does will sleep in those shoes

it is 2am and i am upsET over voltron shoes


like, we have the Paladin Uniform boots right?

Super cool boots, all stylish and colorful, they’re a solid 8/10 no?



Lance,,,bby ur the one with the most not edge-lord clothes w h y



Shiro is excused bc the boy’s been drifting from time and space for the last two years his shoes were the least of his worries




anyway bottom line is these kids need to go back to that space mall and get some idk space Converse rip offs and some Heelies stat

36. “Baby I will never stop trying to help you see your beauty.” with taehyung | 3.2k

Taehyung knows, just knows, that there was no way you weren’t hungry this morning. Last night had been one of those rare occasions where he was home before you, and he remembered you heading straight to bed the minute your shoes were off, turning down his offer for takeout in favour of sleep. He locks the door, and recounts the conversation from earlier.

(The smell of scrambled eggs, a newfound favourite ever since he stole a piece from your plate, pulls Taehyung out of bed. He treads over to where you stand, dressed in his shirt, hair messily pulled into a bun and he wants nothing more than to wrap his arms around you. So, he does just that.

His arms engulf you and he buries his nose in your shoulder, taking in your scent.

He hears you chuckle, finally up? and he hums back.

“Tae, I can’t do anything if you’re holding onto me like this.”

He opens his eyes and sees that from where he’s got you anchored in his embrace, the salt shaker is just too far from your fingertips. Wordlessly, he loosens his hold, and you get back to making breakfast, well, as best as you can when there’s a grown man leaning on you.

He studies your features in the morning sun: the curve of your brows, partly covered by hair that fell loose; the slope of your nose, cupid’s bow, and the soft lines of your lips.

“My Y/N, you look so pretty today,” he gives you a squeeze at that, earning a chuckle from you.

“I know, I know, you tell me every day,” he feels you pat his arms around your waist.

He plants a gentle kiss to the side of your head, “because it’s true.”

You jokingly smack his arm. “Alright, Romeo. Times’s a-ticking. Let me go so I can get changed.”

“You’re not eating?” he leans back to get a better look at you.

“Not hungry. Now, really, I’m gonna be late, Tae.”

He huffs, but lets his arms drop from around your waist. You give him a quick peck before heading off to the bedroom.

After some contemplation, Taehyung decides that breakfast can wait, and follows after you. He finds you as you’re taking one last check in the mirror, fingers running through your hair to get the knots that you can’t be bothered to brush out. He takes in your outfit and marvels at how they fit on you.

“Wow” he breathes out in awe.

He sees you pause, and you glance up to his reflection in the mirror. “Wow?” you laugh, fingers resuming their course. “I wear this all the time, tae.”

He settles down on the edge of the bed, eyes tracing your every movement. “I know, but it looks good, baby, really good.”

You send him a weird expression over your shoulder, “telling me once a day at breakfast isn’t enough, tae?”

He brings one hand to his chest, mouth agape in mock offence. “Baby! I will never stop trying to help you see your beauty!”

You cover your mouth with one hand, your laughter now filling the room. You stride over to lean down and whisper, “I knew I could count on my prince,” a grin adorning your lips.

He pretends to kneel, one arm lifted behind him and, “it’s my pleasure, your highness.”

You plant a kiss to his forehead and ruffle his hair before turning to grab your purse. He follows you to the door.

“See you later, Tae.”

“Bye, Y/N,” he waves back, and adds, “fighting!”)

Maybe he’s wrong, Taehyung ponders. Maybe you’d grabbed something on the way or maybe you’d really not been feeling hungry. Nonetheless, it still doesn’t explain the untouched popcorn during movie marathons, how you now always carry a glass of water in hand, and how food in the fridge seems to stay there longer.

But he doesn’t know how to bring it up, either. With Jimin, it’d been easier. Tight schedules meant that the time they had to themselves was limited, so he kept his words short, directing the message to his best friend in the van, between rehearsals, urging the other to eat whenever there was a break. With Jimin, it’d been easier because he’d acknowledged it. They all knew why Jimin held himself back whenever food was involved, and it was only a matter of convincing Jimin that another bowl of rice would do him more good than harm.

With you, however, things were different. When Taehyung first noticed the change in your behaviour, he was staring at you through his phone and saw the way your face sunk into your cheeks. He asked for a tour of the kitchen, whining for you to show me some Korean food I think I’m getting sick of Burger King, just to confirm his suspicions. Through the pixelated images, he saw that the snacks he’d sent home months ago were barely opened, when in the past they’d be gone the following week. It had felt like a punch in the gut when Taehyung finally connected the dots and realized that something was wrong.

He couldn’t see you in person then, and it felt inappropriate to deliver all that he’d wanted to say over text, so he promised himself that he’d tell you once he got home. When the time came, however, it was during a one-week break and he found himself coming up short in words because you deserved a happy week with him, didn’t you?

He sighs, and finds himself dialing the number of his best friend. He’s greeted with a grunt, quickly followed by a mumbled whatdoyouwantit'slike6amtaeta–

“Jiminie,” Taehyung cuts him off, “I need your help.”

Taehyung can hear you in the hallway, and he’s just about to get the door for you when you beat him to it, letting it slam behind you and suddenly, he’s not so sure of himself anymore.

“Taehyung, what the fuck was that.” Your words writhe of anger and Taehyung thinks he can actually feel your stomps as you head his way. You throw your coat onto the couch beside him, and all Taehyung has to meet your glare is silence, the words he had ready now stunned out of his mouth.

“Nothing? Really, Tae? After that stunt you pull, embarrassing me in front of god knows how many people and my boss, and you’ve got nothing to say?” You jab your finger in his direction, and Taehyung has to remind himself to be the bigger person here because you’re hurting and it was somehow because of him.

“I–no, just … ” he trails off, at a loss for words, and it’s only worsened by how you’re staring him down with such a guarded expression that he almost doesn’t recognize you anymore. “I thought you’d like it, Y/N,” he looks into your eyes, willing his sincerity to reach through.

“Oh that’s just fantastic, isn’t it?” you bite back, and Taehyung wants to flinch back at the way your words sound drippingly sweet, something he’d never heard used on him. “And you thought hiring some teenage boys to march into the office, singing Bruno Mars to some bad ukulele is the way to my heart?” You dare him to respond.

“Y/N …” Taehyung bites his tongue because while he isn’t one to hold back when wrongly accused, he doesn’t want to make this worse. “I was worried about you.” He tries to take a step in your direction, only for you to take a step back and motion for him to stay where he is.

Don’t,” you warn. “Worried about me?” you gesture to yourself.

“–because you weren’t eating much” Taehyung quickly adds.

“Well did you maybe consider that ‘Just the Way You Are’ isn’t going to fucking make anything better?”

Taehyung tears his eyes away, not wanting his anger, your anger, to get the best of him.

“Not everyone was born with great genes like you, damn it. Some of us have to actually work for our body, Tae.”

Taehyung spins around at that instant, gives you time to take those words back, but you don’t. So he walks to the door and heads out, each step tearing his heart apart but he knows it’s better than anything that might come out of his mouth.

Behind him, you stand rooted to the floor, staring after the closed door and Taehyung’s already walked too far when a sob rips out of your chest. For the first time in a while, you’ve only got the floor to catch you when your legs give out.

You’re only vaguely aware of someone pounding on your door, a loud open the door god damn it Y/N has you out of bed when the sky outside is only barely lit in the early morning–or is it evening? The next thing you know, your best friend has you marched into the shower, hands imploring you to hurry along because how do you not smell yourself right now?

The shower wakes you up, and you feel even better when she places a hot bowl of soup in front of you once you change into a different outfit than the one you’d been wearing for the past few days. Instinctively, you dive right in, the smell of the soup reminding your stomach that oh yeah, you’re hungry. Halfway through, you remember that this, food, was what started the fight between you and Taehyung and all of a sudden, your appetite is gone and you can feel the tears welling back in your eyes.

“Oh honey,” your best friend coos, reaching out to wrap you in a hug.

You lean into her embrace, and like you’ve done for her countless times over the years, she cards her fingers through your hair.

“What happened?” she softly whispered.

“… I-I messed up,” you chock out, and recount the story as best as you can between gasps for air.

“Shhh,” she sways you back and forth. “Is he still in town?”

You do the mental math, adding a few buffer days because you’re not sure how much time has passed but there’s no way it’s been a week, and nod back.

“Then go talk to him,” she implores. “Explain, apologize, say whatever you need to say. He loves you, Y/N, don’t forget that.”

You only huff in response, but, knowing she’s right, you get up and decide to pay the rest of the boys a visit, seeing how Taehyung’s probably at the dorm.

It’s almost ten when you arrive, the sun had set hours ago but you wanted to make sure you had everything. A knock to the door, and it’s Jungkook who greets you first. He gives you a wary smile and hello noona, taking the bags out of your hands, and tells you right away that Taehyung’s in his room. You muster a smile, grateful he didn’t comment on the bags under your eyes, and make your way to the end of the hall.

You ignore the way your heart is pounding against your chest, and raise your knuckles to the wood, but stop just before contact when a familiar voice cuts through the door.

“maybe she’s not worth it, taetae.”

You’re not sure if Taehyung is awake but if he is, he doesn’t say anything. The quiet lets your mind wander and you think about all the girls Taehyung could date and yeah, I’m not worth it, Tae. Your feet carry you back to where you came from, and Jungkook wouldn’t have noticed that you left for not the gentle click of the front door. He considers asking his hyung how the conversation was, but remembers the stench of the room from when he had to bring them lunch earlier, and decides against it.

The next morning, everybody is already at the dining table when Jimin drags a sleepy Taehyung into the kitchen. Everyone, even the normally blunt Yoongi, pretends they don’t notice the swelling around his eyes and the redness to his nose.

“Tae, eat up,” the eldest hyung commands, pushing the dishes toward him.

The latter weakly nods, takes a small bite, and puts his spoon down.

“Come on, TaeTae,” Jimin urges. “Hyung bought you your favourite cake too so you can eat that after.”

This catches Jin off guard. “Wait, Jimin, it wasn’t you? Who bought the cake then?”

Jimin looks up, unsure if Jin is setting up a joke in an attempt to cheer Taehyung up when Jungkook interrupts.

“Noona brought that cake over,” the youngest says, innocent eyes scanning the confusion in everyone’s expressions.

Taehyung looks up, “Y/N … she was here?”

Jungkook blinks, “yeah, last night. Didn’t you talk to her?”

Taehyung slams his hands on the table, and Jimin almost laughs because this is the most energetic Taehyung has been in a while. “JEON JUNGKOOK HOW COULD YOU NOT TELL ME?”

The youngest darts out of his seat at the speed of lighting and Jin has to physically hold Taehyung back.

“Look, Tae, you don’t have to do this if you aren’t ready, but maybe you should go talk to her,” Jin offers, and in an instant the latter quietens.

Namjoon walks up to the younger, always a soft spot for him, and pats his shoulder. “You know I want the best for you, Tae, but hear her out. We’re heading out in a couple days and you’ll feel better if you work it out before we leave.”

With some hesitation, Taehyung nods, and Hoseok takes that as his opportunity to usher him out the door, emphasizing how he and Jimin can take the time to air out their room.

A while later, Taehyung finds himself in front of your apartment, and when a knock doesn’t suffice in getting you to the door, he apologizes under his breath and unlocks it himself, suddenly feeling like an intruder in your space. He finds you in bed, a box of tissues by your pillow and it looks like you were going through an old photo album of the two of you, neatly placed on your desk amidst all the chaos in your room. He flips through some of the pages, silently thankful for all the times Jimin insisted on third wheeling, and all the times Yoongi quietly captured those moments in the background. He sits down by the edge of your bed and his fingers instinctively go to move the hair out of your face.

The motion is enough to wake you from your troubled slumber, and when you awake to see Taehyung petting you like you’re still the most precious thing in the world, you all but lose it.

Taehyung sees the corner of your mouth turn downwards before he sees the glint in your eyes, warning of another batch of tears. After all this, he still can’t stand the sight of you crying so he coos “don’t cry …” and runs his hand through your hair once more.

You ignore him, throw the covers to the side and unashamedly climb onto his lap. “I’m so sorry, Tae,” you mumble into his chest.

He rubs your back, falls back onto the bed so he can hold you better, but he doesn’t forgive you, not yet.

You were expecting this, yet it failed to numb the blow because you’re here with the boy whose heart you broke and every apology seems inadequate. You push yourself up, and ask, “why are you here?”

“To see you,” he replies. “To talk … to listen.” he gives, thumbs massaging your hips.

You hold back a sob; the magnitude of the moment weighing down on your shoulders because you’re aware that the future of this relationship could very well depend on what you say next.

Taehyung seems to read your mind, like he always has, and says, “just talk to me, Y/N. I’m here now, aren’t I?”

You nod, and it takes a while, but eventually the words start forming on your tongue and you’re filling him in on all that’s been going on: the ex boyfriend who’d convinced you that a sharper jawline, a slimmer waist and thinner arms would’ve made you better, prettier; how happy you were when Taehyung came into your life and you started thinking otherwise. You told Taehyung that, after your last relationship, you vowed not to talk about yourself in terms of beauty, a sort of coping mechanism you’d unconsciously developed because if beauty matters, then maybe I don’t matter at all, and how seeing his insistence on making sure you knew you were pretty made you feel like you had to work harder to prove yourself. That was how you got back onto the scale and started taking more time in front of the mirror again, not thinking he’d notice since he wasn’t home most of the time.

That led you to now, head resting on his chest and damp blotches on his shirt from your tears.

Taehyung’s silent for a while, knowing that the waiting is gruesome but he wants to get his words right so he takes his time.

“Y/N,” he begins. “You’re still pretty to me, Y/N,” and he feels you stiffen at this, but hopes that what he says next will make it better. “But it’s not something superficial. You know when you meet someone, get to know them, and then their personality kind of becomes them?”

Taehyung feels you shake your head, and this is when he wishes he’s got his hyungs’ ways with words. “I’m saying,” he clarifies, “you look so pretty because I see you and I see how you treat other people, how you help the grandma down the hall bring her groceries up, how you send my parents texts and keep them updated because you know how much they mean to me, how you always give your change to that one homeless man down the block even though everybody else has stopped trying because you’re doing your best to respect him, that he’s an adult, he can do what he wants with the money and that stuff, it just makes you look so so good.”

He feels hot tears through his shirt again, but his worries are quickly subdued when he hears you mutter you’re so good to me into his shirt.

“I’m sorry, Tae,” you repeat once more. “For what I said. And for not telling you sooner.”

“It’s okay, Y/N,” Taehyung forgives easily, especially when it comes to you. “Will it still bother you if I call you pretty?”

“Well … Yeah. Habits are hard to change, you know?”
He nods. “Aright. Guess I’ll have to find something else.”

“ … Like what?”

Taehyung hums. “How 'bout,” he waits until you lift your eyes up in curiosity. “Drop dead gorgeous.”

No,” you groan.

He chuckles. “I’ll keep thinking, then.”

From: Taehyung

What’s cookin’ good lookin’?

To: Taehyung


From: Taehyung

What’s shakin’, bacon?

To: Taehyung


From: Taehyung

Lookin’ clean, jellybean ;)

From: Taehyung

… Did you have to send that to everyone. Jungkook is still laughing at me.

requests are open :) 

anonymous asked:

maybe he finally showed us his room to destroy the mystery around it so people would stop assuming they share it. none of phil's belongings were in there besides the mirror.

Oooh, you got me, anon! Imagine me making finger guns at you right now. 

All I get from this ask is ‘buzzkill likes going onto other people’s tumblrs to make buzzkill-y statements.’ I published it, do you feel proud now? Is this what you were just sitting there on the other end of the computer daydreaming about? 

(Except his shoes were also on the dresser, and we only saw half the room. I mean we also only see three or four things of Dan’s that we know from his old room - the mirror, the moon chair, the teddy bear lamp, and the rug. Shit, does Dan even sleep there? It’s all a lie, it’s all a fake. Dan and Phil don’t even exist, and I am the coolest smartest person ever for being more skeptical than those silly people that think they’re real. Gah. Go me. Better go find someone to send this anonymously to on tumblr.)

Somebody asked... so I gave...

There’s not a lot of baby Alfie, here in the sneak-peek, but there will be loads int the story itself. This is just the short scene I’ve been getting ideas done for…

“Pretty sure I was close to bustin’ a nut in that old car. Held a lot’a memories that old thing did, didn’t it? Seff absolutely loved that car, she did. We’re proper parents now, aren’t we, huh? Gon’a have a minivan soon,” he chuckled, his warm breath, minted and smelling vaguely of the coffee that he’d brought from the supermarket café upon arrival, fanning over your face from the millimetre gap between your heads. The fronts of his lips curved up, slightly pouted, as his nose wiggled from the tip. Hands cupping your bum as you sat comfortably upon his legs. “I can see you driving a mini-van, actually. Lookin’’ like such a mum. With cheerios all over the floor from the school run, smears on the windows because the kids love to draw faces on the foggy glass, odd shoes and socks left behind because they’d kick off their trainers in the sleep. And you’ve got all your old CDs in the front and the kids absolutely hate your taste in music. Just like their dad does.”

“Hey, we have the same music taste. All those CDs will be yours, anyway. Just stolen from your collection,” you grinned, pressing a set of rhythmic kisses to his lips, one after the other after the other, as your thumbs rubbed over the shells of his ears, “would’ve never given The Rolling Stones or Savage Garden a listen if it wasn’t for you. Throw in some Shania Twain, too.”

He scoffed heavily and dropped his forehead forward, his hair tickling your nose as he shook his head, “absolutely nothin’ could beat a bit of Shania Twain. What did you listen to before you met me? Sounds like utter rubbish.”

“You see, I was in with the kids. Listening to the charts and what Grimmy would play on the radio in the mornings and I’d buy the number ones from iTunes. I wasn’t living in the 80s,” you smirked, his head lifting back up. Eyebrows furrowed to show a look of offence but his lips quirked into a lopsided smile, “I mean, when I met you, you looked like you were in with the trends. Converse boots were in fashion then, weren’t they? Remember your bedroom was full of those white tattered shoes that I hate knowing that you still own.”

“Gon’a give ‘em to Seff, if her feet ever grow as big as mine,” he chuckled, “one of our kids has to end up with the good ole’ Styles feet, right? Size ten by the time they’re eighteen.”

I love writing about the babies’ first. xx

Heavy Gloom
The Story So Far
Heavy Gloom

I know all your flaws and most of your fears
I haven’t been home a lot in the last 2 years
The constant absence from all my peers
The vibration still steady inside my ears
And I know you hate it, I always restate it
But I’m still so frustrated cause I’m the one you cheated

It cuts so much deeper
Why would I wanna see her?
Only had one beer
And I don’t wanna sleep here
And I know you don’t care
You’ve made it so clear
Swore I had no fear
Not until you came near

I hope you feel that heavy gloom
When you’re all done up in a crowded room
And your life trips up over those shoes
That you paid too much for but not in dues
And I’ll be watching from a distance
Wouldn’t wanna miss this
Was it fake the whole time? Was it just instance?
Man it’s so personal yet it’s business
I want it to hit so close to home

And how much does it cost
to get you back here inside those clubs
that you love so fucking much?
Was I too harsh in my lament to you
that I fell so out of touch?
Back and forth because I can’t understand how you
Control all my lust and form the words on my tongue

Wash headcannons

He used to know how to play the violin but after The implantation of Epsilon he forgot.

Wash can only make two things. One is instant ramen. The other is sandwiches.

Wash’s favorite type of alcohol is Vodka.

He’s extremely moody while drunk. He’ll be upset one minute and then he’ll be laughing at Donut’s tea kettle for some odd reason.

He’s pretty flexible. He used to do the pretzel leg thing during project Freelancer.

He hates eggplants (thank you papa north!)

He can shuffle like a boss. He could never surpass York however.

Wash doesn’t like thunderstorms that much.

Wash gets cold pretty easily. He’s borrowed one of Tucker’s jackets.

Wash still hasn’t returned the jacket. It’s been five months.

He actually enjoys watching cartoons with Caboose. He knows all the words to almost every Popular Adventure Time song.

His taste in music varies. He likes classics like “Hotel California”, “Hooked on a Feeling” and likes modern bands like Breaking Benjamin, Fallout Boy and some Panic at the Disco songs (thanks to Tucker).

People joke that he’s a cat because he gets Into so many life or death situations.

He rarely tells jokes. When he does it’s pretty bad.

He really misses cats to the point he will just look at pictures of them and sigh.

He forgets to sleep and eat often. (No really?)

Wash’s wardrobe consists of t-shirts, sweat pants, sweaters, shorts and literally one pair of shoes he’s worn forever.

He gets pretty anxious around Donut. He still feels terrible for shooting him.

Bonus Poster’s opinion:

I saw once on AO3 a fanfic where Wash and Donut were brothers. I like the idea of them being related in some way. I personally like those two being cousins.

With the month of Oireachtas upon us, Oireachtasurus has begun to make her arrival visiting towns and cities around North America, the United Kingdom, and Europe.
Oireachtasurus has been keeping her eye on little Irish dancers all around the world seeing who has been practicing and listening to their teachers. As she travels around the globe she brings the gift of turnout, cross, rhythm, and ferocious stage presence to all the hard working dancers. And to those who have worked especially hard, she may even bring you an extra special gift – a recall!
Make a wish before you go to sleep and Oireachtasurus will come and make all your dreams come true!
Be sure to leave your soft and hard shoes at the end of the bed the night before you dance because Oireachtasurus may leave you with some AB Swarovski crystals.

…Oireachtasurus does have one flaw though…she needs to keep her arms in.

SHOUTOUT TO “ANON @ YOUKNOWWHO.COM” FOR SENDING THIS LMAO thank you so much for this holy shit this is fantastic. i adore you

Rating: Explicit

pairing: Merle Highchurch/John Hunger

Words: 1k

Tags: Established relationship, Domestic AU, Somnophilia

I was almost late to work writing this so the ending is a bit rushed. 

Merle very, very rarely wakes up before John. The morning after John stumbles home from a business trip is one of those rare exceptions. The human is still wearing his business suit when Merle wakes up, and the shoes in the hallway and the briefcase yawning open at the bottom of the stairs tells him everything he needs to know.

One: John was probably so tired when he got home he’s lucky he remembered to lock the front door. Two: When John is that tired, it’s best to let him sleep to his heart’s content. Three: When he does wake, he’ll want a long, slow kiss, a hard fuck, and a black coffee.

Merle figures the coffee can wait until after his morning piss.

Keep reading

Autistic Shiro Headcanons

he deserves an entire post dedicated to himself because um? hello this is takashi shirogane we are speaking about

• i still strongly stick the headcanon that he Cannot Tie His Shoes but! velcro is Bad and loud an if he accidentally touches it its way to scratchy! so i humbly ask you to consider shiro wearing those sneakers/boots with curled laces that you’re texhnically supposed to undo and tie but he never does (alternatively: crocs)

• he is The Worst at social cues like we see him in the actual tv show working out when he should be asleep and he honestly does this with Absolutely Everything??? like he forgets to sleep until he realizes he cant keep his eyelids open anymore, and he forgets to eat/drink until someone either notices his stomach growling or he gets lightheaded. since most of the other paladins have a pretty solid schedule being in the castle Really screws with him sometimes like coran will call for everyone to sit and have dinner and he’ll be like “… wh?”

• he goes non-verbal all the time. its especially bad in battle because he’ll be ordering the paladins to do things one minute and then just be completely unresponsive the next and its scary but also They Understand (lance/pidge usually takes charge when this happens)

• he Cannot deal with wet things. someone threw a wet dishcloth at him once and he started crying.

• also strong smells! lance, being The Guy That He Is sprayed cologne in the bathroom once and when shiro went to shower he had a meltdown because it was Too Much (me too shiro)

• he can’t take strong smells or wet things but he uses clean things to help him calm down? like. on altea they obviously dont have laundry detergent (or at least not any kind that the paladins are used to) so they just use like a weak mix of dish soap and shampoo and when tbe clothes are done washing he just sticks his head in the washing machine and breathes in the smell for a long time.

• since he can’t fold clothes, he switches the laundry from the washing machine and hangs it out to dry (he doesn’t put the clothes in, though, hunk does that. it’s too dirty for shiro. he just puts in the soap and starts it.) it’s very calming and also stimmy for him to watch the clothes sway in the breeze and make shadows on the ground and it’s the only stable thing in his routine and if it get’s interrupted he’ll probably have a full-blown panic attack.

• he can take loud noises pretty well if he goes selectively mute, but repetition is A No Go. one of the only times hes ever Really yelled at lance was bc he was bouncing his leg or tapping the table or using echolalia (his favorite stims) and he Couldnt Take It

• his favorite stim is sitting cross-legged and rocking back and forth and flapping (least favorite is echolalia or chewing)

• he, like keith, has A Safe Food, and its apple juice

• and, finally, his special interest was fall out boy for the longest time and no one will let him forget (he still gets really happy whenever someone plays their music)

(shallamading shippers dont touch)

anonymous asked:

mel it's late and i'm in need of angst! have you got any heart-wrenching hcs for cassarric you'd like to share?

Varric often teases Cassandra about her lack of eloquence when it comes to finding the right words, but when they argue, she comes out swinging. It used to be literal fists in his face or flipped tables when they were just bitter work associates, but after they settled into a relationship, she had to change strategies for the sake of trust and respect. Now, she fights with words that cut deeper than even her sharpest blades. He won’t admit that she’s better at it than him, even to himself. This woman who can’t write worth a damn somehow manages to come out with brutal one-liners in heated moments that dwarf anything he’s ever come up with (pun intended). 

And because he’s a man who doesn’t let things go easily, he inevitably pulls out the old card of their former prisoner/interrogator dynamic just to remind her of how she’s always treated him like a suspect and never stopped seeing him as anything but a thief and a liar worthy of every vicious glare she sends him. Always, never: words people should normally avoid using in arguments with people they love and care for.

Varric knows it’s not fair, that though her motives were hidden, her intentions in the past had been good, but he can’t help himself when her eyes blaze with that same anger he once witnessed in the dungeons. Whenever she shouts at him, demanding to know where he’s been or why he’s home so late, those memories just come flooding back and they roll off his tongue before he can think twice about it. Maybe it’s the ale loosening his lips, or maybe he just never got over the sting of it, but she’s been nothing but patient with him and he’s only taken liberties with his stories. It’s horrible and it’s ugly, and he has never brought it up in a fight without feeling like absolute scum afterwards.

The worst part about his penchant to throw old dirt in her face is her reaction to the blow. Every time, the Seeker falls silent, and he wishes he could take it all back. The yelling is easier to handle than watching her calmly close her eyes, cross her arms, and walk to their room, the fight now over. Even a punch to the gut would be better than the soft click of the door closing behind her. Regret is something Varric thought he was familiar with before she came into his life, but whatever he’d known previously is nothing compared to the self-flagellation he endures during the hours of silence that follow.

He learned early on that Cassandra doesn’t appreciate it when he goes to her right away. She needs space, time to clear her head so she doesn’t resort to throwing a chair at his face. It’s healthier for both of them that he waits a while before trying to make amends.

So, he sits down, takes out a paper and pencil, and meticulously writes down every venomous word she said to him that night. He reads them over quietly to himself. Does he deserve this much vitriol? Maybe half of it - a good two-thirds, probably. But not the other shit she spewed. Likewise, the Seeker doesn’t deserve half the things he said, either, especially that last half, that underhanded go-to he always whips out, burying the dagger deeper. 

He replays the argument in his head as he reads it over, matching it to memory. It makes him wince, but it’s good material, and so he saves it among his dozen other notes of things Cassandra has said to him in the heat of the moment. Some are just as scathing, but others are actually pretty passionate, and even downright romantic. All of them together build a character he wants to write someday, but he has to get her just right. She’s too smart not to notice the similarities herself if he ever publishes it someday, so better to be accurate than add his usual embellishments, lest she call him out on his bullshit.

After he’s done, it’s usually safe to go to bed. He shuffles down the hall and knocks on the door. No answer, which is fairly predictable at this point. The door creaks open and he slips inside, kicking off the muddy shoes he should have removed at the door and tossing his shirt to the floor instead of in the laundry basket like she’s drilled him to do a thousand times. He pulls back the covers and slides underneath as soundlessly as he can, pulling them up to his ribs.

She’s never sleeping, of course, but she pretends and so does he. Her breathing is too shallow, too light for him to buy it. For a woman whose temper always runs hot, her limbs are cold, and despite the arguments they have, he never lets his feelings on those matters stop him from wrapping an arm around her. 

Cassandra deserves a lot of things he can’t give her. The least he can offer her is the warmth of his body after the fire’s gone out.

They don’t say sorry. They don’t talk it out now. That can be done over breakfast if need be. What they really need now is rest…

What they really need, in spite of their differences, is each other. 

Even on dark nights like these.

anonymous asked:

alex is away on a trip so maggie and kara cuddle every night

Alex is in Geneva, and Kara is drunk.

Maggie sits across the table from her, leaning back, an arched eyebrow, tilted head, and lopsided grin quirking her face as she listens to Kara Danvers ramble, slur, and generally crack herself up.

“Have you ever driven your motor – motor – mo – tour – syke – cull – have you ever driven your mo - tour - syke - cull drink? Drunk? Because you shouldn’t. It would be like my flying drunk. Flying drunk.

Kara leans across the table conspiratorially, and Maggie leans forward too, enjoying the opportunity to humor the kid.

“I’m so happy I can tell you about flying, Maggie. It’s so nice. You’re so nice. Alex really loves you, you know. Love.” Suddenly Kara claps both of her hands over her mouth. “Has she told you yet? Was I not supposed to say that? Oh no, Alex will kill me – “

Tears are stinging Maggie’s eyes and she thinks she might have forgotten what breathing is, but she smiles at Kara and touches her wrists softly. “Don’t worry, Little Danvers, it’ll be our little secret.”

Kara sighs in relief and she slumps and Maggie shifts immediately because she knows what’s coming: sure enough, Kara is passed out in her arms, muttering occasionally about Lena Luthor and alien amnesty and cho - coh - latt and alien alcohol as Maggie tugs Kara’s limp arm around her own shoulders, holding the taller girl’s weight as she nods over to M’gann, who smiles and shakes her head and hails a cab.

“I owe you one,” Maggie grunts as she drags Kara out, but M’gann waves her off.

“It’s what friends are for, Mags,” she calls, and Maggie winks at her as Kara starts giggling because the outside air as they step outside apparently feels like ghost whispers.

Maggie takes her back to her place because she knows Kara’s elevator isn’t working and she’s strong, but there’s no way she’s hauling Kara up all those stairs.

She forces some water into Kara’s giggling, half-asleep lips before she strips off her shoes and unbuttons her jeans and puts her glasses on the bedside table and tucks her in and puts a glass of water next to her for when she wakes.

She’s never seen Alex’s little sister look so peaceful as she does as she sleeps, as she takes one of Maggie’s pillows into her arms and hugs it close to her, cuddles it. Maggie sighs, because it’s both of her Danvers girls that only get the chance to release the weight of the world when they sleep.

She hesitates for a moment after she brushes her teeth and strips down to boxers and a tank. She hesitates, but Kara is cuddling that pillow pretty hard, and Kara is muttering about missing Alex, and dammit, Maggie does too. So she smiles and she sighs and she crawls into bed next to Kara, and Kara automatically shifts back into Maggie’s arms with a contented sigh.

Kara doesn’t get drunk the rest of the week that Alex is gone, but she does start showing up at Maggie’s each night.

Sometimes she knocks on the door hungry for a homecooked meal, and sometimes she flies through the window with a furrowed brow and in need of some serious TV time.

But each night ends the same: Kara huddles deep into Maggie’s bed, and Maggie wraps her arms around her, and Kara sighs sleepily and snuggles deeper into her, and wonders why her sister didn’t get a girlfriend sooner, because this is the best.

anonymous asked:

Klance - They told me you passed out. How do you feel?

here’s a high school au, because i haven’t done one before and i’ve been wanting to.

Keith hadn’t thought much of the crowd that had gathered out by the baseball field earlier that day before lunch. He’d only seen it through the window while he was out for a bathroom break, and his mind had been on the pop quiz he’d just taken that he’s pretty sure he failed. There’s nothing particularly unusual about seeing a crowd out by the baseball field. 

At least, he hadn’t thought so until he got to his next class. He sits near the front by the wall. He’s got his back leaned against the white painted cinderblock and is reading the sci-fi novel Shiro lent him when his ear catches a snippet of conversation behind him from two boys and a girl he’s never spoken to in his life. 

“That was scary. I hope nothing’s really wrong.”

“Yeah. What exactly happened, anyway? I was on the other side of the field. All I saw was people suddenly running over there.”

Keep reading


darkmagicmike  asked:

codywan fake married + bed sharing + maybe pining holy trinity (p sure this doesn't count as au so if it doesn't ignore me lmao)

They’ve been working together for nearly two years by the time their latest mission rolls around, in London, and every minute of it has been a living hell.

Well, no – Cody wouldn’t put it quite like that. The chance to work with one of the best agents on the Force would never be hellish: it had, in fact, been the most fulfilling time of his life. The work was of the utmost importance, the regime they had to follow to make it work one of the most satisfyingly grueling; the recognition of their efforts would keep him going a lifetime in its genuine effusiveness from people he respected and admired.

But the bit where – due to various contracts and every sane piece of advice and the ‘do this and you’re gone’ warnings he’d seen implied – he wasn’t actually allowed to put one fingertip on Kenobi’s body that wasn’t in the line of duty? Yeah – that had sucked since about day three on the job. Or rather, the evening after day two, when Kenobi had said goodnight to him in a hotel in Johannesburg with a blinding grin and a wink, and he’d spent most of the night into day three fantasizing about exactly how he’d get that look to be flung in his direction again.  

And most of the night after that, too. And then the following several months. And now they’re in London, where their mark is a crooked billionaire whose personal files need snooping into, and they’re waltzing into the Ritz like they own the place with Kenobi’s arm firmly under Cody’s, because You’re the rich man from out of town and I’m your bit on the side, and oh gods, he and his dreams are going to regret this.  

The sting goes perfectly, as do the little laughs Obi-Wan shares only with him while his eyes are carefully roaming the room. They’ve shared houses and rooms and beds before, and even clothes, but nothing ever feels as intimate as this – that swooping feeling that Cody gets when, even in jest, even when it’s just to fool and trick and persuade people into letting down their guards, he gets to pass off Kenobi as somehow his. It’s a fleeting, bright look into what he might feel like if it were real, and he fucking loves it.  

He waits in their room alone while Obi-Wan finishes his ingress, mixing them drinks from the minibar and then starting in on his; when Kenobi slips into the room with a USB drive of purloined files in his fist he is flushed with the victory of it, with that little grin that tells you that he’s a little shit, really, and he’s very, very good at what he does.

“Anything else we need to do before getting out of here?”

“The room’s paid for, isn’t it?” Obi-Wan says, and, dropping the USB stick onto the bedside table, goes folding neatly down into the layers of silk and Egyptian cotton with a long, drawn-out sigh of sound that should be illegal. “I say we wait until morning to report in,” he adds, then, with a yawn, and pats the comforter next to him. “Come on.”

On those nights when they’ve slept in close quarters, Cody’s sometimes woken up to feel an arm around him, slumped across his shoulders or his waist. Whether in sweat-soaked, bloodstained Kevlar or now, in the finest of Armani suits, Kenobi’s trust that he can sleep in Cody’s presence never fails to astound him.  

He takes the time to kick off his shoes, listening, with a smile, to the grumbling behind him as Obi-Wan reluctantly does the same; he pulls up the covers as he settles on his stomach, and, with his hand open and empty by his side, waits the two hours until Kenobi is deeply asleep enough that he rolls sideways into him, settling with his cheek on Cody’s shoulder and his thigh in Cody’s palm.

It really fucking hurts – but for now, Cody will take it.

Rest Now - Stiles Stilinski imagine p1 

a/n: i’m watching my favorite part of teen wolf’s season 3 again (the nostalgia omg) and i got this tiny idea :))) i really love the idea of cuddles x stiles so yah :) hope you like

characters: stiles; reader

storyline: stiles hasn’t been feeling very well lately, he’s very sleepy. y/n - his best friend - notices and takes him to her house. her mom is a doctor and has pills and needles all around the house, so she gives stiles some meads to help him sleep, they cuddle

warnings: use of medication (if thats a warning)

“Stiles, are you feeling alright?” She asked, stopping the boy from walking further in his drunk-ish-like walk. His brown eyes slowly met Y/N’s and they gave a cloudy vibe. Tiredness. 

“I-I, just, uh, well-” Stiles sighed and hung his head low. “No, I don’t think so.” 

“You look tired. Did you not sleep last night?” 

“Not really.”

“Okay. Come on.” Y/N urged her best friend, taking his hand, dragging him through the hallway.

“Wha-what are you doing?” Stiles stuttered, not protesting his friend. 

“Taking you home to sleep.” Y/N responded as they exited the school and made their way to her car. “You look like you haven’t slept in days, Stiles. You need help.” She put him in his seat and shut the door, walking over to the driver’s side. They were both silent through the car ride, only when they were nearly at Y/N’s house, Stiles spoke up.

“We’re not going to my house?” He asked.

“No, we’re going to mine.” She shut the engine off right before Stiles got another question out.

“But why?” 

Y/N sighed as Stiles got out of the car. He followed the girl to her door and when she unlocked it, they both went in. She brought him up to her bedroom and decided what she needed to do.

“Stay here, I’ll be right back.” Y/N said and walked out of the room to get some sleeping pills/sedatives. Her mom was a doctor at the hospital, so their house was full of medicine and other doctor stuff. Y/N poured water into a glass and took three sedative pills. She sighed. What’s wrong with my best friend?

Y/N walked back into her bedroom, where Stiles was sitting on her bed with a pillow, his pillow, in his hands. She walked over and sat next to him on her bed. Stiles looked at her with those tired brown eyes, then they fixated on the pills in Y/N’s hand.

“What are those?” Stiles asked, knowing they were for him. 

“Sleeping pills, kiddo. You need them.” Y/N said. “Is that your pillow?” Stiles nodded. 

“I’ve been looking for it for a few days. Maybe that’s why I haven’t been getting sleep lately.” Stiles said. “I can’t sleep without my pillow.” Y/N’s heart shattered, Stiles was sometimes just so sadly cute. 

“Now you can sleep with that, pills and me by your side. Does that sound alright?” Y/N asked, the boy nodded in response. He took his shoes off and slid up to the headboard of the bed, along with his pillow. Y/N sat down next his laying body and gave him the water and pills. 

“Drink up, sleepy pants.” Stiles took the pills in his mouth and drank up the water to help him swallow the pills. He exhaled and Y/N took the glass, putting it on the nightstand next to her. Stiles’ breathing was deep and very audible when Y/N wrapped her arms around the boy’s shoulders, bringing him into her body. He was inhaling and exhaling deeply into the girl’s chest, holding onto her arm and trying to fall asleep.

“Just go to sleep, Stiles. Try to sleep.” Y/N softly said into Stiles’ hair and lowered both of them onto the pillows. She caressed the boy’s dark locks and soon he was peacefully snoring into Y/N’s shirt. She smiled at the sleeping boy, it was the first time in weeks she had seen him look so peaceful. She felt so relieved to see him like that.

After a while, Y/N felt hungry - she had only ate breakfast and that was quite a while ago. She carefully let go of Stiles and laid him on the bed, putting the blanket over him. She walked through the room and stopped at the door to check if Stiles was still asleep. He was, with half of his face smashed into his pillow, a little drool on it coming from Stiles’ mouth. Y/N chuckled and went downstairs. 

She took her phone out of her jeans to check the time, only to see that she had multiple missed calls and texts from Scott, Lydia and Allison. 

‘where the hell are you?’

'are you alright?’

'i haven’t seen you in school today, is everything ok?’

'what are you up to?’

'are you with stiles?’

Y/N sighed and just put her phone back in her pocket, only before noticing that the time was 5:43pm. They both had been here for 4 hours? How did the time go by that fast? A notification sound came from the pocket of her jeans. Y/N pulled it out. It was a new text message from Scott.

'we’re coming to check up on you in 10 minutes’

Okay, Y/N thought, be my guests. She put the phone back in her pocket and got some stuff to make her a sandwich. When Y/N was cutting the salad, she heard distant talking from upstairs. Was it Stiles? Was he talking in his sleep? Was someone else in the house? 

Y/N’s thoughts were interrupted when she heard screaming, it was Stiles. 

She dropped what was in her hands and ran upstairs. She was in her bedroom when she saw Stiles thrashing in her bed, screaming and yelling. Y/N rushed to him, jumping on the bed above his shaking body.

“Stiles, Stiles, shh, calm down,” she spoke, holding the boy’s cheek with one hand and his arm with the other, “Stiles, it’s not real! Wake up, Stiles, you’re dreaming! Stiles!” Y/N’s voice started to raise its volume until she was practically screaming along with Stiles. The boy’s eyes finally blew open, filled with fear and his brown irises darted around. “Stiles!” Y/N said in a rushed tone. Her hands held down Stiles’ head so he wouldn’t move. “Stiles, Stiles, it’s okay. It’s okay, angel, calm down. I’m here, it’s okay.” She cooed. Stiles’ eyes fixated on hers as tears started coming from them. Y/N brought him up, wrapping her arms around his torso to hold him still, safe. 

“Stiles, I’m here, it’s okay, it was just a dream,” Y/N spoke, soothing the boy’s hair to calm him down. She heard her name being called and footsteps approaching, so she turned her head to the right. 

Scott and Lydia were standing in the doorway. Y/N simply shook her head at them, holding Stiles close to her while tears were streaming down her face.

The Top Harry/Louis Fics Of 2013 (On Ao3)

This is a list of the Top Harry/Louis fics of 2013, sorted by Kudos, on January 1st, 2014. These are only the ones that were written in 2013. Anything pre-2013 has been skipped. :)

The Top 10 Chaptered Harry/Louis Fics HERE and the Top 10 Harry/Louis One Shots HERE

1. Fading by Tothemoonmydear

Louis knows about beauty; the combination of qualities that pleases the aesthetic senses. He creates that combination every day in the garments he designs while studying fashion at uni. The cut of the design, the color of the fabric, the intricacy of the stitching; it all comes together to create something beautiful. When the science student with the long legs and dimpled smile agrees to model for him, Louis decides he’s found beauty personified. Harry just thinks Louis needs someone to show him how beautiful he is.


2.  Pull Me Under by Zarah5

AU. As the first British footballer to come out at the prime of his career, it helps that Louis Tomlinson is in a long-term, committed relationship. Even if that relationship is fake. (Featuring Niall as Louis’ favourite teammate, Liam as Louis’ agent, and Zayn as Liam’s boyfriend, who just happens to be good friends with one Harry Styles.)


3.  Just Me, You, And This Box of Matches by Tomlinsunshine

Louis is fairly sure that his new neighbour is going to destroy him. And also their apartment building, and the dumpsters outside, and all the forests within a thirty mile radius. But. Mostly him.


4. This Shifting Ground by Zarah5

University AU. In which Louis, law student, is the cheeky waiter to Harry’s dates. This is how it starts.


5.  Red Brick Heart by Hazmesentir

Harry has only had his room for thirty-two minutes when it stops being his.

Uni AU. Harry had turned up at the halls of residence expecting fun, new friends, and maybe a life experience or two. What he doesn’t expect is a surprise roommate who’s loud and dramatic and obsessed with tea and is maybe, actually, all he’s ever wanted.


6.  Fall Into Your Gravity by Zarah5

AU. In which Harry is an overnight pop sensation and Louis steals plants, Zayn pulls Liam’s proverbial pigtails and Niall’s really just pleased there are more girls for him.


7.  Sing When You’re Winning by Hazmesentir

Harry is fifteen minutes late to the office on the day Louis Tomlinson comes out as gay.

 Or, the one where Harry’s a chronically underpaid magazine intern and Louis is the Premier League’s first gay footballer and pretty much the last thing they need is each other.


8.  Take Off Your Running Shoes by polkadotpeacoat

AU- Harry is the fit supermarket check out boy. Louis wants to sleep with him. Summer romance ensues.


9. Nothing Else But Us Right Here by Supernope

Louis sighs and gives himself a mental pep talk as he smooths his jumper down over his hips. He can do this. He can resist the draw of Harry Styles, because he is a responsible, mature adult, and as much as he wants to tangle his fingers in that mess of hair and map those ridiculous tattoos with his tongue, he does not want to get his daughter’s favorite teacher fired.


10. Never Shut Us Down by Togetherwecouldbealright


Louis is an insecure mess and he hides behind his blog. Harry’s a boy with a personality too bright and he’s everything Louis thought he would hate. They end up falling in love.

So I tried making a thing..