I carry an art journal around me and sketch portraits of beautiful people and places. I don’t mind if it doesn’t turn out as well as I expected because it’s all just for fun and practice. I drink coffee and sit on the rooftops overlooking Paris and I paint everything I see. Everything is documented in my journals. Every tiny sketch and quick doodle counts. Even a fleeting stranger can end up in my book of memories. I slowly get better and better with every drawing and as I flip through my journal I can see the progress. I never stop drawing and I treasure my journal forever.

makeshift chemistry. (m)

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Smut + College!Yoongi

Word Count: 6,740 

Description: Fleeting lust was all you’d ever known, nothing serious or long lasting, just a temporary fix to satisfy your needs. That is until you meet Min Yoongi who is determined to put an end to your binge of makeshift relationships.

Makeshift: to be temporary; sufficient for the time being

Originally posted by chan-lay

“What do you mean you don’t wanna see me anymore!?”

He was staring at you from across the table, a shocked look covering his face, like you’d just told him the world was going to end.

“It means I don’t want to see you anymore…” You say it as if it’s the most obvious thing ever, which leaves him baffled.

“How could you do this so suddenly like—”

You would let him finish, but honestly you knew where he was heading with this, and you just wanted to cut his dramatics short.

“Listen Minjae, we went out on one date, and hooked up right after, and if I’m being honest I never expected to see you again after that, but then out of nowhere you corner me while I was just trying to enjoy a simple cup of coffee before class, talking about how I haven’t answered your texts. This was just something to satisfy both of our needs, but I guess you wanted something more, and I’m sorry I didn’t know that.”

You stood up from your seat, watching his face morph into a look of pity. You grabbed your coffee, and stopped next to his chair, where you placed a hand on his shoulder.

“I promise one day you’ll find someone who appreciates your sweet loving making techniques a lot more than I did.”

You give him a gentle squeeze before walking away, as you left him to soak in the backhanded compliment you’d just given him. His soft and sweet approach to having sex just didn’t do it for you, and even if it had, it was still always just going to be temporary; because that’s what all your relationships ever were.

A simple lust-filled fix, that’s all you ever wanted. There didn’t have to be strings, or commitment involved, not to say that you were opposed to that sort of thing, it’s just that no one’s ever been able to keep your interest for very long. It always started out nice sure, but then after the second or third time of being with the person you’re kind of just… over it. You knew how awful that sounded, but it was just how you were when it came to relationships.

It was all just makeshift chemistry in your mind.

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Count Fleet (March 24, 1940 - December 3, 1973)  was a thoroughbred racehorse and Triple Crown champion in 1943. He was born and died at Stoner Creek Stud farm in Paris, Kentucky, United States.

On June 1, 1942, when the world was locked in the deadly conflict of WWII, a 2-year-old brown son of Kentucky Derby winner Reigh Count stepped onto the track at Belmont Park. The colt, an ornery youngster, was named Count Fleet. Unhappy with the horse’s bad manners, owner John D. Hertz, a former sports writer and the founder of both the Yellow Cab Company and the rental car company that bore his name, had tried unsuccessfully to sell him.

By the end of the year, Hertz was glad he had not parted with Count Fleet, who won 10 of his 15 starts as a 2-year-old, including a record-setting victory in the Champagne and a 30-length romp in the Walden Stakes at Pimlico. He was already being hailed as the successor to Man o’ War. His 3-year-old campaign would be as brief as it was memorable. He brushed aside seven rivals in the Wood Memorial, winning by 3½ lengths, and by the time he arrived in Louisville via train he was the 2-5 choice over nine in the wartime “Streetcar Derby,” so called because of wartime restrictions on gas and oil.

When the gates sprang open, Count Fleet was on top, and he went wire-to-wire for a three-length victory over Blue Swords. A week later, in Baltimore, it was the same story, only the Preakness margin was eight lengths. In the Belmont Stakes, he galloped home 25 lengths in front, a record which stood until Secretariat’s 31- length victory thirty years later. That evening, it was discovered that Count Fleet had bowed a tendon. He never raced again. Retired in the fall, Count Fleet sired progenies, including the 1951 Horse of the Year Counterpoint and 1951 Kentucky Derby winner Count Turf, which completed the first “triple sire” in Derby history as the grandson and son of Derby winners.

Better Than Me: Chapter 2- Dean x Pregnant Reader

Better Than Me Chapter Two: A Fleeting Happiness
Word Count: 1660
Rating: T
Warnings:  Mentions of puking.  Implied adult content. 

Summary:  Being a Winchester is hard, but being with a Winchester is harder.  When Dean breaks your heart, you leave the bunker with a little secret that’s growing.  

I think you can do much better than me
After all the lies that I made you believe
Guilt kicks in and I start to see
The edge of the bed where your nightgown used to be

You rolled over completely restless and stare at the clock. It read 5 a.m. in those angry red numbers and you groaned.  You had managed to lay down around eleven that night but had woken up around two to just stare at the clock.  Sam and Dean had been gone a few days on the hunt for a Banshee as it had turned out.  

They were due home in a few hours and you sighed in defeat.  You could at least make them a nice breakfast for when they arrived.  Grabbing your phone, you tapped Dean’s name so that you could check the last text you had gotten from him.

Hey babe.  We are about two hours out.  Should be home around 6.  Can’t wait to see that beautiful face.

You groaned and ran your fingers through your bedhead.  Frowning, you didn’t even bother to change.  Instead, you walked into the kitchen in your pink camisole and shorts.  You made quick work of breakfast though gagging through the process.  The morning sickness seemed to be triggered by the smell of grease- which meant hell for you.  Grease was the only thing Dean cared to eat.  

You shuttered when another round of nausea hit you as the smell of bacon wafted through the air.  Clutching your hand over your mouth as you began to retch, abandoning your bacon, you ran to the restroom.  The sound of pained stomach pyrotechnics echoed through the concrete halls.   With your stomach empty, you slumped to the floor with a hiss of pain.

You were exhausted- mentally, physically, and emotionally.  Tears streamed down your face, as curled into a ball.  Allowing yourself to sob out all the worry of the last year, you fell into a deep sleep on the cold floor.  A panicked cry of your name jolted you awake some time later.  Strong arms lifted you up and you felt yourself being lifted into a warm, safe, and broad chest.  

“Y/N…  Baby.  Talk to me.  Please talk to me.”  You heard Dean’s strained voice call out.   You lulled your head back enough so that you could crack your eyes open to look at him.  Parting your dried and cakey lips, you tired to speak. When nothing came out, you simply closed your eyes again and allowed yourself to slip back into the the peaceful oblivion.

The whispers of voices around you woke you up a while later.  You didn’t bother to open your eyes since you knew the voices were Sam and Dean.  Their deep rumbles soothed you and made the idea of sleep even more appealing than it already was.

“I don’t know, dude.  I think we should take her to the hospital.  She hasn’t been sleeping and a stomach virus?  It might be something worse.”  You heard Sam say with a worried sigh.  Your heart began to race when you thought of what would happen if you went to the hospital.  Your little secret would become a very big scandal.   You quickly snapped your eyes open and sat up.

“No hospitals for me.”  You said with a shake of your head.  Sam looked at you puzzled for a moment and then shot a look to Dean.  Dean’s own eyes were inspecting you suddenly.  He moved to the bed and brought you into a hug and kissed the top of your head.

“Are you sure sweetheart?  You scared the shit out of us.”  He mumbled into the top of your head.  He breathed in deep to take in the smell of your strawberry shampoo.  You smiled at this little loving gesture and nodded your head.  Dean pulled away to look you in the eyes.  

“I am Dean.  I think this virus is just taking awhile to run its course.  I never sleep well when I’m sick.”  You said with a reassuring smile.  Dean let out a long sigh before turning to Sam.

“Well Sammy.  I guess that settles it.”  Dean said with a deepening frown.  You ignored whatever it was that caught in his voice and Sam’s look of alarm.  These two would be the death of you someday.  Rolling over and away from them, you crawled your way out of bed.  Hissing when the knots and kinks from your back snap- you went to your shared closet and grabbed some clothes.  

“See ya in a bit boys.  I need a hot shower.”  You sighed as you headed for the bathroom.  With the door closed behind you, you turned the shower head to on and allowed the water to heat up.  Stripping of your clothes, you looked at yourself in the mirror and grunted at how disheveled you looked.  

You still had yesterday’s eyeliner running down your cheeks and your hair looked like a rat was nesting in it. Your eyes glanced down at your still flat stomach and you brought your hand down to hover there.

“Hey, baby…  Are you in there?”  You muttered as your hand ran down your stomach.  An odd sensation fluttered through you with your words.  A smile cracked over your broken down features and a nervous giggle escaped your lips.  A realization hitting you in that moment.  You were going to be a mother.

“You gonna let me in on the joke?”  You heard a deep voice call from behind you. You snapped around to look behind you and found Dean standing there.  He was in his full naked glory and was looking at you bemused.  

You gave him an uneasy smile before cocking an eyebrow at him.  It had been awhile since he had shown any interest in being intimate. ‘ Almost six weeks’, you thought to yourself bitterly.  

“What do you want Winchester?”  You growled at as you rolled your eyes dramatically at him.  Dean looked took aback at your comment before giving you a pathetic look.  His eyes pleaded to you and you frowned harder at him.  

You weren’t in the mood to baby him.  You couldn’t take the wall that he was building around himself, but you also didn’t have the energy to take on his emotional baggage at the moment.  Guilt struck you at the core when you noticed the pain that replaced the pouting.  Sighing deeply, you moved forward to embrace him.

“Jesus, Y/N.  I’m such a fuck up.  How can I been so damn blind to you.”  You heard him croak out.   The raw regret in his voice made your heart squeeze in your chest.  It was enough to send you over the edge again, but you knew that he needed for you to be strong.  He always told you that your strength was what kept him going.  

“Dean…  It’s okay.  Everything’s okay.”  You whispered in your best soothing voice as you gently gripped his muscular shoulders.   Dean’s face was buried in your neck in a second as you felt hot tears pool at juncture of your neck and roll down your collar bone.  

“But it’s not.  I’ve been so caught up in my own shit that I’ve been neglecting you. Sam was right.  I’m such an asshole.”  You heard him mumble into your skin.  You sighed lowly and pulled away from the embrace gently.  Reaching up, you ran your fingers through his mushed dirty blonde locks.

“Dean.  Don’t worry about me.  I just want you to be happy.”  You sighed out.

“Sweetheart, the only thing I can do is worry about you.  I worry that I’m destroying you.  That I am not enough for you.”  Dean admitted with shining green eyes.  “Mostly I worry about you leaving because of all the shit I’ve put you through.”

You features cracked under the immense relief that washed over you.  Your biggest fear deep down was that he had stop caring about you.  That he wanted this to be over.  Overwhelmed with your own emotions you began to sob.  Dean’s hands were at your face in a moment and whispering loving things to you.   

“Dean, you could never lose me.”  You muttered through your tears.  The lie was thick in the back of your throat and it made your stomach burn with guilt

He bent down and captured your lips in a soul shattering kiss.  You could feel all of his pain, regret and most overwhelming of all love being poured into the kiss.  When he pulled away you were both gasping for air and a smile twitched across his features.  

“So…  Can we shower together now?”  He asked with a sly grin on his face.  You chuckled and caught his hand to lead him to the shower.   

You groaned in pleasure as Dean’s hands worked out the kinks in your sore neck.  The shower had gone on a lot longer than you had intended, but the intimacy was needed.  Your cheeks pinked at the memory and you groaned in contentment.  Dean leaned over and pressed a kiss to your nude shoulder and you felt your stomach do somersaults.  The two of you hadn’t been this intimate in months.  In fact, you were pretty sure the baby you were carrying was conceived during that quickie in the back of the impala.

You bit your lip as the thought raced across your mind about telling Dean.  You didn’t know how he would react to the news, but you knew it wouldn’t be very positive.  He had a fear of fatherhood and you had known that from the start.  It had always made you wonder because he was basically Sam’s one and only parent.   If Sam was his shining example, you didn’t know how he could possible think he’d be a bad father.  

The nerves rolled through you as you battled yourself on what to do.  It wasn’t like you could keep it a secret forever.  Your stomach would soon be rounded and plump as the baby grew.  For now you would remain quiet as much as hurt to do so.  Dean’s momentary happiness was your only concern for the night.

Hello Guys.  As always feedback is much loved and wanted.  Please know that if you are reading my In Time Dean Soultmate AU then you can find the update here.  If you would like to read the series please see the Masterlist.   I highly recommend that story if you are enjoying this series.  It’s a bit of a different vibe.  Tags are below the cut!  If you want to be added to my Dean tag list please let me know.  :)

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The wondrous universe of Warhammer 40k: A beginner’s summary of races

I’ll try to be short, it’s only an introduction. Every race will have its own, big post. 

THE IMPERIUM: Once upon a time, there was the Emperor, the mightiest man ever, who united mankind and lead it to conquer a great slice of galaxy. Too bad his favourite son Horus, tainted by the Ruinous Powers (or Chaos Gods, see below), fucked everything up with his betrayal and almost killed him. Since then he is in a 10k years coma within the Golden Throne, guiding mankind with his psychic might while his body stands on the brink of death. Now the Imperium is a xenophobic, warlike and close-minded gargantuan empire, but in times like these, you can’t afford to be nice. Everything non-human is xenos to be exterminated, and everyone speaking against the Imperium is a heretic to be purged. Thus, the Imperium is costantly at war with someone (literally), deploying all its military might, being the super-badass Space Marines or the disposable and uncountable balls-of-steel Imperial Guard. It’s a matter of survival in this unforgiving universe.

CHAOS: The Warp, an infinite dimension of psychic power, is home to the Chaos gods, and therefore a place of absolute madness, perversion and malice. Said gods, shaped and fueled by nightmares, negative emotions and perversions of the living, costantly plot and act to make the galaxy look like their own realm by making their worshippers kill without reason, desecrate anything and indulge in any kind of wicked shit. Those men (mainly Space Marines) who followed Horus’ betrayal in the sign of Chaos now make up the Traitor Legions, and live in the Eye Of Terror, a kind of enormous portal to the Warp. Those guys are the worse enemies of the Imperium and boast some strong powers received by Chaos itself, at the price of deformities, body alterations, plagues, diseases and stuff you could expect to receive along evil powers. And lots of spikes. 

ELDAR: One of the most ancient races in the galaxy (think space elves, ok?), had a big empire too, back in the day. But their being very powerful in the psychic field and advanced in technology made them lazy at first, and degenerate later. Not having work or war to spend the time with, they started to indulge first in philosophy and otium, then in perverted parties and feasts, becoming more and more hedonistic. Their perversion was so great it slowly fueled a nascent entity in the Warp, until with a colossal bellow, the fabric of reality was torn apart and a new Chaos God, Slaneesh, was born. He/She consumed all the Eldar souls he/she could find, almost wiping them out of the universe. Being created by their desires, still Slaanesh claims every Eldar soul when one of them dies (unless it’s stored in a Soul Stone). Some survivors became much wiser, but some others couldn’t give up the parties (Dark Eldar). 

DARK ELDAR: They are the evil counterpart of the surviving Eldar. They found shelter in the Webway (another dimension used for faster-than-light travel) in the city of Comorragh, but still Slaanesh claims their souls and asses, slowly draining them into the Warp. While becoming more and more evil and perverted, they found out the curse could be avoided making others suffer in their place. Basically they keep themselves alive by feasting on misery and suffering of other intelligent beings, more suffering the better. To this end, they became pirates and slavers all over the universe, capturing everyone they could find to bring them back to Comorragh as slaves and have some atrocious fun. 

ORKS: Imagine Orcs, in space. The most warlike of all races, and almost the most numerous (along with humans, second only to Tyranids). Despite most of them being stupid as a brick, they are proficient in all kinds of technology because of their genetic heritage. Their success comes from their reproduction system, which is similar to a fungus (every Ork leaves spores around and, given time, a fully formated Ork will be generated. Therefore, their numbers are always very big) and their redundancy of vital organs, which makes them HARD to kill. They can make vehicles and weapons from scrap, and this stuff works because THEY BELIEVE IT. They have no psychic presence, but rather a collective mind-field. They think red vehicles go faster, SO THEY DO. Sometimes a charismatic leader unites a good number of tribes to raid/conquer/destroy some part of universe, and a WAAAGH! is born. Fortunately, a WAAAGH! never brought all Orks under one banner, or it would be the end of all other races. 

NECRONS: They are a race of sentient, yet emotionless, robots. Once properly living, they gave up flesh and soul in order to achieve immortality and defeat their ancient enemies, the Old Ones. After the War in Heaven, their pride made them turn against the same divine entities, the C’tan, they used to worship and which gave them their immortal bodies. They won, but the price was so high they understood they could not face the rising Eldar empire, former allies to the Old Ones and their worst enemy, so they went on a 60 million years long stasis in hundreds of tomb worlds. The Eldar empire fell to its own hand, and now the Necrons are slowly waking, world after world, ready to start their conquest anew. They are very much inspired by ancient egyptian culture and its emphasis on death, and in combat their warriors can rise again after being slain, while also being very hard to kill in the first place. Remember T-800 from Terminator? The Immortals are pretty much that tough. 

TAU: The Tau are the youngest race, sporting an amazing technology rush, going from the discover of wheel to space travel in less than 5.000 years. In this universe, they are some kind of “good guys”, meaning they try to use diplomacy and life in their domain is quite good. They always ask their would-be enemies (in the case of intelligent beings like humans or Eldar) if they want to join the “greater good”, their chief philosophy. Of course this is Warhammer 40k, so if they don’t, the Tau deploy their advanced military might, go guns blazing and, if they win, they might use re-educational camps much like soviet Russia did to have people change their minds. This, and their Greater Good concept, earned them the humorous title of Space Commies.

TYRANIDS: They come from the cold void outside the galaxy. They only care about one thing: EAT. The most vicious of all races, they are the stuff of nightmares. They look like insectoid life forms, costantly evolving and becoming more and more lethal. When they reach a planet, they consume everything. Only a ball of barren rock remains when the swarm departs. They travel the galaxy in giant Hive Fleets, counting each billions of them, along with Hive Ships, massive living ships which use biomass to generate more Tyranids. Fortunately, they are incapable of faster-than-light travel (except for short routes when approaching a planet), or else they would have already consumed all galaxy. The only races who can really survive them are the Orks, thanks to their fast reproduction and vast numbers, and the Necrons, since living metal is not food for them. 

Thanks for reading! Your feedback is welcome, as well as preferences about next Warhammer post! 

“I will confine myself to repeating to you, what I cannot well describe, the zeal and the infinite pains of Lieutenant Colonel Laurens. He is on the wing the four and twenty hours round, to procure us refreshments; and when this is done, remains on board during very long days with all the patience of an old sailor. We are indebted to him for a hospital established on shore and for disembarrasing us of our prisonners; which in our situation form two important articles.”

— To George Washington from Count d’Estaing, 3 August 1778

Count d’Estaing’s fleet had arrived after being at sea for four months, and had developed scurvy, and needed fresh fruit, vegetables and water. The sick were removed from his fleet and John had helped establish a hospital for them in the houses on the western shore of Conanicut Island.


Triple Crown champion Count Fleet was always known to be an enthusiastic stud who never really outgrew his love for the ladies. This preoccupation sometimes got him into trouble, such as in the 1942 Belmont Futurity

Coming off a three-race win streak, the Count was favored for the Futurity. His main competition was reckoned to be Occupation, a crack colt who had beaten the Count in the Washington Park Futurity a month prior. And while Occupation was certainly a formidable opponent, the real star of the show (at least from Count Fleet’s perspective) turned out to be a finely-shaped filly. Askmenow, a daughter of champion juvenile colt Menow, was on her way to her own championship title in 1942. She had beaten other fillies in the Selima Stakes, and now looked to conquer colts as well.

The story of the race is best told by jockey Johnny Longden, who rode the Count:

“He broke alongside Askmenow, the Hal Price Headley filly. I called on the Count for speed, but he was not interested. He was flirting with a glamour girl. He kept alongside Askmenow, nose and nose, and nothing interested him except to remain in her companionship. If she spurted, the Count would spurt with her; if she slowed stride, so did he. I tried everything that was possible to end her fascination and pull away from her - but nothing helped.”

Askmenow was apparently in season, and Count Fleet was highly distracted. He refused to move away from her the entire race, pinning her to the inside rail and costing them both good chances at winning. As it was, Occupation had the lead to himself and went wire to wire. Askmenow managed to budge past the Count long enough to claim second, and Count Fleet finished third for the only time in his career. He hardly seemed to care about his disappointing finish, however:

“After we had crossed the finish line, Askmenow was slow checking down. So the Count wouldn’t check down either. When she finally began easing up, the Count eased with her. But we were almost a half mile beyond the finish line before I could end the Count’s flirtatious mood, steer him away from Askmenow, and head him back toward the paddock.”

Vital: Part One - Terra (a Yondu x Reader fic): Chapter 4/?: You May Be Right

Click here for: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three 

Rated M for language and future NSFW chapters (these will be marked as such).

Comments and reblogs much appreciated! 

When Yondu wakes, light is streaming in the window over the kitchen sink. He lifts his head slightly, turns to look at you on the couch, but you’re not there. He considers getting up to look for you, but on second thought, he stays put. He doesn’t want to get you worked up again, and it’d be damned ungrateful to loose the stitches a second time. He spies his arrow on the counter, and licking his lips, whistles. The arrow shivers ever so slightly, but the lights don’t activate, and upon a second try, it doesn’t even move. Shit. He knew it was broken as soon as he reached the ship - he couldn’t feel the echo of it in his implant. If Kraglin or Rocket were here, they’d be able to fix in it no time. They were the ones who fixed it after the fiasco with Ego. A tracking device was installed inside at Quill’s, Stakar’s and Kraglin’s insistence. If the arrow was active, the Quadrant and the Eclector II would be able to lock onto its location. 

If he didn’t find a way to fix it, he might be stranded here for weeks. Months, even. He sighs and closes his eyes against the brightening sunlight. Guess it could be worse. Got a pretty girl takin’ care a’ me at least, gotta count for somethin’. A fleeting grin passes his lips, recalling your argument from last night. You’ve got some spine - it’s not just anybody who will stand up to him, especially when he’s in a no-bullshit type mood like he was. You took his sass and gave it right back, and then you turned around and were the sweetest damn thing he’s ever met, all gentleness and concern. You’re a puzzle, that’s for damn sure. Well what do you expect when dealin’ with a woman? he lets out a breathy chuckle, wincing as the motion jostles his side, and he frowns. Still recoverin’ from the vacuum, he thinks, scowling. Ten years ago, this woulda been nothin’. He sighs. She was right, it was stupid a’ me to go out there last night. 

You stand in the shower, trying to wake yourself up. That all-nighter is going to really kill you during your shift later. Fighting valiantly - and failing - to stop a yawn, you do a final rinse and turn off the faucet. As you towel off, your thoughts drift again to Yondu, who you left sleeping downstairs. His words last night surprised you - like he honestly couldn’t believe that you were worried about him. There’s some weird insecurities going on there. You run the towel through your hair, and step into your room to get dressed. As you pull a sweater on, you shake your head. This whole situation is so unreal. An alien, from outer space, is lying on your dining room table. You’ve eaten together, joked around, and argued. And never, apart from that first night, has he made you feel afraid. Despite him being injured, you feel pretty safe around him.

You wonder why for a minute, then pick up your phone to check any messages. After answering a couple emails, you text Devon to see how he’s doing - you know he had a double-shift at his site yesterday. You feel like he’s had a lot of those lately. You’ve been working nights a lot, too. Colder weather always seems to mean more sick people.

After blow drying your hair, you put it up in a ponytail and go downstairs. Yondu’s head turns to you as you walk into the kitchen “How long have you been awake?”

“A while,” he says. “D'ya think I can get up? This table is killin’ my back, darlin’.”

“Just move carefully.” You stand by to support him, but he takes his time getting on his feet. Bending back, his spine crackles. “Damn. Don’t get old, sweetheart.”

You laugh. “Come on, you’re not old.”

He smirks. “How old d'you think I am?”

“I don’t know, I’m really bad at guessing Human ages.”

“I’m in my 60s.”

You laugh. “No, you’re not. No way.”

He nods. “Afraid so.”

“Well you look good. I would have guessed maybe early 50s.”

He chuckles. “Don’t hafta be nice, darlin’.”

“I’m not. I’m just being honest.” You smile. “How are you feeling? Besides a sore back.”

“Fine enough. I’ll take it easy today, promise.”

“Thank you. Listen,” you say gently, “I’m sorry I yelled at you yesterday.”

“Don’t be, I deserved it. Should'a listened to the doctor.”

You offer him a smile. “I’m just glad you’re ok. Why don’t you have a seat and I’ll make us some breakfast. Or, an early lunch,” you say, glancing at the clock. It’s later than you thought.

Awhile later, you place sandwiches before the two of you. You’re about to take a bite when your phone chimes. It’s a text message from Devon. <Hi babe, busy day yesterday, sorry we couldn’t chat. Hope you’re good, stay beautiful.> There’s a little heart at the end of the message, and you smile, texting him a heart back. <I have the late shift tonight, you still on for dinner on Tuesday?>

<Sure>, he answers.

You nod and put the phone back on the tray. 

“D'you like him?”

“What?” you say around a mouthful of sandwich. “Who?”

“Yer boyfriend.”

You laugh, giving a half shrug. “Yeah, I like him. Why else would I be dating him?”

“How long you been together?”

“About a year. Why are you so interested?”

“Ya don’t seem so sure about him. Ya sure don’t talk about him much. Do ya love him?”

You give a laugh that’s half scoffing. “I - I don’t know, we’ve only been together a year."  Who are you to say, or even ask about this? But before you realize it, words are spilling out of your mouth. "Things have been a little rocky lately. We haven’t seen a lot of each other because of our work schedules. But we’re going out to dinner on Tuesday, and we have a big date on Friday - we both of have the day off. I’m sure things will smooth out, we just need to work on it.” Yondu seems at least satisfied enough not to comment, and you eat in a silence for a few minutes. “How about you? You have anybody special up there in space?”

He lets out a derisive laugh. “Me? Naw. Can’t be tied down in my line a’ work. Shack up with a woman in ev'ry port we land in.” He’s about to continue when he sees you’ve gone quiet. He clears his throat. “At least that’s the way it’s always been. I don’t got nobody yet, anyhow.”

“Sounds kinda lonely,” you say.

“Don’t got time to be lonely when yer on missions stealin’ shit all the time, jobs to be done, takin’ care a’ the ship an’ crew.” As soon as the words leave his mouth, Yondu wants to kick himself. Here’s this nice girl, trying to make conversation, and he’s tramping all over it, building up his walls even higher than they already are. 

“Well, you can be busy and still be lonely.”

“Yeah,” he agrees quietly, “Suppose yer right.”

You finish your meal in silence, then with a decisive push, you move your tray out of the way, clearing your plate. You leave the room and come back holding his arrow. You waggle it at him. “You know what’s really weird about this?” you ask.

“Wassat?” he asks.

You turn around and reaching back, pull your shirt off your shoulder. Tattooed on your shoulder blade is the image of an arrow, pointing upwards. You look back over your shoulder to see his mouth drop slightly.

“Well I’ll be damned.”

“My brother took me to get it when I was eighteen. Dad was furious when he found out, but I got it to remind myself to keep moving forward.” You turn back to him, smiling, and raise his arrow in your hand. “What are the odds, huh?”

“That is mighty strange,” he concedes.

“So what is this thing, anyway?” you ask, handing it over.

"My Yaka arrow. It’s…a weapon.”

You let out a cry of dismay, and it falls from your hands at the statement. Yondu snatches it before it falls to the ground. “A weapon! It’s not going to blow up my house or something, is it?”

“No, a’ course not!” he says in an offended tone. “Ain’t that type a’ weapon. It’s a lot more… elegant.” He grins, and just like when he told you he was a Ravager, you get an overwhelming impression of a shark.

“So how does it work?” you ask, sitting beside him

“It don’t,” he says, frowning. “It’s broke. And the trackin’ device don’t work if the arrow don’t, so my crew can’t find me.”

“They’ll try, though, right? The won’t just give up, will they?”

“Not a chance in hell if Kraglin has anything to say about it.”

You lean over him to look at it in his hands, and the scent of your shampoo washes over him. Fruity smelling, and it’s kinda nice.

“I have a friend who is really into building technology stuff, she’s really smart. She works at Stark Industries,” you say, looking up into his face, raising your eyebrows.

"That supposed to mean somethin’ to me?”

“Stark Industries? Tony Stark? Iron Man? No?” You shake your head. “Nevermind.” You retrieve your phone, and delicately take the arrow out of his hands, placing it on the tray before you. Holding your phone, you snap a few pictures of it, zooming in on the areas Yondu indicate are damaged. “I’m sending her the photos now, then I’ll give her a call and see if she can help.” You send the photos by text, along with a message. <Need help fixing this. Any ideas? Let me know when you can talk.>

About ten minutes later, your phone chimes.

<Call me.>

You dial your friend. “Hey,” you say, hearing her pick up. “Did you get the photos I sent you?”

The voice on the other end is loud, and Yondu can hear every word. “Yeah. What is that? Where did you get it?”

“I found it in the field behind my house. Do you think you could fix it? Or tell me how I could fix it?”

“I don’t know, [y/n]. What if it’s some kind of Chitauri thing?" your friend asks, and Yondu snorts loudly. You smack his leg to silence him, and you don’t see, but he grins at you. “I don’t think it is. It’s probably just some kind of drone or toy.” At this, Yondu smacks your leg, and you glare at him. “What do you think? Could you tell me what I might need to get it working?”

“Yeah, I guess. The photos are pretty good, and you’re pretty handy, so I’ll email you a list of things you might want to get. If you can’t find them online, message me and I can probably find them for you.”

“Thanks, you’re the best. I’ve just been looking for something to do when I can’t get together with Devon.”

“Still dating him, huh?”

“Yeah, why?” There’s silence on the other end of the line. “What?“ you ask, frowning.

"Nothing. How are you guys doing?”

“Fine. Work has been crazy for both of us, but we’re working through it. Look, I gotta go - have some things to do before my shift tonight. Thanks for your help.”

“No problem, just… don’t - you know, don’t set off a bomb or something.”

Tagged: @thewildomega @pitrymcbride @shinva

Trouble- Cassian Andor

Pairing: Cassian Andor/OC

Prompt: Jealous/Overprotective Cassian with fluff ending

Warnings: None that I can think of other than the fact that this fic is a monster lol SO LONG

A/N: This took my DAYS so I really hope it turned out alright <3 I did a lot of research, but I also made up a lot of things so if any of it’s wrong, you’ll just have to suspend your disbelief and find it in your hearts to forgive me lol thank you for reading and hope you like it! xD

“Cassian has asked me to inform you that we will be leaving for Kafrene shortly.”

I placed my hands on my hips, raising both eyebrows. K2 stared back, although it was impossible to tell the expression on his face considering he was a robot. Usually I had to wait for him to open his mouth to pinpoint what kind of mood he was in.

“What? He couldn’t drag himself back here and tell me himself?” I asked, turning and heading back into my room to grab my jacket from the bed. “Didn’t take you for an errand boy, K2!” I called over my shoulder.

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fleeting light

pairing: tododeku

word count: 3k

summary:  “Happiness is fleeting,” Shouto says as Izuku lifts his hand to slide Shouto’s mask the entire way off of their face, “I think beings should bask in it when we are able.”

The surface of the lake is calm, and the sun beats down on the shore. Izuku lies in the sand, his arms outstretched on either side of him and his breathing labored. His eyes drift closed, and he ignores the throbbing pain in his recently bruised cheek in favor of basking in the sunlight, for just a moment.

It’s an escape, to come here. It’s an escape from the other kids that relentlessly pick on him for being “strange,” because they don’t understand that Izuku can see things—namely spirits—that they can’t. It’s an escape from the spirits or Youkai he can see, because the ones here don’t bother him the same way the ones in town do, tormenting him just to see if they can get a reaction.

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Quiet American- Naughty Natisha, by Known Fact

  • 67: 12-10-10
  • $1,091,914
  • WON: 11 SW,  Damon Runyon S., Mike Lee S., Albany S., Red Smith H., Noble Nashua S., MacArthur H.(x2), A Robb H.(x), Saratoga Sunrise H., Master Digby S.  
  • 2ND: Gr.III Excelsior H., Sleepy Hollow S., Count Fleet S., Whirlaway S., Alex Robb S., Funny Cide S., Study Hard S., Tinchens Prince S.
  • 3RD: Gr.I Cigar M., Gr.III Gotham S., Gr.III Jerome H., Aqueduct H., Packetts Landing S., Charles Dowd S., Salute Me Sir S.

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Beautiful (KuroTsuki) Ficlet

AN: I keep finding things in my stacks of writing! At least I don’t think I’ve posted this yet...
Some Kuroo x Tsukki for the soul.

The thing about Tsukishima Kei was that he didn’t know how striking he was.

It was in the rise of his cheekbones, the curve of his jaw, the soft bend of his lips as he pressed them together in thought. His eyes, hidden behind glass and thick plastic frames, flashed with something bold, calculating, and cold enough to chase a chill down Kuroo’s spine.

He received any form of compliments with a grimace and a sneer, always disbelieving and never accepting, insisting that one must have ulterior motives in order to have noticed anything positive about him. However, there was always a split-second moment when his eyes would widen a faction, his expression momentarily unguarded as kind words hit him like an open-palmed slap. His cheeks would colour like he had been hit and his breath would catch. Then, in a blink, it would dissolve back into his frosty demeanour.

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I always said I wanted the 12th Triple Crown winner to have a good name. Not something like Frac Daddy or Bellamy Road.

American Pharoah. He’s our American hero, and a Pharaoh was considered a god on Earth.

The misspelling doesn’t bother me. This is a good name. This is worthy of following names such as Sir Barton. Gallant Fox. Omaha. War Admiral. Whirlaway. Count Fleet. Assault. Citation. Secretariat. Seattle Slew. Affirmed.

American Pharoah.