curve script

The Morning After

(This is an older request, thank you anon!)

The kitchen looked alien and strange to Harry. Perhaps because it looked like it had never been used or perhaps because Harry had never seen it in daylight before.

He glanced nervously back at the bedroom door, which he had moments before eased closed behind him trying not to make to much noise and wake the blond still curled up in the bed. Harry opened one cabinet after another dismayed to find most of them empty. One held dishware and another had half a shelf of cereals and sweetened fruity quick oats that only required hot water, the rest held nothing.

Everything he needed to make coffee was all left out on the counter, even a single green mug with the Slytherin crest on the side. Harry hesitantly dumped a scoop of coffee grounds in and started the machine, it was strange looking like it was going to explode any second, as many wizard devices did. It hissed at him in what he hoped was a making coffee sort of way and not seconds away from a kitchen full of shrapnel and coffee grounds sort of way.

Harry’s fingers tapped a nervous staccato on the fancy white marble counter. He had never spent the night before, neither had Draco. They hadn’t really talked about it. There was a lot they didn’t talk about. If it weren’t for the fact they both worked at the Ministry and ran into one another quite often this ‘relationship’ of theirs would have never made it past the first drunken one night stand.

He pulled opened the chill box, a blast of cooling charms washing over him as he examined the contents. There were at least six different takeout containers stacked to one side and Harry was certain some of them had to be going wiffy by now, even with cooling and preservation charms. There was also a load of fresh produce, carefully wrapped meats and a small basket of eggs.

On top of a bell pepper there was a note written in a curving elegant script. Harry unstuck it, a smile growing as he read it. The note was from Narcissa, along with all the fresh food apparently. She chided Draco for eating too much takeout and reminding him about their sunday brunch plans. He set the note on the counter and grabbed eggs, the bell pepper, onions, and mushrooms to make an omelet. Or omelets he corrected himself, feeling a tremor of anxiety as he remembered where he was.

He found a knife that likely had never been used and charmed it to start chopping everything. He washed the frying pan just in case it too had never been used. The butter in the pan warmed and melted as the cook top heated at the tap of Harry’s wand. He smiled a little ruefully, it figured Draco would have the best in wizarding tech, even in a kitchen he probably never used.

Harry didn’t really think as he cooked. His mind wandered to Ron and Hermione’s recent marriage, as it often did these days. They were so happy in their new home, with their new life. Meanwhile, to most of the world, Harry appeared to have been single for almost a year now after many years of rocky broken relationships. His friends knew he was seeing someone, they also knew it was an uncertain casual relationship, though neither Harry or his friends had said as much or so directly.

Harry folded one omelet, sliding it onto a plate and putting a stasis charm over it before starting the next. He just… wanted more. His relationship with Draco was good, wonderful even, but it was missing so many things, like proper dates, morning afters, talks about the future. He didn’t need promises of forever or even marriage just- his eyes drifted to Narcissa’s note- just a promise for next week or even tomorrow.

Behind him, the door clicked open but there were no following footsteps. Harry looked over his shoulder. Draco was standing in the doorway his hair mussed, wearing a pair of sleep pants and loose shirt made of modal as soft as silk. He was frozen in place, his eyes wide with shock. Harry felt his stomach sink and turned back to the stove, plating the second omelet mechanically.

He felt numb. The question hovered on the tip of his tongue but he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud; Do you want me to leave?

The floor creaked faintly.

Harry turned off the stove.


Harry throat felt so dry it hurt but he managed a faint, “Yeah?”

Arms slid around his waist, pulling him back slightly as Draco pressed a soft kiss against the juncture of Harry’s neck and shoulder.

“You stayed,” Draco said softly, his voice sounding a little rough around the edges.

Harry shivered faintly, sliding his hands over Draco’s.

Draco pressed his chest to Harry’s back and Harry could feel his heart racing.

“That’s alright?” Harry asked leaning into Draco.

“I never thought… you would want to,” Draco said carefully.

Harry felt some of the tension leave him and a tentative hope take its place, “And if I wanted morning afters? And dates…” his voice dropped, “a future, together?”

Draco shivered.

Harry turned, first his head and then his whole body, taking Draco’s face in his hands. He wiped the first hint of a tear from the corner of Draco’s eye.

“Everything,” Draco said hoarsely, “you can have everything.”

Harry smiled and leaned forward, stealing a soft chaste kiss, “Just you. I just want you.”

False Destinies || Peter Parker x Reader [soulmate au]

((prompt: You don’t have a name tattoo on your wrist, meaning you probably don’t have a soulmate but you didn’t want your friends to tease you about it so you had a tattoo made on your wrist about some name you picked at random because your friend said she wanted to see it soon. And then somehow there’s a person claiming to be your soulmate and they’re kind of cute and sweet so you don’t know what to do.))

prompt given via:

okay, so ||broken dreams|| was slightly depressing, so lets have some fluff with a dash of angst for this story! I hope you readers look forward to it

warnings: none

**dont repost/plagiarize this story**

word count: 2,800+


When you were born, there wasn’t a single name etched on your right wrist.

In the world that you lived in, having a name etched on to the skin of your wrist meant that you were connected to your soulmate. Taking into consideration about the millions of people who shared the same name, people often told you that despite there being many Johns, Teresas, or Larrys in the world, they weren’t quite the same as your John, Teresa, or Larry.

That whenever you met the person destined for you, you would somehow know.

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The Keg-Stand Incident

(( to the anon that said they wanted this fic, here u go ))

The egos were all talking when Wilford finally arrived at the meeting, chatting lively amongst themselves. Dark was missing, and Bim informed Wil that he had gone to look for the moustached ego since he hadn’t shown up when the meeting was called.

“What are we talking about then?” He asked, taking a seat at the end of the table and putting his feet up on it.

“We’re reminiscing about old times.” Bim replied, “Google was telling me about his time with Matthias, and everyone else was just sharing stories from early days.”

Wilford grinned at that. He had recently found an old photograph, one that he had never thought had survived his tumultuous arrival in this world, but it was perfect for this situation.

And for teasing Dark.

“Let me tell you all a story!” He said loudly enough to carry over all their voices. The words were met with mixed reactions but the ego’s all fell quiet and waited.

Reaching into the breast pocket of his shirt, Wilford withdrew a small picture and held it up so he could see the image but the ego’s couldn’t.

“What you are about to see may disturb you.” He cackled, ignoring the odd stirring in his gut at seeing his friend in such an old photo.

“Hurry up then!” Doc huffed, annoyed since Wilford had interrupted his story.

Placing the photo down on the table, Wilford pushed it towards the centre just as the doors opened and Dark came in.

“So you finally decided to show-.” The grey-skinned ego trailed off as he noticed the photo and his shell cracked harshly, startling the egos closest.
“Where did you find that?” He breathed.

Wilford shrugged, “That’s personal. And what you see before you is a picture of our dear Darkiplier doing a keg-stand.”

There was uproar at the table, laughter and expressions of disbelief as everyone grabbed for the photo. Dark’s aura reached it first, before Wilford himself and the picture soon turned to little more than dust.

Immediately, Wilford was on his feet.

“Why did you do that?” He demanded.

“Don’t act as if you’re surprised.” Dark sneered, “You know my stance on anything from that time.”

“Dark…that was a connection to-.”

“A time that is gone!” Dark interrupted with a barking tone. “Honestly Wil, pull yourself together. We need to look forward, not back.”

He walked past Wilford and patted him over the breast pocket. As Dark pulled away, Wilford felt a pull of a photo in his pocket, different from the now destroyed one. When the room descended into chaos as the other egos tried to find out why Dark had done a keg-stand, Wilford pulled out the photo.

It was the Colonel and Damien before all this had happened, in their old clothes and styles with smiles on their faces and arms around each other. Dark had written “for the bad days” on the back in curved script and Will smiled.

Look forward indeed.

i could teach you - taeyong scenario - part three

Lee Taeyong - NCT

words - 3.8k

genre - angst, heartbreaker!au

soundtrack - hey violet, break my heart

parts - 1 / 2 / / 4/ 5 (still ongoing)

Originally posted by xehunted

The buzz that emitted from your pocket drawing your attention away from him. If it was Minyoung, you were not going to answer. After you called her this morning, the memory of her screaming voice was still vividly etched in your mind. That conversation was pure torture – thank god you didn’t tell her about Taeyong or you wouldn’t be breathing right now.

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Imagine waking up one day in a world, like ours, but with a parallel society alongside it that outnumbers it, say, ten to one. They dress in strange robes that seem shapeless and have unusual patterns on them you’ve never seen before; they talk of kukesh and sava instead of “right” and “wrong,” and the virtue of maor, and they try to translate these words into your language, but when you try to compare them to things you care about–love, family, individualism, freedom, happiness–they make a face and shake their heads.

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hurryupfic  asked:

“Marry me.” + Linkllen

On AO3: All about the dreams you grew


This was supposed to be 500 words but then I tripped and added more fluff than strictly necessary. I hope you like it ♥

| Requests |

Link had, with the exception of Allen, planned most everything in his life.

The university he had attended, the years his education took, his career thereafter, his eventual apartment in the city, and now the promotion in sight. Sitting knock-kneed and fourteen in his foster father’s house, Link had swore to himself that no matter what he’d achieve his goals. He’d move on to bigger, better, more fulfilling life achievements, and he’d leave behind the poor boy without a home.

Granted, life could had never prepared him for Allen Walker.

Link, if drunk, relaxed, and quite positive Allen would never hear this, would readily admit that Allen was the best thing to ever happen to him. But don’t tell him that, Link would say, pausing in his inebriation to focus on the slightly tilted room. He’ll melt on the spot, sure, but he’ll never let you forget it.

Allen was a devil for sure, a temptation, a promise Link had nearly thrown everything away for, had Allen wished it. Fortunately, Allen loved Link more than himself, and when push came to shove, it was Allen who bowed.

So they lived in apartment where Allen yearned for a house and home, and in a limbo that was beginning to itch at Allen’s bones. He was always the type to keep moving, always restless. Unlike Link, Allen didn’t have goals for promotion or aspirations to become the head of a company. All Allen really wanted was a place to call his own.

Link had asked him to wait. Wait, as Link worked his way through the ranks. Wait, as they settled various debts. Wait, as Link fretfully kept to himself that the idea of forever with Allen scared him like nothing else ever had.

It wasn’t that Link didn’t want it. The opposite, in fact. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with Allen. He couldn’t imagine a future without him. Without his quiet humming in the morning, how he cuddled into Link’s chest as night, his odd habit of thieving various knick knacks in their home only to replace them elsewhere. His suave smiles and his embarrassed flushes at Link’s genuine compliments.

And, quite simply, the way Allen looked at Link.

It wasn’t that Link didn’t want a future with Allen — it was that he was terrified of a promise of forever that didn’t come to fruition.

But, Link had achieved all his goals thus far. What was adding another?

And so he planned, and he thought, and he became so lost in it that by the time he pulled Allen aside after a dinner out several weeks later, some of the nerves had dissipated.

It was a warm summer night, not too unlike the first time they’d met, and Link held Allen’s hand as he led him to a park with a path that followed a river. At this hour, there weren’t many others out aside from a few couples engrossed in their own romance, affording Link and Allen privacy.

City lights lit up the dark surface of the river, and while Allen commented on how much he’d loved the nice dinner, it hit Link what he was about to do.

He was going to propose. He was going to ask the love of his life to marry him.

Following what he’d planned for the evening — and had painstakingly practiced out days prior — Link led Allen to a small gazebo on a swell of land. It was inland, so there wasn’t an amazing view of the river, but for that reason there were no other couples. Allen murmured softly and gifted Link with a smile.

At Allen’s face, backlit by the street lamp not too far away, soft gray eyes and a smile that curved his lips, the script Link had carefully thought over crumbled from his memory and his mouth grew dry.  

“Link?” Allen prompted, concerned. Of course it was too much to ask for Allen not to notice Link’s nerves. Allen was far more sensitive than Link in this regard. “Is something wrong? You’ve been… quiet.”

Instead of answering, Link pulled Allen to sit beside him. Allen settled against the wooden bench worn smooth over time, with one leg bent, bare foot tucked under his leg and shoe discarded on the floor. He was facing Link, searching Link’s gaze to try and discern what could be wrong. Allen was so smart, so cunning. If he only held himself in higher esteem, then maybe he would’ve guessed at what Link was attempting to do.

But he didn’t, and so Allen reached for the hand marked with a tattoo Link had gotten all those years ago, a brand most had told him he’d regret but that he never had. Allen traced the tattoo mindlessly, a simple habit born of years of casual touch.

Licking his lips and trying to speak past the way his heart beat in his throat, Link lifted his free hand and tucked Allen’s hair behind his ear, following the curve of his jaw to his chin. Allen tilted his head, curious, and the same strand fell loose, his bangs falling messy and whisper-soft across his forehead, individual strands catching the light. Link sighed, breath stolen.

“Do you know,” Link began, trying his best to remember Allen like this. Young, amazing, and so in love, in love, in love. “Do you know… how beautiful you are?”

Allen blinked, wide-eyed, before nervously laughing, bringing the back of his hand to cover his sudden blush. “Really, Link,” Allen said around a smile, eyes lowering to their hands abashedly, “what’s gotten into you today? A nice dinner, a walk in the park, and now this? Oh!” His eyes lit up and he leaned forward, squeezing Link’s hand — a tactic to detract from Link’s compliment, surely. “Did you get that promotion? Did you?”

At this Link finally smiled, shaking his head in faint amusement. “Not yet,” Link said, because he one day would. “That’s not what this is for.”

“No?” Allen asked, confused. “Then what? Did the proposal you spent the last month working on get accepted?”

Hopefully. But not the one Allen was thinking of. “I’m still waiting to hear back on that,” Link admitted, but the nerves over his proposed project paled in comparison to the ones blooming in his stomach now.

“Then what?” Allen asked, frowning.

Link gave him a wry look, amusement winning out over his nerves for a moment. Allen was always so quick on the uptake that it was rather refreshing to see him confused. It was nearly unearthly how quickly Allen could grasp situations.

“Always so impatient,” Link teased instead, “can’t I just spend an evening with you?”

“Of course you could,” Allen said, undeterred with an eyeroll impending, “but all of this isn’t just some normal evening. A nice meal, a walk in a park, sitting in a gazebo. Come on now, Link.”

I should be the one saying that, Link thought, free hand resting on his side. The ring in the inner pocket of his blazer was unadorned, a simple band of silver, thin and unassuming. Link wasn’t even entirely sure if Allen would want a ring. He still hid his left arm as much as possible.

Taking a steadying breath, Link forced himself past his nerves, determined to not back out. “Allen,” Link said, his serious tone melting Allen’s own playful amusement away. He hesitated, met Allen’s eyes, wide and gray and suddenly vulnerable, and couldn’t hold back. “I love you.”

Again Allen laughed, always so abashed in the face of sincerity. “Link, honestly. What is it? I’m starting to get nervous.”

Heart hammering in his ears, Link hoped Allen wouldn’t notice how sweaty his hands had gotten. He hadn’t been this nervous since the first time he’d confessed, ages ago now.

Sliding the ring free to hold out, Link squeezed Allen’s hand and said, “Will you marry me?”

Allen’s eyes locked on the silver. Link was pretty sure he stopped breathing.

Then, without warning, Allen began to cry.

Alarmed, Link dropped the ring on his lap to messily wipe at Allen’s cheeks. “Allen? Are you— did you not—” swallowing past his dread, Link released Allen’s hand so he could thumb more tears away. “Is this too soon?”

Unspoken was is this a no?

Allen shook his head jerkily and brought his own hands up, hiding his face in his palms as he took a shuddering breath. His tears were heavy and fat, rolling off his cheeks to splatter on his thighs as he bent over, shoulders shaking.

“Allen what’s wrong?” Link asked, desperate as his hands hovered over Allen’s shoulder.

Then, Allen laughed, wet and short, and he wiped as much of his face as he could before moving to cup Link’s face, fingers wet. “Nothing,” Allen mustered, laughing breathlessly. “Nothing, I’m just so—” he thumbed Link’s cheekbone, eyes shining silver-bright with his tears. “Thank you,” Allen said.

“Thank you?” Link blurted, horribly confused. “I… for what?”

Allen laughed again and kissed Link lightly on the lips, and then rested his forehead against Link’s, eyes closed as he worked through the last of his shuddering breaths. “For loving me.”

Link nearly said he didn’t believe that warranted gratitude, but held back, watching the color in Allen’s cheeks and the light catch on his tears slowly drying. Reaching up, Link grasped Allen’s chin gently and kissed him, slow and sweet, before whispering, “Marry me?”

Allen laughed and nodded and promptly melted into Link, wet face tucking into the crook of Link’s neck and arms wrapped around Link, holding him as close as he could get.

Slowly, Link settled his hands on Allen’s back, soothing the faint tremble he could still feel, and rested his cheek on Allen’s hair.

“I love you,” Allen finally murmured back, and Link laughed.

skarpetkamroku  asked:

I found perfect prompt that will hurt everybody! Ans immediately thought of you :) "soulmate au where instead of your soulmates first words to you written on your skin it’s their last words you ever hear them say so you don’t know who your soulmate is until you lose them"

He’s never cared. Those things, scars of a different sort written into his skin. On the inside of his arm, over veins. Tracing fingers over curving letters. He can’t read them, doesn’t understand, and doesn’t know what the letters are. He doesn’t care what they say. He clasps his gauntlets together and the words are hidden beneath cloth and leather, metal of a silver sort. He tells himself he doesn’t care. That he doesn’t want to know. Then she tells him that she thinks he’s brave and he can’t help but wonder.

She’s always known she’ll be the one to die first. As a child she imagines a glorious battle. Somewhere with her soulmate by her side, protecting him to her last breath. Perhaps against a dragon! That would be an excellent way to die. As a teenager, she binds her hand with leather, covers the scratching script on the back of her hand. She works the fields just as her father had once done. She thinks the words might lie. She doesn’t have time for love. It’s what keeps her safe when they run from darkspawn, through darker roads. It’s what gives her legs strength to reach the sunlight, to wonder if it might be him.

He doesn’t need to know the words. Not even as she’s sitting by his side, book open between them, reading aloud the words beneath her finger. Stumbling over tracing her letters, frustrated with his progress. He doesn’t need to know after she smiles, tells him these things take time. He doesn’t need to know when her hand settles over his, holds him tight. He doesn’t need to know when her hands are on his face, her lips on his, not even as she watches him go. He doesn’t need to know when she ties red around his wrist.

She knows she isn’t wrong. It’s him, or no one. He doesn’t need to love her back, she just wants him to stay by her side. She doesn’t tell him this. Instead she invites him to the Hanged Man, on every sordid quest, to dinner at the estate. She tells him she’s ready to continue their reading lessons whenever he is. She has no issue with waiting. She doesn’t mind. She knows all that plagues him, bits of his history from talk over wine and candlelight. He thinks he’s broken. She knows he’s brilliant, a quick study, wonderful and kind, perfect in all the ways that matter.

They look at each other across the Hanged Man, Danarius’s broken body heaped between them. Faces flushed red, breathing heavy with the effort of killing him. There’s a bloodstain on his cheek. She makes her way towards him and knows, knows, knows. Alone in his mansion that night, she kisses the letters on his skin. “Would you like to know what it says?” she asks.

“No,” he says, pulling her down to him, taking her back into his arms. If it is not her then it is no one. The words don’t matter because only she does.

They buy a farmhouse. On the edge of town, close enough to visit the others if they want to. They have no more need for an estate. His knees ache when it rains. Her wrists begin to give her trouble. He braids her hair for her in the mornings, all the black gone from her hair, grey like him now. There’s a permanent line of laughter around her mouth. Little ravens feet around his eyes. The red in the token she gave him all those years ago is faded now, but he wears it still. Each night, they walk under the stars together, hand in hand.

When she gets sick, he stays by her side. He reads to her as she once read to him, the spectacles perched at the edge of his nose. He brings her flowers from the walk she can no longer take, tells her all the news of the others. He sits on the edge of the bed, holds her hand in his. Her thumb runs over his knuckles as she smiles, breathes out a happy sigh. “I love you,” she says. He shakes his head.

“Hawke, please, stay with me a little longer,” he pleads. A watery laugh escapes her as she squeezes his hand a little tighter.

“I always knew it would be you Fenris. I’m so glad it was you,” she tells him.

He moves back to the city. He lies in his home, in that bed alone, looks at his arm. Tracing fingers over curving letters. A script so recognizably hers.I’m so glad it was you. He holds her token to his face, giving it a small kiss. It catches the tears as they roll down his cheeks. “You too Hawke,” he says to himself, “I will always be yours.”


OC x Jungkook
Three Word Prompt: Tattoo, Sweet, Love
Soundtrack (x) & (x)
12/ ? of my drabble game
(a/n) I’m sorry I feel so bad for writing this first, but this just hit me and I could not stop LOL. adds tattoo shop kookie to my list of muses… yass. Also this is not a drabble seeing as its a thousand words but enjoy loves ^3^ ily 

Originally posted by jeonggukaf

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CSJJ Day 26: Proverbs to Live By

She had sworn to hate him. So why did they keep falling into bed together? And why did it feel so right?

also on and ao3 


Wow - I get to post on Colin’s birthday! I hope you enjoy a dose of angsty, smutty, fluffy-ness!

as ever, thank you to my wonderful beta, @nickillian


Emma Swan had opened the thin, square gift and laughed. A calendar. Her brother had always said she had a terrible memory for dates - she was always forgetting birthdays and anniversaries. Inside, she could see that these key dates had already been written in every month in the looping, neat script that she recognised as his.

Proverbs to Live By, it was called, the title written on the front in sugary pink, curving script. She’d laughed; clearly that had been some kind of joke. Emma had no time for flowery words and suchlike.

The calendar ended up hanging on a little hook beside her fridge, quickly filling up with further dates and ‘remember tos’, every time she turned the page to a new month she found herself rolling her eyes at the latest cliche…


Easy come, easy go

It was a chilly evening at Storybrooke harbour. The sun had long since disappeared for the day and the Atlantic Ocean was whipping up, tossing a fine spray of saltwater onto dry land. Emma tugged her leather jacket around her as she waited.

A small, well-kept boat pulled up the the jetty. “Killian Jones?” she shouted.

The man at the wheel was bundled up in a thick down jacket with a beanie pulled down over his forehead. He tilted his head and held his hand up to his ear to indicate he couldn’t hear and then pointed at the engine. With a sigh, Emma checked her watch. It was already 7pm and she needed this skip back in Boston by 7 am at the latest.

She waited, less than patiently, as the skipper eased the small yacht into the berth and turned off the engine. He then took a loop of thick rope and began to wrap it around the metal cleat that was attached into the dock’s timbers. Not seemingly in any rush, he then continued to tie up the rest of the hitches before hopping effortlessly onto the jetty and strolling towards her.

“Can I help you, lass?” he drawled, his crisp British accent so out of place that it startled her for a moment as she simultaneously noticed that his eyes were a brilliant blue against the rest of his dark attire. She swallowed hard and gathered her thoughts.

“Emma Swan, bail bonds and PI,” she announced, handing him a business card that he quickly scanned before shoving it in his jeans pocket. He smiled, exposing perfect white teeth.

“Killian Jones, owner and captain.” He held out his hand but Emma ignored him and pulled out photocopy of William Smee’s mugshot from her jacket pocket and held it up.

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tsuguhas  asked:

"why does it matter who i was with" + natan (ily sweets thx)

Lucifer held his hands up in surrender to Natalie who was accusatorily jabbing him in the chest with a finger, “Why does it matter who I was with?”

“Because,” Natalie drawled, poking him another time for good measure, “If you were hanging out with the other team earlier it could get us disqualified.” She whispered the last word as if put off by the potential scandal of it all, and stepped back away from him to sit at the small circle table they stood up from.

Trivia night in Ipos’ small bar was not something to be taken lightly. The bar practically closed down during it, only those who signed up in advance were allowed in, lest anyone get an advantage. The whole affair was aggressively cutthroat, its intensity amplified by the participants, namely Natalie who had no right to be so extreme when she rarely gave a right answer.

She was really only useful if the questions revolved around cheesy romcoms, leaving Lucifer to pull answers out of his ass for all sorts of categories ranging from history to sports to the cultural significance of pottery. Naturally, they often rode the tail end of the point spectrum, but Natalie loved it all the same, cheering and screaming like the big winners they weren’t.

Lucifer didn’t mind it really, the nights spent at Ipos’ bar never failed to be entertaining in their own right. Between Natalie’s tight grip on his arm and her open mouth exasperation over the ridiculous questions Ipos asked, she poured all of herself into the simple event, her eyes lighting up with the possibilities of it.

However, the time had come for the night to wind down, leaving them resolutely in last place, 8 points behind the other lowest scoring team. Only one question remained, the final one of the night that would be worth 10 hulking points, provided they got it right.

Ipos cleared his throat, then read the final question, “In the 1993 romantic comedy, Sleepless in Seattle, where do Meg Ryan’s and Tom Hanks’ characters finally come together to meet?”

Lucifer watched excitement spread over Natalie’s face like syrup, sticky and sweet as her head snapped up and a smile stretched across her features. She practically scrambled up, throwing herself in his lap to write the answer on the scuffed dry erase board in front of Lucifer. His shoulders bobbed with silent laughter, and he merely wrapped an arm around her waist to stabilize her so she could print the answer in her tall, curving script.

She didn’t wait until Ipos called for the time to hold her board up, practically shouting, “The Empire State Building!” over the silent crowd. She was out of breath with excitement when Ipos nodded at her with a barely concealed smile, and she slunk back down into Lucifer’s lap, resting her shoulder back against his chest.

He changed the tally of points on the board after the rest of the teams came up with no answers, and Natalie’s fingers dug into Lucifer’s arm when she laughed, “Not last place!”

Her joy was warm in his ears, curling down his spine when he felt her breath on his neck, and he pressed a kiss to her cheek as Ipos announced the winner of the evening. Natalie knew damn well who the real winners were.

The second queen

Based on “Imagine telling Thranduil that you know you’ll never replace his first wife and that you’re fine with that. You will love him with all you have and that’s enough for you.” from Imaginexhobbit

Requested by Anonymous


Looking back, in the years to come, you would tell the story that your life had truly begun at the the spring festival of Nost-na-Lothion, the Birth of Flowers. The evening had seemed ripe with promise as you’d painstakingly arranged your hair and dressed in your rich, leaf-green gown, and twirled playfully before your father, asking, “how do I look, Ada?”

“Beautiful, iellig,” he’d replied with a smile. “You will shine as the starlight for everyone to see.”

As one of King Thranduil’s advisors, your father was a distinguished guest at the feast, and introduced you to what seemed like an endless stream of his acquaintances. When he was drawn by another of the King’s councillors into a conversation about trade with the men of Laketown, you took the opportunity to wander to the fringes of the crowd, watching the dancers in the center of the grand chamber. You had momentarily glanced down, idly smoothing your skirts and adjusting the bracelets on your wrists, when a pair of feet stopped before you, and you looked up, surprised, into the face of the King. 

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Sifo was gone. The marked unease that always haunted his sleep when they were apart had greeted Jard in the morning, along with an empty and cold half of his bed. That, and a brief note on a piece of flimsi on his nightstand—Sifo’s personal touch, his delicately curved script inscribed in a deep blue ink. It was a gentle farewell, full of promise. 

Only, of course, Dooku knew better than to trust in that promise. The future was already out of Sifo’s control. 

The grief that swamped him was stifling. For a full ten he’d been staring at that piece of flimsiplast, carrying it around in the breast pocket of his inner tunic, only to learn that his Padawan had been seriously injured on Naboo. Jard had allowed himself few material reminders of his attachments—Qui-Gon’s Padawan braid, long and silken, curled in a box in his study; an anniversary Choosing gift from Komari. Sifo’s note. 

How fitting that every token he’d kept became sooner a memento for the remembrance of the dead, or very nearly so. Komari had vanished. When the Healers told them Qui-Gon had been injured, they’d taken care not to say how seriously, but Dooku was no fool. He knew the threat his former Padawan had faced, and exactly how dire the situation must have been. Now Sifo was going to his own end. 

How fitting that every token he’d kept became sooner a memento for the remembrance of the dead

[credits due to @poplitealqueen for the name ‘Jard’, I believe]

Ancient Mysteries

Summary: Finn Stormbreaker, apprentice to the Arch Mage Luke Skywalker, is presented with a mystery by his master.

A/N: Just a short fantasy AU that popped into my head today. Probably won’t be any longer than this.
Or maybe it will

Can be read on AO3.

Finn raises his hand and knocks on the heavy, wooden door to master Skywalker’s study feeling that mix of excitement and trepidation he always did when entering his master’s study.  

It doesn’t matter that he has been his apprentice for the better part of a decade now, that feeling has never changed and Finn doubts it ever will. There is always an ambience of barely tamed power around the man that is unsettling to most and Finn knows that even if the other masters in Mage Hold respects and revers their leader, they also deep-down fear him and what he might do should the full extent of the man’s power one day be unleashed.

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miss-oktober  asked:

"Hey uh Sammie, If you would ever like to come over for tea and cakes, It would make my life." (@two-ofcups <3)

A dash of pink spread in her cheeks. Did she read this right? Samaria read the curves in Gwen’s script, once, twice, and three times before she placed it back down. It would make my life. Samaria couldn’t help the smile creeping her lips. Quickly, she scrambled to her bed, digging her hand under the mattress, and retrieving her sketchbook and writing utensil.

Her fingers quickly flipped through the book, tearing a blank page out. She began to write her response back. The words came easily to her, the butterflies fluttering in her stomach. Her pen stops. Should she bring something? Is that customary? She decided to ask in her note. She stopped again. Of course, you have to bring something you idiot, she scolded herself as she quickly scribbled out the question. Samaria yanked out another blank page to rewrite what she wrote. Those that words that came easily to her were quickly discarded. She toiled over and over for this response. 

Finally, a note is left on Gwen’s doorstep: Yes. I would love to. I’m bringing cake. -Samaria

What She Wished For

A/N: I have had some wonderful followers recently celebrating birthdays, but was actually asked for a birthday fic from one of them today. Their suggestion was that Emma have a birthday where she now has people in her life to celebrate with, and just that concept sparked this fic. I’m sure a thousand of these have been written before, but this is my take, and I hope you all enjoy it! Thanks for reading!

Also available on FF Here

“Can I get you anything else, Emma?” Granny asked, slipping the same order Emma always asked for up on the metal hanger, where it would remain until her grilled cheese, onion rings, and side salad were ready. Emma was fully ready to turn her down, until she noticed in the case where pie usually resided that there were cupcakes today.

“Are those vanilla?” Emma asked, knowing that the last time she’d had a cupcake like that she’d been a different person. It was the night of her birthday all those years ago, when Henry found her in Boston. Granny looked a little stricken at Emma’s question.

“They are, but they’re actually already spoken for. But the cake for your birthday is in the back fridge, and it’ll be perfect at the party. ” Emma shook her head, trying to dispel the yearning for a cupcake and the memory of that lonely night away as she did so. This year she’d have people she loved beside her, as she had for the past few years, and that truth eased the pain of her past away.

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(Loki X Reader ) Liar

Words: 1669
Warning: Angst, slight nakedness, scars,lot of love damn it
Fandom: Loki. Avangers, Thor, something.

“Liar!” the sound of your voice boomed through the halls of Asgard, the rage in it able to scare even Odin. You were standing in front of the raven haired prince, your face flushed Crimson with anger and your body was trembling with every ragged breath.

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minty-minho  asked:

bae. adansey headcanons?


  • ok so gansey was instantly fascinated with adam from the first day he walked into his math class because of his hardworking nature and his modesty (also his elegant features because. come on. a sEPIA PHOTOGRAPH WHAT KINDA GAY GARBAGE) and he wanted to talk to him but he was hesitant because what would someone so REAL want with someone like him (while Adam was thinking Gansey’d think he was trash ha kill me) so when Adam finally did talk to him Gansey just !!!!!!!! fREAKED OUT and Ronan had to tell Gansey to ‘shut up about Parrish, already’ for like 2 weeks. Noah would just moan and put pillows over his ears 
  • Gansey would always sit around while Adam worked on the Pig or a car from Boyd’s or homework, pretending to be all absorbed in his book but just watching the little furrow of concentration between Adam’s brows or the little smile on his face when he solved the problem. it’s when he starts writing little poems about him with all these sappy mythology/astronomy references in his journal that he realizes he has it bAD 
  • Adam secretly loves the Pig. More so than any of the cars he’s ever worked on/seen, it has character to it and the fact that Gansey drives it means so much to him, like no matter how many times it breaks down Gansey will never give up on it, just like he could smash a thousand billion figurines and Gansey would always be there to support him and believe in him
  • Adam knows that Gansey is usually up with the telescope on clear nights and he normally hates going into Monmouth at night because it feels like defeat but one night when he’s really stressed about the trial and Cabeswater he comes in and Gansey just smiles and pats the spot next to him like they do this every night, and Adam drinks whatever passes for tea at Monmouth (”It’s a herbal blend, Adam, Helen got it for me,” “Gans I’m about 90 percent sure this is hot cherry Gatorade”) and Gansey shows him the Moon and Saturn’s rings and Venus and all the stars and lies awake after trying to burn Adam’s look of wonder into his brain. they start doing that more often afterwards
  • blUE NOAH AND HELEN ALL LOWKEY SHIP IT like one day Noah is nowhere to be found but Gansey wakes up with ‘I know who you like’ written on a Coca-Cola bottle next to his bed. Helen purposefully does a sharp turn on the helicopter so that Adam will bump into Gansey (and maybe hold his hand for comfort). Blue keeps dropping jokes about how ‘you guys should just kiss already’ a la Dream Thieves. Honestly who can blame her for wanting to see that happen
  • Richard Campbell Gansey III thinks he’s so clever and subtle but honestly he flirts like a twelve year old boy. Like he just keeps pretending he needs help with homework and going over to St. Agnes with candy and stuff that Helen baked and just. Watches him work. One time he brought over a mint plant and sort of casually chewed on the leaves as seductively as possible. He walked into a telephone pole when Adam showed up one day in one of his shirts. He’s just a total hot mess
  • Adam figures it out and just teases him as mercilessly as possible, casually walking around shirtless and working on the Pig in muscle tanks and making really subtle innuendoes and Gansey just goes. Why.mp3
  • When they fight (and they inevitably do fight) Gansey will usually come over with an apology Starbucks (Adam has a weakness for hot cocoa from there) bc let’s face it it’s probably Gansey’s fault and they’ll lay in bed together listening to music (I’m thinking Gansey’s got lots of Vampire Weekend/Alt-J, but Adam runs a bit more towards Arctic Monkeys/Lana Del Rey so they listen to that too) 
  • Gansey knows Adam needs to pay his own way with the jobs but he lowkey makes sure all of Adam’s employers know if he’s treated badly at work he’ll know and certain influential people (see: Helen) will make SURE they’re out of a job 
  • After Gansey dies, Adam gets the word ‘excelsior’ tattooed subtly in beautiful, curving script on his shoulder. Gansey leaves him all his books and the Pig, which he drives wherever he goes, making sure to take care of it like Gansey took care of him