despite her better judgement

  • kween day: rude, has a stick up his ass, not a morning person, probably has a shrine dedicated to jeremy knox in his bedroom, his blood is probably just dissolved protein shakes, exy is sexy, string bean, everyone's son and everyone's boyfriend at the same time, probably thought that eating spinach actually made you strong after watching popeye as a kid, thinks sports movies are romantic, would use his own body for target practice if he got half the chance
  • neil "not fine" josten: 35 lies per hour, has literally never been fine. like ever. in his whole entire life, mommy issues, sad tumblr hoe, human piñata, unhealthily obsessed with exy & andrew minyard, probably thinks smoking is fucking aesthetic, still uses internet explorer, neck fetish, the oblivious friend™, the salt content in his body beats that of the dead sea
  • andrew murderyard: smol, probably eats nutella for breakfast, definitely drinks milk straight from the carton, *says he'll stab you* *will actually stab you*, as emo as emo can get, i'm talking like emo as an actual fucking metal trash can, desensitised to every color except for black, talks like a fucking comic book villain, will fight any sentient being
  • aaron miniyard: angery, hates virtually everyone, *cough* homophobe *cough*, "i'm going to pretend i don't know you", transforms into a 12 y/o whenever he's within the same radius as his crush, only marginally less emo than his brother, probably listens to a lot of rap, science is kewl
  • Miss Dan Probably Wilder Than You: BAMF, the best friend you wished you had, the girlfriend you wished you had, "he fell into a tank of piranhas", pack alpha, starts feminist debates at parties, Stressed, the mom friend
  • allison baenolds: is fabulous, boss ass bitch, looks like a princess but could literally kill you, has watched every buffy the vampire slayer episode at least 5 times, drives a very pink car, has probably used her stilettos to kick a guy in the nuts, out of even god's league
  • nicky hemmlickk ;): is loyal, the inappropriate friend, everything he says is an innuendo, the gay cousin who turns out to be gayer than you initially thought, always suspiciously cheery, probably tweets his entire life, TMI bro, ONLY EVER TEXTS LIKE THIS, will spank your ass as a greeting instead of a handshake & drive you home from work/school
  • renee Keep Walking: cute but she once plotted murders, the brand ambassador of cinnabon like she is literally the purest cinnamon roll, back tf up or you'll probably get bitch-slapped (by a holy bible), she's the cool older sister you've always wished you had kinda friend, a little gay for allison reynolds, her hair probably looks like a swirl of fucking twix yogurt??
  • matt oh boy!: fucking angel, protect him, no seriously, he like, descended from the heavens above, stays out of his girlfriend's fights despite his better judgement bc he knows she can handle her own battles, gym rat, he recovers like a prostitute who converted to being a nun, neil josten is his pride & joy & if you touch a single hair on his head your ass gon' get whopped, did i mention Neil Josten Protection Squad 2kFuckingForever Founder & Councellor??, the sweetest human bean in the entire series imho
  • seth "should've stayed in school" gordon: dead as a doorknob & a bigger dick than a rich white artist evading questions about cultural appropriation on Saturday Night Live, but you kinda feel sorry for him anyway because the author knows how to round out all her bloody characters
The Years Keep On Turning

I’m late, but oh well. Life happened and it was shitty, so I wrote this to cheer myself up and I hope it works for some of you as well. It’s not betad, so the copious mistakes are all mine. A birthday vignette in honor of our beloved muse, Katniss Everdeen. May she never be without her toastbabies, her dandelion in the spring, and plenty of delicious food. RATED M for smut.


She plays in the meadow, twirling and leaping, pretending to have wings like a bird so she can fly. Her father needs only a word, though, to draw her from play and into their chores. The flying girl doesn’t view the chores with distaste at all. She rather enjoys them, especially the moments of free time they get to savor the woods. Like today.

“Come down from that tree, Hummingbird,” the girl’s father calls up to her, his hands cupped around his mouth to amplify the sound. She grins and flips so she’s hanging from the branch by her knees, completely missing her father’s gasp of fear and the handful of running steps he makes towards the base of the tree before her giggle stops him.

“Your Mama’s waiting with your birthday surprise,” he admonishes, the fear of a moment ago making his voice harsher than intended. The girl sobers, hearing the subtle difference, and swings her feet over her head to the branch below before scurrying down the trunk and landing with a soft crunch of leaves, next to her father.

“I’m sorry, Papa,” she whispers, her expression contrite.

“It’s okay, Katniss,” the father says, picking up the girl’s game bag and handing it to her. “But we should get going.”

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Some Anti-Reylos act like it's totally unheard of for someone to want someone they shouldn't. If that were true, why would married people have affairs, and even divorce their current spouses in order to be with their new loves? Rey's human, so it's perfectly normal for her to desire Kylo, despite her better judgement or society's disapproval.

Yeah, one of the central flaws of anti logic is that it is hinged upon fictional stories having some kind of obligation to faultlessly depict characters as blandly moral and consistently righteous and correct in all respects. They have a very rigid concept of right or wrong that doesn’t allow characters to veer from a preordained path or make mistakes - in other words, they seem to be against what makes drama dramatic and what makes characters human. It’s very odd.

Beneath Your Skin (Newt Scamander x Reader)

✩ prompt: the cut scene of shirtless newt w scars & the songs secrets by one republic and the song human by Dodie Clark 

✩ word count: I really don’t know

✩ warnings: cuteness & mention of scars and blood (the scars are in no way from self-harm, but in case scars/blood are a sensitive topic, i don’t want you lovely people feeling uncomfortable while reading this.)

<>Beneath Your Skin<>

She could barely comprehend the sight before her, him stumbling backwards, clutching his left side as crimson soaks through the edges of his marigold vest.

The beast fled, the only traces it was ever there carved into Newt’s side in the single swipe of sharp claws.

Before she knew it she was running, her legs carrying her to him, crumpled over on the grass.

When Y/N reaches Newt, he’s shaking furiously, all the color drained from his face, making his freckles stick out like the stars against the night sky.

“Talk to me, Newt-” She whispers, voice cracking, holding onto his face, staring into his clouded eyes, “Please, please-”

Dread pours into her body, flooding her rib cage and mind.

And suddenly, every single unsaid sentence bubbles up to lips.

Phrases like “I need you” and “I love you”, she’s suddenly terrified that she will never be able to tell them to him.

His lips part and his eyes attempt to focus on her, “They’re not- they’re not dangerous.” He struggles to say, blood dripping over his hand, “Don’t- don’t hurt-” He begins to loose consciousness.

“No, Newt please,” She half begs, gripping onto him tightly, a lump rising in her throat, “You need to stay conscious, talk to me,” She strokes his cheek, trying to think up a way to get the injured man back to the shed, which was on the other side of the briefcase.

The beast was one of an unidentifiable species that Newt had found just days ago, rescuing it from poachers and releasing it into the sanctuary of his briefcase.

“The creature-” Newt whispers, “Is called-” A cough, “Elaina.”

“You’re doing great, so great,” She lifts him up to the best of her abilities, all his weight leaning onto her. She wraps an arm tightly about his middle, his wounded side pressed to hers. “Keep, keep talking to me, tell me about Elaina.”

“Apparently-” He says, voice gravely and barely above a whisper, “She’s v-very territorial.” He tried to continue, but he was now slipping in and out of consciousness.

“Hold onto me tightly, Newt.” Y/N says desperately, knowing that he is in no state to apparate, but at the moment, it was her only option.

His head falls limply onto her shoulder in response.

A terrible feeling filled Y/N once more. She grips Newt to her tightly, before the two bend through time and space, landing on the steps of the shed.

“We made it, we made it.” She breathes a sigh of relief, wiping her eyes furiously as tears threaten to fall, grunting as she moves Newt into the shed.

She works as if in auto pilot, pulling out the trundle bed from beneath one of the counters, laying Newt down on it, before embarking on a frantic search for spindle grass and thyme, a mixture to subdue the pain.

Her shaking hands sift through potion bottles and viles of this and that, the normally homely clutter turning into her worst nightmare.

Finally she comes across the ingredients she needs, and quickly mixes the various ingredients into a thick, murky, dark green
colored liquid.

She returns to Newt, cradling his head upwards so to let him drink the newly made potion, her hands shaking violently as she holds the bowl to his mouth.

His lips part, and she pours the sludgy substance down his throat.

She presses her ear to his chest. his heartbeat slowing.

Her stomach drops as she goes to his vest, removing it rapidly from his person quickly, about a fourth of it covered in blood.

She holds her wand in with her teeth as she fumbles with the stupidly small buttons of his shirt, before tearing it away from his body in a mix of anger and complete and utter terror.

“Oh, please, please-” She practically begs, “Please be okay, c-come on Newt.” She hiccups, tears streaming down her face.

His chest is rapidly rising and falling, a thin layer of sweat glistening across his skin.

Whispering a silent prayer to anyone who might be listening she removes the final piece of cloth covering his wound.

Three deep gashes cut into the freckled skin on his side. She takes in a shaky breath, salty tears dripping down her face as she takes in the damage.

Taking a deep breath, she removes her wand from her mouth, and points it at his wounds.

She begins desperately muttering spell incantations, her eyes squeezed shut in a mixture of focus and heartbreak. Seven healing spells later, she opens her eyes, watching as the wounds turn into silvery white streaks before her eyes.

She heaves a sight of relief, laughing almost incredulously as she hiccups another wave of sobs, a hand resting on Newt’s chest as she cries helplessly, shoulders shaking from adrenaline.

She shakily busies herself by retrieving a damp wash cloth and a numbing compote.

Y/N returns to Newt, laying the cold washcloth over his freckled forehead, her heartbreaking at the sight before her.

His face was pained, and he was panting rapidly, cheeks flushed and hair damp with sweat.

She desperately spreads the numbing compote across the newly formed scar, and for the first time, notices the hundreds of other scars decorating his torso and arms.

She looks at them, more tears dripping down her chin, tracing one with trembling hands, the jagged silver scar drawing itself across the flushed freckled skin of his left collarbone, and down the center of his chest, then turning right running down his toned chest.

“I got that one from my first run in with a very unhappy Nundu.” A soft voice tells her.

Her eyes immediately flit up from his scar peppered torso to his own, very much awake face.

“Dear Greylock-” Y/N gasps, lurching forward despite her better judgement and wrapping her arms tightly around Newts shoulders as he sits up.

Newts face immediately flushes bright pink as she hugs him, suddenly overwhelmed with the smell of her hair and the warmth of her arms against his skin.

“You scared me-” She cries, suddenly overwhelmed with emotion, gripping onto him extremely tightly, “I-I thought you were- d-dead!”

“I-I didn’t mean to worry you-”

“Newt,” Her shoulders shake, as she crumples into his bare chest, face hidden in the freckle junction between his neck and shoulder.

She wants to tell him that she loves him, that she was so terrified when he lost consciousness, that she genuinely believed she was going to loose the only one she’s ever loved like this. Terrified that she would loose his smile, his voice, him.

“Hey-hey,” He says softly, reaching a tentative arm around her, “Thank you for, f-for taking care of me.”

She wants to tell him that she would move mountains and cross oceans to help him, that she would do anything to keep him safe and cared for.

She looks up, wiping her eyes and taking in a shaky sigh, then a nervous laugh. “You idiot-” She grumbles, “You lost consciousness before I could scold you getting too close to the creature.”

Newt smiles gently down at her, brushing her hair out of her face, “I’m sorry.”

“You, Newt, You owe me-” She laughs shakily, wiping her eyes again.

“I know- I know.” He leans down and presses a kiss to her forehead.

It’s late now, stars hanging heavily in the sky both inside and out of the case.

They lay side by side on the trundle bed, her cheek on his chest, his hand stroking her hair.

“Newt?” She asks softly, her fingers tracing a crescent shaped scar on his sternum, “Where was one from?”

He blushed slightly, her touch causing goosebumps to raise upon his skin, “A Chimaera in Greece,” He replies quietly, watching as her fingers gently skim his scared skin.

“They’re quiet beautiful,” She says quietly after sometime, “Although I still
am not very keen on the idea of you being hurt.”

“Most people find them repulsive.” Newt tells her, “They make people think creatures are dangerous.”

She hums sadly in response.

She wants to tell him that he looks like art, the scars spreading across the expanse of smooth freckled skin like the outlines of constellations mapped out in the sky.

She wants to tell him that she will love him and his creatures no matter what, and that he is, by far the most extraordinary of all his creatures.

She wants to tell him that she thinks he’s the most beautiful thing inside and out that she has ever met-


she settles for listening to his heartbeat and feeling his body, alive and warm, around her.

Settles for him being okay, and healthy, because today was stressful, and she just wants to be close to him, and she hopes that a part of him wants to be close to her too.

And as if he could read her thoughts, he wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her closer into his warm embrace, until the two have floated off into a much needed sleep.

Sorry the ending was kinda lame/emo but what did ya expect?! it’s late and this is kinda bad, sorry my dudes

John Watson Texting Affair Theory -- It’s TJLC

Okay, so here’s my idea with this. Hear me out.

At the beginning of the episode, we are shown that Sherlock is very much glued to his phone, and in my opinion, a bit more than usual. Yes, he has always been very fond of using his phone, but I feel like they made a big deal at the beginning of the episode about Sherlock being on his phone. (ie now he as a twitter, texting behind his back during the baptism, etc) These can just be brushed off as very “Sherlock” behavior, but I think these scenes are more important than we are making them out to be. (Will come back to this in a moment) More under the cut as this may get a bit lengthy. 

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Omg for that one sentence prompt thing how about Connverse and “Come on, give me one good reason not to jump in the lake.”

“Come on, give me one good reason not to jump in the lake,” he says. 

She wants to give him a hundred reasons not to jump into Dead Man’s Mouth, ones about how they just ate sandwiches only twenty minutes and not thirty, or that the rock might be too high to jump from, or that there aren’t any adults around, just the two of them. 

She decides on, “We don’t have bathing suits.”

It’s her weakest defense, she realizes as she both remembers the time they both swam with Amethyst two years ago and as she sees Steven taking off his shirt and jeans.

She doesn’t want it to feel funny, but it does. She’s seen him in his swimsuit numerous times before, and his red boxers even kind of look like his red swim trunks. But she’s fifteen now, and he’s almost seventeen, and sometimes just his smile can warm her chest and redden her cheeks.

She unfreezes and opens her mouth to give him a second reason, but since he only asked for one, he’s leaping off the rock and into the lake. She goes to the edge, watching his body slip into the deep water. He swims up to the top, laughs to himself, then he waves at her.

Knowing it’s safe calms her down (not that that was the way she wanted to find out), but she still feels nervous. Despite her better judgement, she takes off her baggy t-shirt and sweat shorts - her training clothes - and jumps into the lake in her sports bra and spandex.

She swims up to the surface after enjoying the quiet of the water. He finds her. They paddle their arms around, keeping themselves afloat. But he’s still close to her; she can feel his breath skip across the water and kiss her face.

“This is nice, isn’t it?” He smiles. She wonders how his smile can still warm her chest while submerged in the cool water. 

From Horrific to HEA

(The therapeutic value of lots and lots of wall-sex)

Four Nights With the Duke by Eloisa James (@eloisajames)

Avon (@avonromance​) : 2015
Historical Romance
Series :: Desperate Duchesses by the Numbers, bk 2


I mean, probably at the beginning of this novel which was intense - I put the book down multiple times just because of the STRESS in the first few chapters. Normally when one character blackmails another into a marriage/fake engagement/bed/etc. it’s sort of a light-hearted, romantic comedy blackmailing.

The hero being blackmailed does not NORMALLY loose his BLOODY MIND and fly into a rage, which involves him: 

  • attempting to show the heroine that she’s in no danger of his ever growing to like her 
  • by pointing out to her that the very act of blackmailing him makes him flaccid
  • only to realize that he is in fact very much NOT incapacitated
  • then getting so angry at his irrational penis that he pretty much waves it at the heroine. 

You only hope I’m kidding.

So we have Vander, Duke of Pindar, who we met in Three Weeks With Lady X, and Lady Emilia “Mia” Carrington and their meeting is pretty much anything but a “meet cute”. To even call it a “meet ugly” would be an understatement. 

More like a meet horrifying.

Turns out they knew each other as children because their parents were romantically entangled. However, thanks to a mortifying moment when they were teens, they haven’t spoken in years. Still when Emilia finds herself jilted at the altar, by a fellow all we Duchesses fans know very well, and suddenly in desperate need of a husband, she does something drastic.

That’s where the blackmail comes in

And then ensuing mortifying social awkwardness when the blackmail works but Mia finds herself suddenly surrounded by the very displeased Vander Support Squad… to wit, The Duke of Villiers, his equally epic eldest son Thorn, and his wife India (the “X” of Three Weeks with Lady X).

And Mia’s like:


What I loved:

  • If I could pick only one thing it would have to be the fact that, however awful that opening was from a bystander perspective (aaaand it was), it didn’t take Vander’s long to figure out that he wasn’t all that sorry to be married. Specifically to be married to Mia. 
  • Luckily I can pick more than one thing because our heroine is a romance novelist. I mean technically she writes sensational novels, but James very clearly plays the character as a romance writer, and even gives nods to fellow authors Julia Quinn and Lisa Kleypas in the novel by giving them 18th century pseudonyms and making them Mia’s fellow authors.
  • CHARLIE! I know some people just can’t when it comes to Moppets in romance novels, but not me! And James is particularly talented at crafting child-characters who actually read like real children instead of tiny ciphers.
  • “Duchess” - Okay, so there’s a whole thing ( a whole thing) in the novel about Vander and Mia trying to figure out what to call each other as they navigate their uneasy, somewhat unexpected marriage. And Vander takes to calling Mia “Duchess” - and all I’m going to say, since I don’t want to spoil the book, is that this is both hot, and the sweetest thing ever.
  • THE FORBIDDEN TROPE. Okay look, I sort of have to issue a warning for “forced seduction” (though I mean I’d personally call this instance more of a “heavily persuasive seduction” since Mia’s clearly into despite her better judgement) - because that is definitely the trope that James is evoking given Vander’s almost obsessive attraction to Mia and Mia’s determination to deny her own attraction to him (because of her reservations about her sexuality and her desire to protect her heart). I was surprised as fiddles to see James reach back for this Old School Trope, but sooooooo happy.  Because I love this trope - this trope that we’re supposed to forswear because of the rape stigma in the early genre - it’s my jam. Like unapologetically my jam.
  • The poem. So I posted about the poem earlier, and it is still just the cutest thing ever. 
  • UNCLE CHUFFY. If you try to tell me that you don’t like romance/sensational novel reading, Shakespeare quoting, drinking-to-bury-his-past, loving and lovable Uncle Chuffy, I will tell you that you are a liar.

What I could have lived without: 

(If I were a good, responsibly critical person I suppose I’d say the “forced seduction”…)

  • While relieved (as a reader), I was also slightly thrown out of sync by just how quickly Vander got over his rage at being blackmailed. One moment he was like a charging bull, but just a few days later, at the altar, he had apparently decided that this was actually going to work in his favor? He explains his reasons but they didn’t ring entirely true. So he might not be one of James’ best developed heroes. (Still love him though - dirty-stable-boy-at-heart that he is.)
  • I could ALWAYS use more Villiers. 

TL;DR ::

So basically I loved this book - which is unsurprising as I’ve loved all the Duchesses novels so far. I would definitely recommend giving this book a spin if you love complicated beginnings, inconvenient marriages of convenience, wall-sex (lots of it), and two stubborn people knocking heads (and boots) on the long, complicated, novel-strewn road to Happily Ever After.

magoro  asked:

Roadtrip mchanzo **/

“Listen, Angela…think y’can cover my shift?”

The woman in question peers up from her notepad to glance at her co-worker, who is flashing her what he probably thinks is a charming grin. Typical McCree, though it certainly isn’t going to sway her decision. After three years of serving tables by his side, she’s immune to his Southern Charm. However, as his friend, she’s prone to letting him off the hook on occasion. 

“What is it this time, Jesse?” Angela sighs, placing her pad in the pocket of her apron. “Is another pretty girl asking to take a drive in your car? Or are your delinquent friends trying to get you to go vandalize another abandoned building?”

“C’mon, you should know me better than that,” McCree scoffs, scratching the stubble around his chin. “When have I ever skipped work for either of those things?”

“Five times in the past two months,” she clarifies with a smug, matter-of-fact tone. “I keep track, you know.” 

“Goody two-shoes,” he mutters under his breath, prompting Angela to grab a nearby newspaper and smack it across his head. “Ow, watch it!”

“Unlike some people, I enjoy my job and would very much like to keep it,” she quips. “Reyes and Morrison would kill me if they knew I was covering for you again.”

“Those geezers? Nah, they’re too busy makin’ out in the backroom to notice I’m gone,” he snickers. Once again, Angela smacks him with the newspaper, only relenting once he holds his hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright, sorry!”

“Unless you’ve got a reasonable explanation as to why I need to cover your shift, the answer is no,” she sighs, pushing past McCree with a wave of her hand. “Try harder.”

“Hear me out then,” McCree insists, following right after her. “Instead of a pretty girl, it’s a pretty guy this time.”

Angela rolls her eyes and shoves a few menus in McCree’s arms, attempting to steer him toward the patrons settling down at the end of the counter. “And how is that supposed to change my mind?”

“Okay, okay, okay – just look over at table nine,” McCree murmurs, gesturing to the table in question. “That there is Genji’s older brother, and he just agreed to go on a joyride with yours truly. How can I pass that up?”

Despite her better judgement, Angels glances across the diner at where Genji’s brother is sitting. As much as she hates to admit it, he’s definitely attractive, much more than anyone else McCree has picked up before. A pretty face that can probably kick McCree’s ass six ways to Sunday – just his type, now that she thinks about it. Of course, that doesn’t change the fact he’s related to their co-worker and friend, who is too busy cooking up orders in the kitchen to catch onto McCree’s plan. 

“Does Genji know you’re interested in his brother?” She asks, tapping her fingers against her chin. 

“Does Miss Amari know y’spent the weekend at Fareeha’s dorm?” He counters, earning a scandalized gasp from Angela. “Yeah, I know ‘bout all of that. Fareeha’s like a sister to me, tells me everythin’ that goes on at that college of hers. It’d be a damn shame if Ana found out, wouldn’t it?”

“This is blackmail!” She hisses, grabbing McCree by the collar of his shirt. “If you think I’m going to cover for you now, you can take these menus and shove them up your–”

“Jesse, what is taking so long?”

When Angela releases McCree’s shirt, she realizes Hanzo is standing on the other side of the counter, looking rather confused by what he stumbled upon. McCree, as usual, is quick to flash his signature smirk and coolly lean across the counter, effectively grabbing Hanzo’s attention. It’s a pose Angela has seen all too often, prompting her to make a disgusted sound in the back of her throat. 

“Don’t mind her,” McCree chuckles, pulling back to glare at his friend. “She’s just a lil’ moody today, but thankfully she’s coverin’ for me. Right, Angela?”

With the threat of blackmail looming over her head, Angela grits her teeth and forces a fake smile. “Of course. You two have fun.” 

“Sweet!” McCree quietly cheers, hopping over the counter to join Hanzo. “Catch y’later, Angie!”

McCree grabs hold of Hanzo’s hand and whisks him toward the exit before Angela can even blink, probably worried that she might go back on her word before they even make it through the door. 

Instead, she simply sighs and tries to go about her business, mentally scolding herself for letting McCree dump his shift on her yet again. Thankfully, Genji will more than likely put McCree in his place – at least, once Angela clues him in on where his brother ran off to. 

Closed: First Meeting?

Looking around the practically desolate road she was on, Jess bit her lip and, despite her better judgement, walked toward the ominous looking bunker door. The last she remembered Brady had come over while she was baking cookies and now she was standing somewhere unknown in her nightgown? She just hoped wherever this was, Sam was inside waiting for her.  “Hello?” She called, knocking on the door with a frown, “Hey is anyone home?”  

The War Within


The first time she heard about it all was about a month after everything had gone to hell. Someone was hitting remaining Hydra cells, going through them like a vicious, vindictive hurricane. At first she didn’t put much stock in any of it, nor did she find any fault with it. It wasn’t like she hadn’t thought about it, but drawing attention to herself the choices she had made wasn’t the best idea and so she laid low.

The second time is around Christmas, but the chatter has shifted. An idea of who it is. She doesn’t believe it. She can’t. Yet something in the back of her mind knows, believes it to be fact. Yet she agrees with the news people, the analysts.

Steve Rogers would never be so unapologetically violent and hellbent on revenge.

She tries to ignore it all after that, but she can’t. Just like she couldn’t ignore the Winter Soldier after he almost killed her the first time. So she starts gathering intel, she starts building files and then she begins to track him, figuring out his movements. It gives her that sense of purpose she had lost in the wake of the Accords and her decision to let him and Barnes get passed. It gives her something to focus on besides the guilt slowly eating her from the inside out.

The truth of the matter didn’t help much in the long run. The fact Steve Rogers was behind it all… it made her stomach churn. This was something she would do, if she had the drive. It just doesn’t make sense, it doesn’t add up. But the facts were there and she couldn’t deny them even though she tried.

Despite her better judgement she begins to follow him, trailing him. A small part of her wants to help him, to figure out the reasons and then the rest of her wants to help him because she understands. She gets it, but everything in her wants to scream against it. She had been doing good for so long, being good, wiping away the red.

And then he goes the one place that makes sense for him to be and she hates it.

It isn’t that she doesn’t go to Russia, won’t go there… she’d just rather not if she can help it even if she does have a safe house in the country. But at the same time, if she was going to hide from the United States somewhere, this would be exactly one of those places.

But the deeper she gets, the more she realizes that he isn’t just hiding here. He’s hunting and where he’s hunting both makes her blood boil and go cold at the same time.

She knows this place and she thought by now it would be gone, something else, but it isn’t. Hydra would take up residence here and maybe they had never left. Maybe they had been the one holding her strings too, it would make sense. But the idea of Steve Rogers here inside her own personal hell causing utter chaos is almost more than she can bear. She wonders if he knows, if he’s put two and two together. She almost hopes he’s no longer here, that she’s missed him again as she reluctantly places her hand on the banister to go up the stairs as she steels her mind against the memories that threaten.

“You’ll break them.”

“Only the breakable ones. You’re made of marble. We’ll celebrate after the graduation ceremony.”

“What if I fail?”

“You never fail.”

Dance With Me

Written as a song request, for “Can You Keep a Secret?” by The Cab (Requested by anon) (Sorry if this isn’t what you hoped for, but listening to the song, this is what came out. Feel free to send another request if it isn’t what you wanted.)

Summary: After quite possibly the worst day of your life, Dean finds you in a club.
Words: 1,667
Dean x Reader
Warnings: Death (semi-graphic), mentions of alcohol abuse

Your name: submit What is this?

You were never one forgoing to bars and clubs for fun. Sure, some hunts meant that it was necessary in order to talk to some potential witnesses or scout out who could be your suspect. You often found yourself looking down upon the patrons that seemed to want nothing more than to drink themselves into a messy, babbling stupor.

But, tonight, that’s exactly what you wanted to do.

Keep reading

The Heroes Gambit

Juggling a long con, several disguises and a chance at revenge,  Vox Machina’s second casino night may turn out to be much more lucrative than the first

For the CritRole Reverse Bang, to match @curriebelle​‘s beautiful art

It turned out slightly longer than 2,000 words. For ease of reading it is also on AO3

The Luck’s Run casino was always bustling. In the five days she’d been staying there, she had yet to see it truly in a lull. Tonight, though, it seemed as if half Marquet was pressed together on the floor. The promise of a new performer and a duel in the fighting pits tomorrow encouraged all kinds of people to part with their hard won coin.

She, on the other hand, was afforded a little more breathing space. Being a high roller and a valued client kept a seat reserved for her at her favored game and a bouncer’s discouraging eye on the riff raff - which was part of why she looked up in surprise when someone pulled out the seat beside her.

“Is the Lady feeling favorable tonight?” the intruder asked, his accent smooth and sounding of somewhere far away.

He was handsome and pale, with aristocratic features and a shock of white hair that stood out starkly against his clothing. If his accent hadn’t marked him as an outsider, his clothing would have; no one in Marquet wore black in such a way. Next to his monochrome appearance, the vivid blood red of her dress stood out even more.

“Avandra’s blessings are fleeting this evening,” she replied evenly, unsure whether the strange man was worthy of her time. “The goddess’s favour comes and goes at no one’s will.”

“So it always is with gods. But it’s your favour I’m devoted to earning.” His smile was charming enough and despite her better judgement, she warmed a little.

“Devoted, hmm?”

“Of course.” He glanced at the table and back at her, his gaze pausing on the neckline of her dress just long enough to be flattering before he met her eyes again. “After all, if I wish to play, it seems I am at your mercy.”

She chuckled and shrugged the fur stole from her shoulders, leaving her decolletage invitingly bare. “I do like a man who knows his place.” Tipping her head just slightly toward the table and the poised dealer, she indicated he should sit. “For the moment though, you may as well join the game.”

She waited until he’d pulled out his chair before holding out a hand to stop him. “You have played before?”

Rather than pause, he simply took her hand in his own as he sat. “Played and won. Might I know your name? Or shall I simply refer to you as the Goddess of Beauty?

That was laying it on a little thick, but she permitted herself a small smile. “Countess Velora Whitewood of Kymal.”

The name rolled easily off Vex’s tongue after five days of constant use.

“I am Frederick,” Percy said as he bowed over her hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles through the gloves that Vex had worn to hide her archer’s calluses. “Delighted to meet you.”

Keep reading

cosmosbonded  asked:


albs I don’t have four things I’m bitter about so I’m breaking rank here 

6) Raven 👏 trusted 👏 and 👏 cared 👏 for 👏 Terra 👏 and 👏 that 👏 makes 👏 Terra’s 👏 arc 👏 better 👏 not 👏 worse

Okay but think about it. You could either have a simplified narrative where girl gets jealous that new girl is coming in and ~stealing her man~, never trusts her, gets proven right


Girl gets jealous that a new girl is coming in that gets along with her team better and never seems to have to fight for her place on the team, for control of her powers, fight her own insecurities and demons, sees the romance subplot as further evidence of this, decides that (with prompting from her friends!) that it is good to give second chances and she chooses to trust and care for Terra despite her better judgement, then see that thrown not only in her face but those of her friends for something she should’ve been able to foresee and protect them from if she hadn’t been stupid, hadn’t craved connection and let her guard down.

And she of anyone would know what it’s like to be used (her body & powers) for an evil she didn’t want to give in to and knew the strength it takes to fight it and knew the cost and took Terra’s story as a literal tale of terror but she forgave her because wouldn’t she want people to forgive her in turn???

Of course parts of this second scenario can apply to the first too but come on, cry with me.

Also consider: Terra’s arc while Raven is hit by gay thoughts (it works better than you’d think)

To Thaw
(would be the sweetest surrender)

Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire
Pairing: Aegon VI/Sansa Stark
Rating: T
Summary: The Silver King of the South offers love and promises to the North—and the Winter Queen thaws.
Mirrors: ; ao3
Nota: Best read while listening to From Gold by Novo Amor.

The silence is deafening as the two halves of two kingdoms break apart.

His implication hangs thick in the air. Marry me, and together we will right all the wrongs that have befallen our Realm.

Snow falls over their heads just as the wind sings its songs through the trees. Sansa shivers despite herself, for Targaryens have been known for taking what they desired without objection. And oh, how Aegon wants her (and maybe an inkling of a little bird’s ghost inside her may have wanted him to want her all along).

But in her years of learning the game, and the succeeding years of having played it, Sansa had learned, among everything else, that love seldom held its place alongside duty.

The Winter Queen loves her family; she loves her council, her court, and her crown—but she finds it hard to bear within her the bane of learning to love anyone else besides.

But King Aegon has, without a doubt, undone her, and it is with a heavy heart that she’s kissed him among the grove of the Old Gods, and allowed the act to plant such foolish words onto his mouth.

Sansa inches away from the Silver King to take refuge beneath the heart tree. Wherein the face in the old weirwood would have unsettled her otherwise, now its timeless stare only serves to instil within her a sense of comfort and safety. At least here, sheltered beneath its knowing arms, Sansa can attest that they’re never truly alone—her and this King from the South.

When the Queen of the North finally finds her voice, she draws her furs tighter around herself and chides him with such flawless composure. “You’d best learn well from history that this is no wise move, Your Grace.”

Aegon frowns like she knows he would.

“Why?” he asks plainly (as if it’s a question of sums—or whether east is really where the sun rises and west is truly where it sets). “Is it because you’re a Stark and I’m a Targaryen?”

Those pale violet eyes find hers again, and Sansa becomes very much thankful for the distance. Otherwise they would have drawn her back in without incident—and that is the last thing she wants to surrender to at the moment.

She doesn’t flinch, nor does she thaw under his stare; she believes it too gentle to be real. Life is not a song, she reminds herself (like a prayer from lifetimes ago), though it doesn’t need to be to sing—and oh how she’d sing of him and those gentle eyes if a Queen had not grown out from the skins of a foolish girl. “It may very well be.”

Sansa can almost imagine it: can taste it on her lips the same way she’s tasted it on him not only moments ago. She can almost taste love—and the prospect of singing and singing and making a home by his side.

But a Queen is made of stronger things than songs, and the stories she used to glorify have always been half-truths, if not lesser. At the end of the day, she could not bear to undo all that she’s done for her kingdom—all for a King in the South where her childhood horrors cloyed in the shadows.

And so Sansa doesn’t have to force the next words out of her mouth. They’re the truth; they’re her freedom from a game she’s outlived, outgrown, and eventually stopped playing.

“I am already a queen; and as a daughter of the North turned its Mother, my place is here.”

There it is again: the deafening silence.

From the look on his face, Aegon knows this is something he wouldn’t dare spirit away with fire and blood.

Instead, he reaches out for her, all warmth and promises. She doesn’t recoil like Alayne Stone would have urged her to do, in all her carefulness. No: Sansa Stark closes her eyes, the distance, and her arms around his neck as she allows the Silver King to kiss her again.

Fire and Ice.

“But, My Queen, you must be mistaken,” the King breathes against her. He worries her lip with such sweetness that the pulse on her wrist flutters when he grabs hold of her hand. It’s cold to the touch and cannot find a cause for calm—more so when he finally pulls back and looks at her, half-hidden beneath those beautiful lashes.

“I believe your place might actually be here.” He leads her hand’s journey to rest against his beating heart. “I can feel it.”

Her hands warm; her cheeks warm. In that moment—despite her cold, better judgement—the Winter Queen almost thaws to a pool beneath her Southern King’s feet.

Down In The Crypt

[Closed starter for @straight-out-of-65]

It had been a relatively hectic week since Kyung had returned after having to recover from an incident that seemed to linger like a dark cloud over her head.  Hearing John say such a thing might have hurt her deeply, but she didn’t feel any hard feelings towards the guitarist for it in the slightest, didn’t she?  No matter what she did to distract herself, nor how much she managed to temporarily keep herself focused long enough to catch up with her school work, nothing seemed to keep away the heavy feeling in her heart that only continued to weigh her down.  So, she figured that taking a visit to her grandfather’s nightclub would do her some good, maybe even play her glass harmonica for the crowd to earn some more cash on the side.  As Kyung was trudging down the sidewalk with her backpack slung over her shoulder, the Korean wore a rather sullen frown on her face as her eyes were pointed downwards… 

Until she could begin to hear the sound of screaming, and stampeding crowds in the distance behind her.  Forcing herself to return to reality, Kyung turned partially to see what the source of the noise was coming from.  It didn’t take long before, lo and behold, she recognized the Beatles running for their lives away from a massive crowd of crazy fans.  At first, her initial reaction was to hide so the lads didn’t see her.  But instead, she nearly froze in place, staring at the oncoming stampede like a deer caught in headlights until she snapped out of her gaze.  Despite her better judgement, Kyung made up her mind, and moved a bit closer into the lads’ sights before waving them over towards an opening in the alleyway she was about to enter.

“You four!  In here!” She called out, hoping that the Beatles could hear her without the crowd catching onto them.  

tsvety-ss  asked:

Hey! ^^ MitsuSara -“we’ve been best friends for practically our whole lives but you’re a thousand times more popular than me so you dragged me to a big party and now we’re playing spin the bottle and you spin and it lands on me oh crap” au. Pls! And thanks!

Send me a prompt and a pairing, and I’ll write you a oneshot! :)

rating: T
a/n: i like mitsusara way too much now and it seems with the new update, mitsuki might be exactly how i hoped he’d be even if he’s not a suika kiddo. so i can definitely give you an AU ;)

Despite herself, she trusts him, against her better judgement and his not-so-sparkling track record, she goes along with him.

She should’ve listened to Papa, because Papa is nearly always right (unless he’s up against Mama, of course). “Don’t do anything you don’t feel one-hundred percent comfortable doing,” he explained to her when she couldn’t make a decision, with Mama nodding along. "If you don’t want to go to the party, don’t go.” 

Her Papa, of course, was right. She knew she didn’t want to go, knew she didn’t want to trail along after her stupid best friend to some crazy “rager” she wasn’t even invited to, but he said it’d be fun.

He said they’d have a great time. He said there was no reason to be uncomfortable, or to feel weird about it. He said that if she wanted people to like her, that she should start participating, whatever that means, even though she’s told him a million times that she doesn’t want people to like her—or, well, that she doesn’t particularly care. 

Sarada isn’t particularly interested in people desperately wanting to be her friend, like Mitsuki, isn’t particularly interested in having a phone full of numbers with names she can’t put to faces, having ins on the latest gossip, or plans after plans after plans for every day of the week, just in case.

Sarada is perfectly content with how things are, thank you very much. Not that there’s anything wrong with what Mitsuki has, Sarada just has a different idea of a social life: one that involves, quite simply, her far and few friends, particularly quiet nights, her (embarrassing) parents, and Mitsuki.

Not that she’ll ever tell him that.

She sighs as she watches him talk to some girl she doesn’t really know, someone in their class, she’s sure. The girl giggles, and places a dainty hand on her best friend’s shoulder, batting her long eyelashes at something she finds particularly charming. Mitsuki flashes her a charming, toothy smirk before telling her he’ll, “catch her later.”

Is this what I’m here for? she thinks. To watch Mitsuki flirt with other girls? She frowns. 

Lost in her thoughts, she doesn’t realize the boy is already standing next to her again, an amused look on his face. “If you glare any harder, you’ll burn down the house, Sara.”

She moves her glare from the floor to her friend. “This is stupid.”

He rolls his eyes. “This is fun,” he corrects her. “You just don’t know how to enjoy yourself, that’s all.”

She scowls. “I know how to have fun.”

“Yeah, and I can fly,” he teases. “Why don’t you let me get you a drink?”

She shakes her head and sighs. “You know very well that I don’t drink.”

“Maybe you should.” He grins.

She sticks her tongue out at him. “Sorry, not interested.” She looks around the party, tries to spot some familiar faces, but all she sees is her idiot cousin, Boruto, and some girl from her math class whose name she can’t place. “Isn’t there anything fun to do around here?”

He wiggles his eyebrows, snakes an arm around her shoulder. “There’s always something fun to do—”

“Mitsu!” she yells, and elbows him in the stomach, sufficiently pushing him away from her. 

Instead of making any indication of pain, he howls in laughter. “I was just kidding!”

“It wasn’t funny!” she counters with a frown.

“Oh, you don’t even know funny!” He waves her off with a hand. “You’re so bland.”

She rolls her eyes. “I resent that.”

“Yeah, well—”

“It’s time for spin the bottle, bitches!” a voice interrupts them, a loud one she knows to be her annoying cousin who sounds too much like her Uncle sometimes. “Everybody in the den!”

She purses her lips. “I’m not playing that.”

“Oh yes, you are.” He grabs her wrist and begins yanking her toward the festivities.

She doesn’t really put up a fight.

He pushes her down onto a chair in the corner, and grins. “I’m gonna go find a spot, okay? Talk. Make nice. Do something.”

Before she can call after him and ask him to stay, he’s already half way across the room. He plops himself down next to Boruto, and gives her cousin a punch in the arm she’s sure hurts sufficiently enough. It makes her smile.

“I’ll go first!” Boruto yells with a shit-eating grin she’s sure he learned from his father. He places the glass beer bottle on the floor and spins it nearly a little too quickly. It lands a few moments later on that girl that had been flirting with Mitsuki earlier.

She rolls her eyes, but leans in anyway, planting a big wet one on the blonde that grosses Sarada out more than she’d like. After a few moments of making out that’s a little too intimate, Mitsuki pulls the boy back.

“That’s enough, Uzumaki,” he says with a smirk of his own. “If you’d like to carry on, get a room, please.”

He grins. “Maybe I will.”

She hears the girl say, “as if,” but Boruto doesn’t pursue it, anyway.

“Guess that means your next, man,” he says with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

Mitsuki rolls his eyes. “Guess it does.” He leans forward and grabs the bottle, and she notices all the girls lean in.

Sarada knows about the attention Mitsuki gets, particularly from the female population. She knows the looks they give him, the way the lean into when he talks, and the way they bat their eyelids, and touch his arm. She knows the affect he has on the female persuasion, including the affect he has on her.

He spins the bottle.

She watches it turn, just as quickly as Boruto had spun it, watches it begin to slow. It turns the corner at the girl who had been flirting with him, begins slowing at a group of giggling girls she doesn’t really know, nearly comes to a pause at a girl with hitched breath right next to her, and stops.

In front of her.

“Oh, crap.”

Sarada looks up at her best friend with wide eyes, his expression not far from hers. She barely registers the words he just said, barely registers the whispers surrounding them. She only hears her heartbeat.

“Uh…” Boruto says over the crowd. “Are you guys going to kiss, or?”

She shakes her head. “No, that’s okay, I think—”

“Sure,” he says, and shrugs. He stands up, and walks toward her since she’s across the room, and it’s silent. She doesn’t stand up; everybody watches them as he leans down to her face, and shoots her a toothy grin. “Sorry about this, Sara.”

And he kisses her.

She doesn’t know what to do for a moment, eyes wide as he pushes his lips against hers. They’re soft, and warm, and she’s never felt anything like it. Slowly, she shuts her eyes, and decides to lean into him, angling her head for better leverage. She wraps her arms around his neck, fingers the fine hairs at the nape.

He continues to kiss her begins probing her sealed entrance with his tongue. She opens her mouth in shock, and he takes that as a cue to trace her teeth, and flick her tongue with his own. She gasps into his mouth, and tugs a little at his hair.

When he finally pulls away, they’re both breathing hard.

“What the fuck was that, Mitsuki?” Boruto yells. “You were supposed to kiss my cousin, not have sex with her mouth!”

He smirks, turns around, and doesn’t say a word as he plops down next to the blonde.

At the end of the game, Mitsuki finds her with a toothy grin on his face. “Ready to go? Wouldn’t want to put you through any more torture.”

She shrugs, and smiles. “It wasn’t that bad.”

He looks shocked for a moment, raises an eyebrow in confusion, before settling back into his usual smirk. “Is that so?”

Then her smile turns into a smirk, a smirk she learned from her father, and she says, “Except for that kiss—you could definitely use some practice.” 

Closed for ygo-opm-fun


Shun held his side as he limped through the hall, trying to find Ruri. He worried about her running off into academia to find Kaito and so despite better judgement, he was now looking for her. His body was pulsating, screaming for a rest. He really needed to learn the definition of take it easy because he had been awake from his coma for less than 24 hours and his body was nowhere near healed from the rubble striking him.

Pausing finally, he leant against the wall and closed his eyes, panting, refusing to slide to the ground. god he hurt.

▊▋( @earthlyprayer • call )  

       ❛ Oh – my apologies. I didn’t mean to stare. ❜ 

       Daydream is the better term, truly. There’s no excuse for even a momentary lapse of manners and decorum – for softness, no matter that they are, for the time being, away from the battlefield. She should feel ashamed, and she will when she has the time to reflect, but despite her better judgement she can’t help the spark of warmth that wants to make itself known in her chest. 

       ❛ I just couldn’t help but admire the embroidery on your dress. It’s lovely. And it’s held up so well through this arduous trek. ❜