dim of the yard

anonymous asked:

I currently have 16 days left of school and I'm very stressed out to the point, where I'm vomiting. Anyways, could you possibly write a very fluffy scenario with either 76 or Jesse and them trying to calm and relax their s/o?? Thank you so much sugar!! 🌸

I’m SO sorry this is a few days late!! I’ve been hella stressed myself and finally caught up on my classwork from being sick with a cold. I hope you feel better really soon and I hope that this helps make you feel a little better! I send lots of love and hugs and support and positivity spells your way!

So, how about 76 AND Jesse? :0


Jesse McCree

“Jesse, usually, when your romantic partner is stressed, your job as their romantic partner is help them chill out, not kick them out of their home for hours!” You pressed your thumb and forefinger against the bridge of your nose and you waited for your boyfriend to reply on the other end of the receiver. You sat in a large squishy armchair in some random study cafe, waiting for your dear, dorky significant other to allow you to come home.

“I’m sorry, darlin’, I really am!” McCree exclaimed over the droning chatter that went on in the background on his end. “Just promise me you won’t head home until I tell ya to. I’m planning something fun fer us. It’ll help calm ya down, I promise.”

You sighed softly but a small smile graced your lips anyways. He was going overboard but at least he was trying his best.

“Fine,” you replied. “Just don’t take forever.”

You settled down in your big leather armchair and occupied yourself with casual mobile games and the occasional drink refill until, more than a couple hours later, Jesse shot a text your way: “Mosey on home lil darllin’, I got a surprise 4 you” ending with a smiling cowboy emoji. With a snicker, you paid and made your way home.

“Cowman?” you hollered as you made your way into your house. Your boyfriend was nowhere to be found but you could hear rattling in the backyard.

As if to confirm your suspicions, Jesse hollered from the backyard patio, “Out here, sweet pea! I’m just finishing setting up!”

“This better be good, cowman!” You snorted and tossed your jacket in the entryway closet before making your way through the small house and out to the backyard, where you stopped and gasped.

The patio had been transformed into a gazebo of sorts, with dark blue and cream-colored sheets hanging off the roof’s overhang and draped over the railings. Dim, white leftover Christmas lights decorated the stair rail leading into the yard, as well as the patio swing and he back door. A nest of sleeping bags and blankets covered the side adjacent to the patio swing, bordered by several TV dinner trays holding snacks and a portable holographic DVD player.

Beyond the patio, the backyard was surrounded by black night, though more dim lights seemed to flit around in the bushes of your garden, matching the stars that twinkled in the sky. The picnic table that was usually hidden along one side of the house, due to lack of company, had been moved to the yard’s center, cleaned up, and covered with a thick blanket. Sitting on the edge of the table was McCree, wearing his best faded plaid shirt and jeans, holding his arms out wide and sporting a cocky, welcoming grin.

“Whadd’ya think?”

“Christ, McCree,” you murmured, stepping off the last step into into the yard, “I was expecting dinner or a musical or something, not all this.”

“You were having an especially rough time, so I created an especially great night fer us.” The cowboy slipped off the table and strolled over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close. He kissed your forehead before turning you around to have your back against his chest and facing the backyard scenery once again. Resting his chin on your shoulder and pressing his lips against your ear, he continued in a low, slow voice, “So, ‘ere’s my plan. First, we’ll lay out here on the picnic table and stargaze for a bit. Just talk and stuff. Then, after it gets cold, we’ll migrate to the fort where we’ll cozy up, pig out, and watch an awesome collection of old Westerns and cheesy musicals until we fall doze off. How’s that sound?”

“Absolutely amazing, Jesse.” You placed your hands over his where they lightly rubbed your waist and turned your head to kiss his scruffy jaw. “Thank you so much.”

“Nothing’s too much for you, sweetheart,” your favorite cowman replied. He returned the kiss before releasing you, then placing a hand in yours to lead you tothe blanket-clad picnic table to start your cozy nightly adventure.

(Soldier 76 under the cut)

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roseymama  asked:

My birthday was last week (5/21) but if you're in a lull and want to backtrack I love fluff and/or arranged marriage situations.

Originally posted by datemisstravel

How very fitting that our last story at everlarkbirthdaydrabbles is in response to what was, in fact, our very first submission! We’ve held onto this an entire year, gleefully looking forward to the day that we could fulfil this request! So happy birthday to you @roseymama, this incredible piece of Everlark was crafted just for you by the most wonderful @appleblossomgirl0305!

Blessed Accidents

A/N: Happy, happy day, birthday girl! I hope you have an incredible birthday and phenomenal year to come! (I also hope you have nothing else to do today besides eat cake and read this, as it is embarrassingly far too long for a drabble.)

To the @everlarkbirthdaydrabbles angels that have made this birthday gift exchange possible, thank you so, so much. You have done something so beautiful for the entire fandom.

Rated M

Trigger warning: parental abandonment

Katniss couldn’t put her finger on exactly what was wrong. She could feel it, gnawing insistently at the back of her mind like a headache coming on, but couldn’t figure out what had thrown her so off-balance. At nearly eighteen, Katniss had spent the past six years keeping her small family alive, a finely calibrated existence that kept them skimming just above oblivion. She was well aware that any small disaster could be their undoing, so she was vigilant in her watchfulness.

She glanced over at Prim, who was sitting at the kitchen table, schoolwork open in front of her. Katniss followed her sister’s eyes as she cast a worried look at their mother, who was making tea in the small kitchen.

Katniss’ eyes narrowed as she took in her mother, her blond hair brushing against her shoulders as she swayed back and forth, humming quietly to herself. As Katniss scrutinized her, her mother turned dreamily towards the window and closed her eyes, smiling into the soft morning light. This can’t be good, thought Katniss. But if anything, her mother looked perfectly healthy, robust even.

As she and Prim walked to school, Katniss did a quick mental inventory of her mother’s recent behavior and found no warning signs of the crippling depression that had nearly killed them all. If anything, lately her mother had seemed the opposite, too… happy. It had taken years after their father’s death for her mother to crawl out of the chasm of her grief. In the past few years, she had even resumed work as a healer, training Prim to assist her and freeing Katniss up to dedicate more of her time to hunting and their continued survival. But the humming and private smiles were new. Katniss scowled, if her mother was going to fall apart again, she needed to figure out how to protect Prim.

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Backyard Champagne

I want them to get drunk together in the woods behind their parent’s house.

The music and murmurs of the party blurred into a dull ruckus through the forest. Lexa inhaled the deep mossy air of her backyard and took another swig from the champagne bottle that tapped against her thigh.

Inside, people were looking for her, to congratulate her, to wish her well, to send her off. Her parents were toasting with the fanciest wines, with their fanciest friends, with their fanciest clothes, and all Lexa wanted was to not have to smile along and agree with what they said.

So she took to the backyard to escape the smothering that came with congratulations for her degree. The summer evening chilled her bare legs, but she fought against it anyway.

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Happiest Place on Earth

Written for the 100 Kinks List,  #27 Inappropriate location - requested by @ancoowner and @kittenofdoomage Summer Lovin’ Challenge. My prompt was amusement park.   

Author: Dean’s Dirty Little Secret

Characters:  Demon!Dean x female reader

Word Count: 1732

Warnings: explicit language, nsfw, explicit sexual content, smut, unprotected sex, maybe dubious consent (if you squint), rough sex, public sex, some voyeurism,

Author’s Notes: This does not take place in Disneyland, just a random made up amusement park. I stole their logo for the title. This was fun to write! I hope you enjoy it!

Originally posted by nocturnal--soul

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Frantic footsteps echoed through the long, dark hallways of the Underground. Amall was running by his lonesome, easily a death sentence for any other person when traversing the tunnels, but he knew exactly where he was and where he needed to go. Every twenty-five yards there was a small, dim maintenance light on the bottom of the walls – a standard fixture for the main tunnels that were still connected to the power grid – and Amall kept count as he passed them to track his current location. His lungs burned and his legs ached, but he knew if he stopped moving now, his demise would be that much closer to him.

The noises of motorcycle engines had died off not long ago, but with the way sound traveled down below, Amall was unsure of when or where they had stopped. Either way, his pursuers were on foot or found some more silent means of transportation, and either way, that meant they were confident enough that they could catch up with him. 

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anonymous asked:

Can you do a blurb with Calum based off the song 400 LUX by lorde :)? Thank you, incredible writing.

++ [cont.]  Also, for the 400 lux blurb, please dont forget about the orange juice part, thanks sorry x)

ofc lovey, im glad you enjoy my writing xx 

so i m a g i n e tying the final knots of your ripped, dirty pair of Converse before grabbing your phone from the bottle ornate nightstand. There were always bottles around, empty with traces of his lips and saliva oozing memories of the words he said and the feelings he always left. You shut off the lights right then, the only light being your open window to allow the moon to pour in. Shoving your phone in the back pocket of your shorts, you grip onto the windowsill and pop your head out to look around. Your eyes scanned around your front yard, lights off and dim from the other houses, with desire to spot him. Then you did. 

“C’mon, lovely,” hummed Calum Hood, his being a little far to your liking as you threw one leg out the window. You twist your torso out before releasing the other leg. Touching the ground, you put your hands in and shut the window just a little bit in your bedroom, just ensuring that you can return with ease. You had thanked your parents mentally for allowing you to reside in the first floor of your room. 

“Hello there, dashing,” you whispered, walking over slowly to grab the ends of his red flannel. Calum looked down at you, his face shadowed but those brown eyes breaking through to ogle you happily. The large, calloused hands clipped your waist and pulled you close, forcing you on your toes to press your lips upon the plump ones before you. It was a quick, chaste kiss, all to your dismay, but the two of you had to escape urgently. 

“Ready?” Calum muttered, his nasally voice croaky and a little raspy. Made sense to the familiar smell of cigarette you whiffed in when pecking his lips. 


So there you were, sat in shotgun with a beer in your hand and a seat belt still by your side, unable to protect you. Empty beer bottles clinked with one another where your feet should be, the poison already downed and the only things to remain were the glass entities. You propped your feet up on the dashboard, looking over to admire the beating heart that drove the car. 

Calum looked so handsome, your vision always altered whenever the headlights kissed Calum’s face. His skin, toned with the perfect shade of caramel, shined lovingly from the lights you two kept passing. His plump lips were chapped and shining with liquor, the stubble underneath prickly but did some justice to his chin and jawline. His eyes looked immensely focused on the road, but Calum always dared to glance over at you with a glistening in those chocolate orbs. Those eyes were bloodshot, you noticed. It was partially your fault, if you were to be frank. Constantly breaking night with the boy, wanting nothing more than to be the sidekick of a murderer who killed time. But Calum reassured you, claiming he wanted nothing more than to lose sleep in order to spend as many minutes as he could with you. 

“M’hungry, babe,” you muttered, your eyes diverting back to the road only for them to twitch as you drove along the highway. Too, too fast. “Can we stop somewhere?” 

“I actually need gas right now,” Calum murmured. The car slowly came to a stop, a sudden traffic aggravating you as Calum numbly propped his wrists upon the steering wheel. You felt dizzy when seeing his veins bulge teasingly from the motion. They danced all over his hands, the toned things ornate with ink and licked with the perfect tone of bronze. Calum looked over at you and revealed a warm smile. “‘Ow about a sandwich at the station?” 

“Sounds about right,” you muttered, smiling widely as you leaned forward to steal a kiss. Your hands quickly clung upon his sharp, broad shoulders for aid, keeping yourself hoisted up as you felt Calum’s teeth clatter with yours for a moment. His chapped lips gnawed on your bottom lip, his cool tongue grazing it every so few as he swallowed your moans. You attempted to shove your tongue into his mouth, but Calum had been far too stubborn and busy, You freed one hand from his shoulder and grabbed his jaw, straightening him a bit to tilt your head and take control. Meeting his tongue, yours swirled around it, taking in the cold, moist entity. 

“Fuck, Y/N,” Calum groaned, having you smile on his lips before resuming. You loved this, but it felt so dirty. The honking of cars, the idea of cars around you as you sucked on your lovers lips. They could politely fuck off, their leering eyes probably mooching at the moment they held. Fuck the highway. 

Soon, the traffic cleared and Calum led you both through a road between the sets of houses in the suburbs. You smiled, lazily looking out of your open window as you saw the lifeless homes you passed. Trees hung above you, leaves falling around with others daring to hang loosely from their branches, ready to be independent. Overwhelming security surged through you, as if no one could hear and you could yell everything at Calum without anything blinking an eye or voicing an opinion. 

Calum freed a hand from the wheel to place it on your knee for a warm squeeze, and all of a sudden, you believed in heaven. 

When Calum pulled into the gas station, you quickly downed your last sip of alcohol before allowing it to join with the rest of the bottles. The car shut off, and Calum escaped from it to tend to the pump. You decide these bottles were annoying and escaped as well, taking as many as you could hold into your hand before carefully walking over to the recyclables area in front of the gas station. You kept doing this until the car was free of hollow bottles and the only thing that remained was your hollow self. You should burst into tears at such a thought, but knew Calum would join you and that would just enlarge the void. 

“What would you like, love?” Calum asked you with an ever so gentle tone as he bent down and leaned upon your open window. You tugged at the sweatshirt you stole from the boy, the sleeves coming up to cover more of your hands. You stared at him wistfully, bringing your hands to his to play with the long, bony fingers. 

“The usual, of course,” you murmured as if Calum had been insane to forget. But you knew he didn’t, and he knew that you knew that. That boy knows you like the back of his damn hand, and the front of it if need be.

“I’ll be right back, then,” Calum spewed, going forward to plant a kiss on your forehead before you watched his figure cautiously walk to the gas station. Though knowing he’ll be fine, you prayed that no cars came through and accidentally hit your favorite person. Your eyes kept still at the gas station, waiting for his return. 

But alas, Calum made his trip swiftly as the gas was almost done pumping. A car stopped to let him walk pass. He walked towards you in his ripped skinny jeans and dropped a bag on your lap before tending to the pump again. You fish through the items,  taking out your hot, foil-wrapped sandwich before smiling down at the product that followed: a small carton of Tropicana orange juice with a bendy straw. 

“Thank you, bub,” you sounded from the car, seeing Calum raise a hand in attentiveness as he pulled his father’s debit card from the pump. You leave Calum’s items in the bag, putting it where the cup holders ornate with change and buts of blunts and cigarettes to take your sandwich from the dashboard. You sat properly now, with the area your feet resided at was clean from the bottles that no longer served any purpose. 

He joined you soon, pulling out the gas gun from the car before putting it back and hopping into the car. He turned it on briskly before driving it solely a few feet from the pump and into the small parking area the gas station owned. Letting it sit on and ready up again, Calum pressed the heating on when he noticed you tremble slightly in chills. 

“The night is cold, you know,” Calum hummed as he pulled out his BLT. You opened the straw and stabbed the carton open with it. “You can’t be wearing shit like that so carelessly.” 

“But I did,” you mumbled as you picked up one of the halves of your meal and took a bite. He was talking about the shorts, of course. “I knoo you’d keep me warm.” Your words left muffled from the chewed food that sat in your mouth. 

“I’ll always keep you warm,” Calum murmured in response as he looked distantly up at the dark space and the freckles of stars. “I wonder how long we’ll be doing this.” 

“As long as it takes,” you replied. Lettuce hung from the end of your mouth. 

“Dunno how long you’re gonna last it,” Calum replied with a soft chuckle. It wasn’t a challenging tone but more genuine curiosity. He never wanted it to end, you agreeing that you didn’t either. Even if it sounded disgusting dark and cruel. You giggled, looking over to throw the piece of loose lettuce at him. 

“Ha, have you seen your eyes?” 

“Have you seen yours?” 

“Touché.” You then looked distantly at the other off, still cars in the lot with yours. “Why? Are you over this already?” 

“I’ll never be over this,” Calum highlighted, ensuring you never got the wrong idea. “I just wonder what you get out of this. All you have is me.” You snickered at this, somewhat not being able to believe Calum’s insecure words. 

“I love it when you take me away from my home,” you hummed. “I love it when we go down the roads, the houses remaining constant. Where they are muted by anything we have to say, if we wanted to say anything. I love it when the lights kiss us in the dark, attempting to lead us away from everything else and towards the unimaginable.” 


“I love leaving the dangers of the city and the nastiness that is the highway we always go on,” you spewed. “I love going into the safety of the trees and the clean roads, and porches and how everything goes slow. I love all of that– and I like you.” 

Calum could only snort before replying, “just like?” 

“You’d inflate too much if I said something more,” you snickered at the boy, feeling his hand go over and pinch the tip of your nose. “Oi, Calum!” 

“You’re a loser,” Calum said through soft chuckles. “But I like it.” You playfully slapped his hand away, rolling your eyes as you looked into his brown orbs. 

“’Just like?’” You mocked, having him stare at you with sudden desire before catching your chin and pulling you for a warm kiss on the lips. 

shwoops sorta long x

Five Minutes

Rules are: write a title, set a timer for five minutes, and write like mad! Post whatever you come up with, whether it’s turned into a story or not. Feel free to join! (And to tweak a few sentences once the timer runs out. No judgement! It’s just for fun.) (I changed this to five minutes to allow a little more time to explore the ideas. Let me know what you think!)

Garden Faeries

I leave a handful of seeds outside my garden gate when I plant in the spring.
The faeries don’t like it if I forget them. They like to plant their own little gardens, sometimes beneath my flowerpots, sometimes under the porch in the front yard where the light is dim and the mice leave their little droppings. The faeries don’t like it when I forget. If I do, they’ll take their own seeds when my plants are grown. They climb the stalks of the tall sunflowers and pry seeds out of the bobbing heads, they burrow into my pumpkins and squash and leave holes after they’ve dragged their prizes out. I’ve caught them a few times at such games, but I don’t have the heart to scold them for long. They look so funny with pumpkin goop in their fiery hair and smeared on their little faces. They try to hide the seeds when I catch them, but pumpkins seeds are so large, almost bigger than they themselves are. They never manage it.
But I am never cross.
I like them in my gardens. They dig the potatoes for me, because I tell them that we are digging for treasure that the moles have buried. They tickle my geraniums, tease my peas, pick my beans. They like my bird bath best of all. They chase the sparrows and chickadees away when they want to have a wash, usually in the early morning or late evening when I am working in the beds.
I scold them, but I don’t mind. Not really. I like them in my gardens.

Stay With Me - Submission from user @mvrcy

From @mvrcy to @missvadner

At 11:23 P.M. on October 25th, 2077, Sombra told Satya the truth.

She’d been baiting along the architech for months in hopes of getting an inside contact to retrieve information for her on Vishkar, find someway to blackmail “Symmetra” into helping her using the dirt she’d dug up on the corporation. But after a few preparatory emails and months of digging through files and records, it was clear that Satya, despite having a high rank in the corporation, knew next to nothing about Vishkar’s true dealings.

And with that realization came a sense of duty that was wholly foreign to Sombra. Satya didn’t deserve to be remembered as some high-ranking Vishkar employee; history would be too unkind to her for that. She needed to be an example, a hero. She deserved to be.

At 12:04 A.M. on October 26th, 2077, Sombra received a request for a video call. She’d never taken one before; showing her face on camera was dangerous. But this was different; this was Satya.

She clicked answer the second it popped up.

“I’m sorry,” she said right as it connected, expecting to see the architech in tears, angry, something. But her face was completely blank.

“Is it safe to assume that Natalia is not your real name?” Satya asked, raising an eyebrow. Sombra nodded. “How should I refer to you then?”

Her voice was so calm it was unsettling. She didn’t seem angry at all; she seemed completely indifferent. Sombra knew she wasn’t wrong to reveal the information, and she was certain that Satya had no idea about the full extent of Vishkar’s doings. There was something terrifying about how she was handling it, like the eye of a storm. Completely serene while everything around her was being torn apart. “Sombra,” Sombra said.

“Sombra,” Satya repeated, almost as if she were testing the feel of the word. “Very well. Miss Sombra, at exactly 3:30 this morning I will be at my window. I’m assuming you know where I live.” Sombra nodded. “Meet me there, and take me away. Wherever you are will work.”

Satya ended the video call, and the window disappeared from Sombra’s screen. Sombra sat back in her chair, exhaling slowly, processing. Take her away. Meet her at the window. Take her away.

Wherever I am. Sombra blinked. No, Satya couldn’t come there, not to Talon. That was hardly an improvement from Vishkar. Sombra herself could barely stand doing work for them, but she could only throw so many missions before Talon became suspicious of her and the possibility of reconditioning would appear.

At 1:37 A.M., Dr. Angela Ziegler stood in her lab at the watchpoint, reviewing files on her computer. A notification for a new email appeared in the corner of her screen, and she clicked on it absent mindedly, welcoming the distraction from paperwork. The sender’s address was obscured so that she could not see it, and the message was short, and simple: I have a recruit.

Sombra was five minutes early to Satya’s apartment. She stood in the street, Satya’s apartment being on the second story, and wondered if she had the right window. There were three that overlooked a street, and they were all spread in weird places. She’d decided to stand under the bedroom window – it seemed to be the place Satya would most likely be so early in the morning – but she still paced back and forth, stopping every so often if she thought she heard a noise but being to restless to hide completely.

At 3:30 on the dot, the curtains pulled apart, and the window slid open. “Sombra?” Satya’s voice whispered into the night, and Sombra smiled up at her.

“Here, amiga,” she said, waving. “C’mon down.” Satya shot her a look that was somewhere between confused and apprehensive.

“You want me to jump?” She asked, and Sombra laughed quietly.

“Well, you can, but you don’t have to. I hear the front door is also a suitable way to exit a building.” Satya clicked her tongue.

“Don’t be a smartass,” she chastised, and pulled back from the window. “I will be down in a minute.”

When Satya exited the door, she was dressed in a black dress with dark red lining, and had a bag slung over her shoulder. “What is your plan to get out?” She asked. Sombra grinned.

“Well, it’s a bit unconventional,” Sombra said, extending her hand to the architech. “But you’re just going to have to grab on and trust me.”

Satya stared down at her outstretched hand for a moment before taking it. “Okay,” she said. “I trust you.”

Sombra’s heart skipped a beat, and she had to look away from the architech to regain her composure. Her face felt hot. “Good,” she responded, and she activated her translocator. They disappeared from the street in a dim flash of purple and reappeared several yards outside the development, where Sombra had left her transport. Satya was clutching her head, looking like she was trying very hard not to throw up.

“When you said unconventional,” she began, taking a few deep breaths, “that was not what I was expecting.” She reached back into her bag and pulled out her hard light bender, sliding into the passenger seat of Sombra’s transport and slowly forming small shapes with the bender and spinning them around.

“Sorry,” Sombra said, and Satya shook her head.

“No, it was very efficient. I… thank you, for coming for me.” Sombra felt her face flush.

“Of course. I wasn’t going to leave you here, with all that information dumped on you. That would be cruel.”

The architech simply hummed in response, continuing to spin the various 3-D models around with her hand. Sombra turned on autopilot and allowed the ship to take off, headed for Gibraltar, where she could only hope Dr. Ziegler would be waiting. Or any of the reformed Overwatch team.

People who could help Satya, and keep her safe.

At 5:09 A.M., the transport landed in the docking area of Watchpoint: Gibraltar. Sombra gently prodded Satya awake, and Satya took a moment to survey their surroundings.

“You’re with Overwatch?” She asked, eyes wide.

“Not exactly,” Sombra replied. “I don’t work for anyone, really. Just myself. But the organization I’m currently… ah…” she paused, looking for the right way to put it. “…Affiliated with, lets say, is not the kind of place I want you to be.” Satya’s gaze cast downwards.

“I see.” She took a deep breath. “Is this goodbye, then?” Sombra shook her head.

“No,” she said, maybe a little too quickly. “I mean… it doesn’t have to be. We can stay in contact.” She smiled. “And, this is the kind of organization I would prefer to be affiliated with. So perhaps, one day, I will see you here again.” Satya smiled.

“I’d like that.”

Sombra felt her heartbeat speed up, could hear it thumping against her ribcage. She was glad for the dark, lest Satya see how red her face way. “Goodbye, Satya,” Sombra said quietly, and the architech stood.

“Goodbye, Sombra,” she responded, still smiling. She stared at the hacker for a moment before extending a single finger and reaching out towards Sombra. She pressed it against Sombra’s nose for a second, grin widening. “Boop.”

Sombra sat in stunned silence and watched as Satya disembarked the plane. She could see out the window that Dr. Ziegler was indeed there to greet her, as were some others she only knew by face. She took off without really thinking about it, her mind still replaying Satya’s light touch in her mind.


At 2:38 P.M. on March 30th, 2078, Satya and Sombra were curled up together on the corner of the couch, watching some old movie from the 2040’s and sharing a bowl of popcorn. Sombra glanced up at Satya and beamed, and the architech raised a brow.

“What?” she asked, and Sombra’s smile widened. She reached up and pressed her forefinger to Satya’s nose.


Satya laughed. “I love you too.”

 I’ll be posting this on AO3 on May 7th, I’ll be sure to tag you & my person !!

anonymous asked:

with all the speculation of how nicky and ovi are in bed, i dont know what to think? i wanna believe that sometimes theyre sweet and romantic, with rose petals across the bed and dim candle light, the whole nine yards. but sometimes ovi just wants to tie nicky up and dominate him, put a hand around his throat to remind him who he belongs to, make him cry from overstimulation and how good it feels. the aftercare is always sweet, of course. theyre always gonna be mushy with each other.

M U S H Y 

Beauty and the Beast

I love love love Dan Stevens, and can’t wait to see the new Beauty and the Beast… also my fav animation. In celebration… a little Karoline take on the tale… to be serialised here

Caroline Forbes hated her job. It sucked. There was no denying it. But, it wouldn’t be forever, she told herself as she loaded the deliveries in the van and pulled out her checklist and addresses, all carefully sorted in route order on her tablet. She slammed the door to her battered ride and slid into the driver’s seat. Some way to spend your 21st birthday, she though sourly, as she slid on her sunglasses and flipped the radio station on.

At least there’d be dinner and drinks, lots of them, legal drinks, for once, later this evening. She pulled out of the depot parking lot and started to make her way to the highway, along mains street, peeping the horn at her friend Matt, who was outside his bar, unloading kegs, his tight shirt clinging in all the right places. She rolled down the window and whistled as she drove past, giving him a wave as she sped down the same street she had driven a million times. Yep, it was pretty depressing to still be stuck in the same small town she’d grown up in at 21 years of age, but hey, she had a plan. She was getting out of here, it was just taking a little longer than she’d planned.

Hitting the highway, she accelerated, winding down the window as she went, letting the hot dusty Virginia air stream up her arm and ruffle the curls that lay around her shoulders. Feet tapping to the music, she followed her route on autopilot. Yep, Matt had looked GOOD, she mused, but been there down that, and a birthday backslide didn’t seem the best idea.

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Lost in Translation

Send me a number, or send “Wait, what?!” and I will generate one randomly.

@prowls-analysis said: Our muses have woken up on the side of a road in a foreign country, with no money, no phones, and no memory of how they got there.

Lingo appreciated being warm, at least, staring blearily up at a pale dawn’s sky with its hazy pink clouds, thin and wispy overhead. Cybertron didn’t have many clouds that she could recall, and the colony hadn’t had an atmosphere to make clouds… 

Her head tipped to the left, regarding the grass and the stretch of asphalt in the distance, and glimpses of water further past the road. That was unusual… was the junk yard so close to the ocean before…? 

…Wait. No. No it was not. 

“Jazz…?” Lingo levered herself up to sit with some effort, dim optics finding the familiar paint job a few yards away. Panic was attempting to rise but sluggish systems kept it in check, focusing on getting across to the larger bot’s side to shake him. “Jazz..? Are you dead..?” 

Marc Bartra Imagine || Valentine's Day

Marc is my favorite person in the world and I love him to infinity and beyond. That being said, I reserve the right to be mad at him for not being here on Valentine’s Day, even though I know it’s not his fault. He had an away game on the 13th and was supposed to be back that night, but his flight got cancelled because of some weather issues, so their moron of a coach decided it was best for them to stay the night, train there in the morning and then catch another flight home in the afternoon. Which means Marc will be here later tonight, missing most of our first Valentine’s Day together. He told me he never liked Valentine’s Day that much, but I was still excited to spend the day with him, so the way things worked out, or didn’t work out, really pissed me off.

 “What are you doing here, Y/N?” My assistant and best friend, Sophia, asks following me into my office.

“What am I doing in my office?” I retort sarcastically. “I don’t know if you noticed, but I have a magazine to run.”

“I meant what are you doing here on Valentine’s day, smartass?” I sit at my desk and sigh. “Why aren’t you with Marc?”

“Because he’s an idiot.” I snap and she takes a step back. “Sorry. I don’t know why I’m taking this out on you. It’s not your fault. It’s not his fault either, actually. His flight got cancelled and he’s not going to be here until tonight.”

“That sucks.”

“Tell me about it. Let’s just get some work done so I don’t have time to feel sorry for myself all day.”

 I spend the next hour or so going over some articles for next month’s issue of the magazine, mentally shrugging at every mention of words like “relationship” or “love” or “boyfriend”. I never knew there was something worse than being single on Valentine’s Day, but apparently being in a happy relationship and not being able to spend the day with the person you love beats it.

 “Y/N?” Sophia knocks on my office door and walks in, holding a black box. “This just came for you.” She places the box on my desk and I read the gold inscription on it.

“Maison des Fleurs.” I smile to myself, removing the lid. About a hundred of what must be the prettiest pink roses I’ve ever seen are carefully arranged inside the box. As I’m admiring my gorgeous flower arrangement, I notice a little note placed in between them. “The most beautiful flowers for the most beautiful girl. Wish I could be there. I love you. Happy Valentine’s Day! - Marc” I read the note out loud, earning a bunch of aw’s from Sophie.

“You have the best boyfriend, Y/N.” She smiles at me, as I’m still looking at the flowers.

“I do. I just wish he could be here.” I sigh.

“Did you guys have plans for today?”

“No, he’s not that into Valentine’s Day, but I hoped we’d at least be together, you know? I got him a present and I was going to make dinner and decorate the patio, so we could have a romantic dinner.” I’m getting sad just talking about it. “It’s silly. Nevermind.”

“It’s not silly. It’s your first Valentine’s Day together. That’s exciting.” She walks closer to my chair. “But if he’s coming back tonight, don’t you still have time for all of that?”

“His plane lands at 11 PM, so no.” This conversation is depressing me even more. “We should get back to work.”

“No. You should go home and decorate the house and do whatever else you were going to do, because Marc is going to be here tonight. You can have a very late romantic dinner. It’s not like you have anywhere to be tomorrow.” I’m looking at her like she has lost her mind, which might just be true. “Go, Y/N! It’s Valentine’s Day and you have an amazing boyfriend. You don’t get to sit in an office all day!”

 I don’t know if it’s because Sophie’s arguments were convincing enough, or because I’m afraid she will physically kick me out, but I leave my office without a word and drive back home. The more I think about what she said, the more I realize how right she is about everything. I walk through the front door of the house I share with Marc, determined to make this the best Valentine’s Day ever, even if we have to postpone it for a few hours, but it looks like someone beat me to it.

The entire hallway is covered in rose petals, leading to the living room, so I follow the path and my heart literally skips a beat at the sight in front of me. The entire room is filled with bouquets of roses in every color you can imagine, carefully placed in vases and spread all over the furniture, the floor, everywhere. They look like something out of a movie and smell even better.

 “Happy Valentine’s Day, Y/N!” I hear a voice say from behind me, so I turn around to see Marc standing a few feet away with the most beautiful smile on his face. I’m at a loss of words, so I just stand there as he walks over and pulls me into a hug.

“You did all of this?” I ask, pulling away and looking into his mesmerizing blue eyes. He nods. “I thought you couldn’t be here. When did you get home?”

“As if anyone could keep me away from my beautiful girlfriend on Valentine’s Day.” He smiles and kisses me, keeping one of his hands on the small of my back, as if to keep me from getting even an inch away. “Wait. I have something for you.”

 Marc leads me to the living room, carefully stepping between all the vases, and makes me sit down on the sofa, before handing me a nicely wrapped box that I hadn’t even noticed laying on the coffee table. I smile and give him a quick peck on the check, before tearing the wrapping paper away from the box and opening it, to reveal a silver bracelet with three charms on it. I pick it up from the box, so I can see the charms better. Two of them are our initials and the other is an infinity sign. It’s such a meaningful present that I can’t help but get teary eyed as Marc secures the bracelet around my wrist.

“Do you like it?” He asks.

“It’s beautiful. I love it.” I smile, admiring my new accessory, that I have a feeling I won’t be taking off anytime soon. “But I love you more!”

“I love you, too.” Marc leans in and kisses me, as I straddle his lap and wrap my arms around his neck.

“I almost forgot. I got you something, as well.” I say, breaking the kiss.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Are you kidding me?” I look around at all the roses and dangle my new bracelet in his face. “It’s nothing compared to all of this, though.” I run to the kitchen and return with another present wrapped box.

“Let’s see.” Unlike me, he removes the wrapping paper carefully, so he doesn’t tear it, which doesn’t seem to serve any other purpose other than to make the whole thing take a million years longer, but I’m too happy to care. “Whoa. This is really nice.” He picks up the watch I got him and puts it on.

“I was going to have it engraved, but I forgot, so it’s nowhere near as beautiful as the bracelet you got me but – “ He interrupts me.

“Stop.” He smiles at me and I suddenly forget what I was so worried about. ‘It’s perfect. Thank you!”

 Marc pulls me back onto his lap and we kiss for a while, before he suggests that we open one of the chocolate boxes he got me, that were apparently spread amongst the vases. I didn’t notice them before he pointed them out, but now that I do, I’m sure there’s enough chocolate to last us a lifetime. Or maybe not, because we’re us. In the next few hours, we manage to eat almost two of them, while cuddling on the sofa.

 “Hey!” I squeal as he takes the half empty box of chocolates away from me, placing it back on the coffee table.

“At this rate, we’ll get through all this chocolate in a week.” He laughs, slapping my wrists away when I reach for the box. “Maybe we should have dinner instead.”

“Is it dinner time already?” I grab his hand and check the time on his watch. It’s 5:30. “Time really does fly when you’re having fun.” I grab another chocolate from the box and run away to the kitchen before he can take it away from me.

 Marc follows me into the kitchen and we end up making dinner together, which usually turns into a lot of screaming and even more burnt food, ultimately leading to eating takeout in the middle of the night. Not this time, though. We manage to pull together a decent meal and Marc is extremely proud of himself for finally figuring out what most of our kitchen utensils are meant for. He is still confused about the meat grinder because “it looks suspicious” and “what if you accidentally get your finger in there?”.

 “I’m going to set up the table on the patio.” I say, grabbing a few things and making my way to our backyard.

 It turns out that he beat me to this, as well. The table has already been set, with candles and another gorgeous flower arrangement, making this better than any romantic dinner I could have ever imagined. The dim lighting in our back yard makes everything look absolutely perfect.

 “Oh, right. I forgot about this part.” Marc says, popping up behind me.

“You know, for someone who hates Valentine’s Day, you sure did a great job with all of this.” I laugh and wrap my arms around him.

“I might hate this holiday,” He kisses the top of my head. “But I love you.”

“You’re a very sneaky guy, Mr. Bartra.” I giggle as he kisses me again. “And I’m a very lucky girl.”

anonymous asked:

Spy Au first kiss pleeeaaassseeeeee

Percy slides down the shipping container to sit beside her. Their failure is written all over his face: blood shining on his split lip, a cut on his forehead, a deeper one across the bridge of his nose, splinters in his hair. She’s sure she looks the same. Her right eye is still throbbing, swollen and half-closed, but she can see him fine enough in the dim, distant flood lights of the shipping yard.

A second passes, the beep of the bomb’s timer loud in the silence between them.

“I can’t believe we lost,” she says, blinking tears from her eyes, hot as her anger. Buried beneath that is a fear she doesn’t want to recognize. Of the bomb on the other side of the steel wall at her back. The wires she wasn’t able to cut.  The clock counting away the explosion that’ll soon tear her body to pieces. Death, and whatever’s after. “I didn’t think—“

“Hey.” He slides his palm against hers. The tremors in her fingers still. “We didn’t lose. When the—when it goes, we’re taking the intel with us.”


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minimalism - calum smut

pairing: calum + y/n

rated: R

word count: 5,210

request: “can you do one about Calum where it’s like a one night stand (you know each other and just fucked bc you were high and in the mood) not intimate but then the next morning you wake up together and Calum is amazed bc he’s never seen you in that way before but then he does you really slow and good omg please and thank you you’re writing is amazing” -anon

a/n: i absolutely adored this idea, though i did something a little bit different with it. i’ve decided to divide it into two parts, so expect part two sometime in the near future. i hope you like it! thank you for the request.

- - -

The air was cold, but something about the polar gusts of wind comforted you. You enjoyed the raw way the freezing weather bit at your cheeks, reddening your skin and numbing your fingertips. It made you feel, and after spending days on end cooped up in your bed, dreading the thought of the outside world, it was there in the winter weather where you finally found some sort of solace.

You were sat on a flimsy park bench just a short walk’s distance from campus. The sky was dimming with each passing second, the streetlamps a few yards away coming alive and illuminating the dark pavement beneath. You were shivering by the time you saw his old van pull up to the curb, squeaking and grating before it was put in park.

Calum Hood was someone you knew quite well, but not as well as you wished you did. He was completely alluring in all the ways that made you weak: dark, unruly hair, thick brow constantly furrowed over secretive brown eyes, lips ample and swollen always. He wore oversized jackets and smelled of cigarettes. You were sure that he tasted like them, too.

You willed yourself to stand up after a moment of examining the exterior of his van. You had never been alone with him before; only enjoyed his company throughout the hecticness of a house party, or that one time when you met him and a few friends at a bar outside of town. He didn’t attend your college - he didn’t go to school at all, actually.

So when you could feel the nervousness settle into your bones as you swung open the passenger door to his car, you knew exactly why your heartbeat quickened.

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Isaac- We’re Bringing Her Back

Request-  Requests open! Yay An Issac imagine were u find out you’re mates? And you kiss and its cute? Hope you had a fantastic Christmas

A/N- Thank you! I hope you had a great one too. So it might not be as cute as you hoped. Next up is a Stiles imagine.

You sat in english class, hastily scribbling down notes about The Crucible as your teacher lectured on about Puritans and their values. You were trying to pay attention, and maybe on another day you would have, but you couldn’t shake the terrible feeling that had you nearly squirming in your seat.
You cast a glance outside the window, hoping that maybe looking at the pretty blue sky would convince you that everything was fine. You should have known it wouldn’t be that easy, because of course nothing was ever easy in Beacon Hills. The coming supermoon did nothing to change that, and it might have actually been making things worse.
One seat behind you, Isaac Lahey couldn’t help but notice your nervous demeanor. He knew he should have been paying attention, especially since he had a lot to catch up on since he had returned from France, but he couldn’t help his concern. He had always been worried about your safety, even after you had broken up when he left.
He knew it might not be his place anymore, but old habits die hard, and he saw nothing wrong with just listening to your heartbeat for a few seconds. He frowned as he heard it alternate between different speeds, as if you were constantly trying to calm yourself down. He knew it might not be a good idea to ask you about it, especially with the current state of your relationship (virtually nonexistent), but he decided to ask anyway.
“Hey,” he whispered, poking you gently in the back with his pen.
You jumped slightly as Isaac pulled you out of your thoughts, looking back at him with a frown on your face. “What?" 

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anonymous asked:

Imagine Bucky didn't fall out of the train and ended up with Steve when they crashed the plane and the two of them ended up being thawed out within a few days of each other

He knew the impact would be violent, but he hadn’t expected it to be that violent. Steve had grabbed him and braced with the shield but it hadn’t been enough. Everything had blurred together in a twisted mess of shrieking metal and shattering glass, the feeling of pressure and weight as if the sky itself was falling onto him, before everything went black.


Bucky wasn’t sure how long he was out, woken by the cold burn of water dripping onto his leg. He tasted blood on his mouth and felt the warmth of it dripping down his face but he paid it no mind, forcing his eyes open to try and see in the nearly-black cockpit.

“Steve?” he croaked out, coughing up a mouthful of thick blood. That wasn’t good. None of this was good. When he got no answer he tried to push himself up, momentarily forgetting his mangled left arm. He choked down a yelp and gritted his teeth, the acidic burn of the blue bolt Schmidt had hit him with now bright in the forefront of his awareness. The round had only grazed him but it’d been enough for it to tear through his sleeve and into his flesh, and now the sinister glow of it was advancing up his arm like a demented infection, eating away at him slowly. He knew that he only had a few hours, a day tops, before it got into his chest and he’d die.

“Steve?” he tried again but there was still no answer, his heart thudding loudly behind his ribs in fear. His eyes adjusted to the dim light and he saw a dark shape a few yards away, partially hidden beneath a scratched shield. He completely ignored the pain when he shoved himself to his feet, needing to know if Steve was alright.

“Hey— hey, Steve, Stevie, wake up—” the cold was starting to creep into his voice, teeth chattering and whole body starting to shiver violently. He wasn’t going to make it more than a few hours in this cold but maybe Steve stood a better chance. He felt for a pulse and was horrified when he felt the warm tack of blood, but the heartbeat that thumped slow but steady under his fingers was assurance enough. He slid to his knees next to him, pushing the shield out of the way to wrap his arms around his friend’s torso.

It was stupid, he knew it, and he could just hear Morita’s blood pressure spiking at the mere thought of it but Bucky gathered Steve up in his arms anyway, getting as much of him up off of the cold metal floor as he could. Steve groaned in pain but he didn’t open his eyes, face caked in half-dried blood and hair matted with it; Bucky was more terrified about that than the alien energy slowly consuming his arm.

He knew he was likely not much warmer than the surrounding air but any little bit could be enough to get Steve through the next few hours while they waited for rescue. He curled himself around as much of him as he could, some delirious part of him wishing Steve was small again, he was so much easier to fold himself around when he’d been small.

God, he was already so cold. Steve was cold too; everything was cold, colder than the coldest winter he and Steve had lived through. That was the year the radiator had gone out and they had to curl up together for warmth under every blanket they owned. He could only hold out hope that Peggy and the Commandos could find them before Steve froze to death.

Bucky tightened his grip on Steve and pulled him closer, keeping his left arm as far away as he could, not wanting the death creeping through it to cross to Steve. He was shivering so badly and couldn’t feel much of anything, only aware of the faint warmth of blood and the meager body heat that leaked through Steve’s uniform. He almost barked out a morbid laugh at the whole situation; he’d always feared Steve would die young, wouldn’t make it through the winter, and now here they both were freezing to death in the belly of some wrecked plane. It seemed even the promise of the serum curing his ills wasn’t enough to get Steve out of that fate.

His eyes started to slip closed and he shuddered out a heaving breath, the cold sunken clean through to his bones. The air was thick with the smell of sea salt, and he tried to focus on it and the soft rise and fall of Steve’s chest against him, tried to imagine they weren’t both dying in this God forsaken plane and were sleeping back in their apartment, that one cracked window letting in the spray-laden air from the ocean. The dark was closing in on his awareness and he knew he was going to die, he could only hope Steve held on long enough to be saved. That was the only important thing. He was dead anyway, with the blue energy lacing its way up his arm and towards his heart, there would be no saving him.

Without willing it his eyes slid shut and he couldn’t open them back up, felt his heartbeat slow down and he knew it, knew this was it. He mumbled a choked sorry into Steve’s hair, trying to focus on anything but how cold and lifeless Steve felt before the darkness overtook him.


The first thing he realized was that he was warm. He felt sunlight across his cheek and softness underneath him and he let out a wheezing exhale. His left arm still felt cold, pins and needles of ice up and down the length of it. He couldn’t seem to move it and that was dimly alarming but that wasn’t what was at the forefront of his awareness. Something was breathing against his right arm, a delicate puff of warmth every few seconds. It was enough to bring him to open his eyes.

Bucky groaned at the brightness, everything warm cream colors and flashing sunlight, but he turned his head despite the horrible stiffness of his muscles to try and get a better look. Bright, gold blond hair sticking up every which way told him immediately that it was Steve, a huge weight dissolving off of him in an instant. He was alive. The Commandos must have found them.

Steve was leaning onto his cot, one arm folded under his head in a makeshift pillow as he slept. Bucky found himself smiling just a bit as he lifted his right arm, smoothing down the more unruly tufts of Steve’s hair and nearly laughing at the way he leaned into it like a cat. He hurt all over but Steve had made it, somehow they’d both made it, and that was good enough for him.

Those first few seconds of awakening were unclouded with the reality that his arm was missing, or that the radio was playing a game that had happened long ago in the past, or that the machine monitoring his heart beat was foreign and strange. Nothing else mattered at the moment, just that they had both lived through that hell, somehow.


Title: ‘Ghosts’
TV Show: The 100
Summary:  Trapped in the rubble of Tondc, Marcus Kane is saved by the last person he expected. A kabby AU fic that stems from the premise: What if Jaha had been just a few seconds too late to stop Abby from being floated in the first episode?
Rating: General (AU that includes major character death - see above)

Marcus awoke to a world full of rubble.

There had been…an explosion. He remembered that. Fire and noise and pain, and the sickening sensation of the world falling away beneath him. He had been knocked unconscious, clearly, but for how long? There was nothing that gave him any sign; the only thing he could see in the dim light was the crumbled remains of what must have been the buildings of Tondc, pressing in from all sides. If he strained his ears he could hear faint noises – distant screams and moans coming from around and below, but no-one within sight. His leg…

His leg was trapped. He tried to move it and nearly passed out again. It took several minutes for the agony to subside into a dull steady throb of pain. At least after some effort he was able to free his arms enough to move them, although a tentative exploration of his face revealed that he was covered not only in a thick layer of dust but a wet sticky substance that felt a lot like blood. The effort involved just in that slight amount of movement had him panting for breath, his pulse hammering. He lay limp against the rubble, trying desperately to think past the pounding in his head.

“Doesn’t look good, does it?” said a nearby voice.

Startled, Marcus raised his head a few painful inches, squinting into the dim, crumbling space around him and saw—


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Sugar Crash

Part 2 of Orphans and Angels

Original Requests:

Hey I just read ‘orphans and angels’ and it was great and I was wondering if you’d done a second part and of so could you link me to it and if not could you please do one if you have time and stuff?


I saw you do fanfictions and if you don’t want to do this you don’t have to just thought I’d ask if you want could you make a fanfiction wherethe reader tries suicide butGabriel stops her?kinda be a gabe x readerLike I said if you don’t want its fine

Word Count: 1273

Summary: Gabriel takes his friend to see her long lost father, John Winchester. Unfortunately she is hit with the realization that he may not want her in his life.


Author’s Note:

I want to reiterate what I’ve said before. I am always all ears to listen. I am bipolar and stories like this hit close to home. I know how the depression won’t fully go away, even when the problem is solved. But having someone to be there for you is VITAL. And you have that here. Please let me know if you need anything or need to talk.

Depression is real. And it hurts.

But someone to listen can help ease that.

I’ll happily be that person.

I hope you enjoy the story!

Please read Orphans and Angels before this! This is the second part.

“I… I can’t take you in, [Y/N].” Gabriel whispered and grabbed my hand. We were standing in front of an old house inside a junk yard. A few dim house lights flickered inside. I could hear voices. Two older men and two younger by the sound of it. They were fighting

I looked into the window and caught a glimpse of who was talking. One of the older men and the youngest looking of them were shouting. Loudly.

“Is that him?” I pointed to the dark haired older man. I looked at his features and ran a hand down my face. He looked familiar… Like a face in a dream. It was him. John Winchester. My father. Gabriel nodded slowly.

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