...James as an auror on the front lines...hysterically domestic Hinny....MORE FLASHBACKS
  • Me: Why don't you start with a companion one-shot collection and see where it goes from there.
  • Me: 😍😱 YESSSSSSSSSSS

bearlytolerable  asked:

For DWC: (first of off, hello and welcome!) I'm just throwing first glass of fresh water at you and you can do whatever you want with it :)


Hello and thank you! I’ve been eyeing DWC for some time but I’m not always able to participate, happy to be getting my feet wet for the first time. Raising my glass to this round of the DWC and hopefully many more!

Solas x Lavellan (sort-of, if you squint.)

@dadrunkwriting

———————————————————————

She woke at once, her whole body rigid, with the deep of night pressed close upon her like a shroud. It was that strange kind of wakefulness, all of her edges alert and her senses sharpened: the feeling of waking in danger, although she didn’t know why. She wasn’t sure what to do about it—she could barely make out the wall of the canvas tent six inches in front of her, never mind identify what threat or creeping doubt had put her in such a state of vigilance—but all the same, her hands moved forward, slowly, in the dark, feeling for anything that she might use to defend herself. Gradually, so that her blankets or hardly rustled, she raised herself into a sitting position.

“You are awake.”

She nearly jumped out of her skin.

She turned to his familiar voice, her hand on her chest, trying (in vain) to calm the thundering of her heart. But even in such darkness, it was impossible not to recognize him by his silhouette: even in the dead of night, he was still wearing his massive hat.

“Creators, Cole, you had me frightened out of my wits. I could have hurt you.”

She couldn’t make out his expression in the dark, but at the forlorn tone in his voice, she could envision well enough to expression on his face.

“It is wrong, for me to be here. Isn’t it?”

But she had never been able to scold him. Before, she’d felt so fiercely protective of him, always wanting to wrap her explanations and corrections in kindnesses. Since they’d defeated Corypheus, it had only gotten worse. Varric called her Clucks when she got particularly overbearing—a Mother Hen. It did little to deter her. She couldn’t help herself. It felt like her own life was in free fall. She couldn’t see what fate had in store for her Inquisition: whether there was work yet to do, whether all of her dear friends would scatter back to their previous lives at all ends of the continent, whether she would be able to finally return home. Providing Cole with patient and gentle guidance as he became more human was one of the few things that made her feel grounded.

No matter how evident the intrusion upon her privacy would have been to anyone else, she couldn’t bring herself to reprimand him too strongly, even now.

“It is, a little bit,” she said, quietly. “It’s the middle of the night, and I didn’t invite you.”

“But you did,” he insisted, almost petulantly. “Well, sort of. I heard you—not like I used to, not in my head. You talk in your sleep, speak of stories, confessions, invitations. The others… pretend not to notice. Should I have pretended, too?”

Well, that was brilliant. What pitiful things had the others heard her saying as she tossed and turned, walking the Fade? (Being chase through it—)

“No, that’s alright, Cole,” she said, running a hand through her hair. “You don’t always need to pretend just because others are. But you might have waited until morning.”

“It can’t wait. I have to show you now.”

That had her curious. “Show me what?”

“Come with me?”

She sighed. “Will it be dangerous?”

“No!” Cole chirped brightly, sensing, perhaps, that she was about to give in (and against her better judgement.) “But it is very dark! You might bring your staff, for light.”

There was some grumbling, some shuffling. She shooed Cole out of her tent as her fingers felt around in the dark for the wrapped leather grip or the polished metal of her staff, then for her linen shirt, to pull over her sleeping clothes. It was cool at night, and she didn’t know how far from camp Cole’s excursion would take her. As in all things, she could hardly make any assumptions based on what others would have considered an appropriate or comfortable distance to travel in the middle of the night.

A moment later, she emerged from her tent. The moon was a pale, slender crescent in the sky, but the stars were brilliant, and her eyes were adjusting. With a murmured word and a wave of her hand, the translucent, irregularly shaped gemstone at the top of her staff began to glow with a pale white light. She saw Cole, standing in front of where their campfire used to be (it must have been quite late if there weren’t even embers left to glow) looking at once enthusiastic and nervous.

“It isn’t far,” he said, and without a further explanation set off into the trees.

He was so quiet as he crept among the underbrush, crouched as if he was afraid of being seen. But he’d given no warning to her, and she was still too groggy to command her full powers of balance and stealth, so she followed behind him, wearily.

A couple of times, she almost lost him. She’d stand in a circle of trees, her mouth a grim line, only to turn with a yelp and find him a few inches from her, his eyes reflecting the light of her staff like great lanterns. Luckily (or perhaps, depending on how far they were going, unfortunately) her surprise didn’t dampen his eagerness in the slightest.

She couldn’t say how long they’d been walking before Cole raised his hand to stop her, and put a finger to his lips. Quiet. Then, he inched forward, peering through the shining leaves of a dense rhododendron and into the glade beyond. She stepped carefully up to him, careful not to snap any twigs or crush any leaves underfoot, her toes curling in the damp soil before she knelt beside him.

Beyond the rhododendron, the trees cleared before a towering cliff face. She could just barely make out a small cleft in the rocks. A wolf howled nearby; Cole reached out and clasped her hand. The cleft revealed itself to be the mouth of a cave when, to her utter surprise, a litter of pups came bounding out of it, lifting their faces as if to howl in kind, although the sound they made were far more like squeaks to her ears.

Their mother (she assumed) came bounding into the clearing, her jaws clamped tightly around some fresh kill, which she neatly set at the feet of her children. For a time, in silence, she just watched the devour it. When the bones were licked clean, snapped for their marrow, the pups began to play. Tumbling, tugging, snapping joyfully at one another. They bounded around the perimeter of the glade under the watchful eyes of their mother, and Cole held her hand all the while. Which was good, because it felt like there was something lodged solidly in her throat; it was suddenly difficult to swallow. She was distantly aware that her eyes were watering, her grief threatening to boil out of control all over again and sink her with it.

“See,” he whispered, quietly.

“They’re adorable, Cole,” she responded, but there was an edge in her voice, something tense, an undeniable un-truth. “But I don’t see why—”

“When you sleep, you talk about them,” he said, cutting her off, his voice a furtive hiss, and the thumb of his hand began to trace great arcs on the back of hers, as if to soothe her. She wondered who had taught him that. “Stalking, stealing, chasing you in your dream. You tell them all sorts of things, sorrowed in your solitude, collected things and confessions. But… you do it when you are awake, too, with the wild ones. That look you get, distant and dreamy, a cup of tea clouded with milk, a luxury you could never afford before. As if with every glance you are punishing yourself for something that you didn’t lose—it was real—he just left!—or not on purpose, or couldn’t stop from losing. The fault was never yours. And sometimes,” he said, and at the warm touch of his other hand on her shoulder she couldn’t help but turn to look at him, and his eyes were so wide and his expression so sincere, so serious, as if he wanted nothing more than for her to believe—

“Sometimes a wolf is just a wolf, and it is not your fault if it bites.”