down turned eyes

6

MOOD BOARD TAG

I saw

@justkeeponsimming

do the mood board tag and I’m not really sure what the rules are, so I decided to just do a moodboard of selfies… haha..  

The upside down one creeps me out…  I saw it done online somewhere with an Adele photo, basically you take your face, turn it upside down but turn the eyes and mouth back up the right way…  it’s scary…  

No idea what I was really meant to do with this tag, but these selfies i’ve taken over the last year or so pretty much sum up my ‘moods’…   

I’m not going to tag anyone, because I don’t think I did it right anyway.. 

BTS’s reaction to you starting a diet:

Jin: “But I wanted you to be a special guest on Eat Jin,” your boyfriend pouts (an impressive feat with his mouth full of food). He’s very against the idea of you going on a diet – who’s going to help him clear up all the food he can’t manage?

You raise an eyebrow, while he swallows and asks – “What? Do I have something on my face?”

“Just a little…” You reach across the table separating the two of you, and wipe some sauce from the corner of his lips, before popping your finger in your mouth.

Jin chuckles, “Isn’t eating that sauce against your diet?”

“It’s just sauce.”

“Sauce that’s high in fat and salt!”

“This is why you’re a rubbish boyfriend - making me break my diet. For shame!” You poke your tongue out at him.

Jin sighs. “Ah well, I guess if you’re on a diet now, that means more food for me. And I was going to order that ice-cream you like for the next episode of Eat Jin as well…”

That’s playing dirty! “You wouldn’t!” you scoff, knowing full well that he will, and that when you ask for a lick, just the tiniest taste – he’ll offer you the whole scoop - your favourite flavour too - and boom! there goes your diet, and all your good intentions. The worst part is – you won’t mind, because Jin’s kisses will taste that extra bit sweeter seeped in vanilla and strawberry ice-cream.

Originally posted by jeonsshi


Yoongi: Yoongi can tell something’s up. You’re being extremely quiet, and you haven’t touched any of the pizza on your plate. Jostled up beside your talkative friends, you’re like a lone grey cloud in the middle of a blue June sky.

Yoongi finishes off the crumbs on his own plate, then stands. “Well, I guess I’ll go wash up,” he says, “Y/N, do you wanna come help?”

You scrunch your nose at him, but follow him to the kitchen anyway, away from the busy chatter of your friends.

“Alright, what’s wrong?” Yoongi asks, when the two of you are out of earshot.

You fiddle with a loose strand on your sweater. “Nothing’s wrong.” There’s a moment of hesitation, and you pull at the thread a little harder, twisting it around your finger. “I just don’t want to eat too since I’ve -” The last part is mumbled.

“You’ve what?”

“…I’ve started dieting.” Your cheeks turn pink.

“Dieting?” Yoongi repeats, “Why?”

“I need to lose some weight.”

He shakes his head. “That’s simply not true. You’re the perfect weight, and I don’t want to hear you saying otherwise. I like you the way you are now.” He gives your arm a gentle poke. “I like this part.” He pokes your stomach. “And this part.” He moves up to your nose. “And this part. I like all of it. It’s all perfect.”

You blush, and bat his hand away. “Yeah, yeah… don’t get all mushy.” But when you go back to join your friends, Yoongi’s happy to see you tucking into a fat slice of pizza.

Originally posted by bangtannoonas


Hosoek: “Ugh…” That’s a sound you haven’t heard from Hoseok in a while – the sound he makes when he knows he’s fighting a losing battle against you. But he won’t give up without a fight - oh no! He’ll see a smile break through that perfected pout of yours, even if it means bringing out the big guns! An exaggerated eye-roll and a funny face secures his victory, and you can’t cap the laughter that fizzes up inside you - this is definitely the best way to deal with a couple’s quarrel.

“Stop that,” you bash playfully at his chest, and he bends over in feigned pain –

“Wow, Y/N, you’re so mean to me! And when I’m trying to help you out as well!”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes. “Hoseok, you stopping me from dieting isn’t going to help anything. I need to take better care of my health. You should be supporting this.”

He straightens up, straightens his face, and fixes you with a serious look. “Okay, I’ll support you – but only if you’re doing it for the right reasons.”

“I’m doing it to get healthier!”

“And you know that-”

“- that I’m completely gorgeous, with the perfect body, and that I don’t need to diet at all, and that you’re lucky to have me.”

He catches your face in his hands, palms pressing your cheeks softly, before he plunges in for a kiss. “Damn right.”

Originally posted by hoseokayo


Namjoon: “You dieting? Good one, babe.” Namjoon’s dimples deepen, his smile erupting into a fully-fledged laugh.

And then he realises you’re not joking. And his face falls. “Wait, really? You’re dieting? Why?” His mind kicks into overdrive, wondering, worrying about what could have caused this sudden decision. Before, you would have happily helped him finish off pizzas or ice-cream sundaes, but now you’re talking about empty calories and cutting carbs.

“I need to fix my figure,” you tell him, brow wrinkling into a frown.

Namjoon looks you up and down. “Babe…”

“What?”

His eyes trace your body a second time. “Babe.”

“What?” you demand again.

He shakes his head. “You do not need to get in shape. Your body is so sexy.”

“Sexy?” Your nose crinkles. “You think I’m sexy?”

“Unbelievably sexy.”

You consider this for a moment. Then – “Well… I guess if you think so, maybe I’m okay.”

“No, not just okay, but-”

“Sexy, right?” You finish his sentence for him, a glint in your eyes.

“Right! Sexy.” He purrs the word.

“Say it one more time.”

“Only if you promise to stop this talk of dieting.”

“Deal.”

“Sexy.”

Originally posted by myloveseokjin


Jimin: “But I bought all these biscuits for you!” Jimin gazes at the plate of cream-coated cookies in distress, then back up at you, his eyebrows furrowing. This isn’t how he imagined you accepting his date-night gift.

You grin sheepishly. “Sorry… I forgot to tell you I was starting a diet.”

“Can’t you leave it till tomorrow?”

Your mouth pops open in mock horror. “That would be cheating!”

“In all seriousness though, dieting’s no fun. Trust me, I’ve tried it before, and it didn’t make me any happier, or healthier.” Jimin’s mouth pulls down at the corners a little, before his usual smile returns. “Come on. Just one… they’re really tasty. Just take one.” As he says this, he picks up a cookie, and bites into it slowly, never breaking eye-contact with you. It’s a challenge. (Eat one! I dare you!)

You give in. Of course you do. It’s Jimin. Leaning towards him, you kiss some of the crumbs off the corner of his mouth, then, with the taste of sugar fresh on your tongue, you concede, “Maybe one or two couldn’t hurt.” A smug grin paints itself across Jimin’s face as you reach for the plate.

Tomorrow. You can start your diet tomorrow…

Or the day after that…

Originally posted by sugakookie


Taehyung: Taehyung doesn’t understand it. To him, you’re the most beautiful person he’s ever laid eyes on – you’re prettier than diamonds, and stardust, and wildflowers, and sunsets, and the pictures of waterfalls they stick on travel brochures. In short - you’re perfection personified. So, Taehyung can’t wrap his head around the idea of you dieting because you’re (quote) ‘so disgusting’.

It’s eating him up, knowing that you’re unhappy, and not knowing how he can fix it. All he can do is smile, and promise you that the voice in your head is lying to you. “But I never lie, Y/N. Not to you. Not about this.”

Still, your lips stay down-turned, eyes dull, not properly seeing him through your tears.

“Y/N…”

You wipe you eyes.

“Y/N, look at me.”

You blink a few times, and look up.

“Smile.”

You do. Despite all the negative thoughts that are bubbling around you, you manage to smile, and that’s all Taehyung needs to smile too.

“There, right there, that’s what perfection looks like.” He frames your face with his fingers, then slips his hands on down to your shoulders, looping around you and pulling you close.

Originally posted by bangtannoonas


Jungkook: “You’re what?” Jungkook cocks his head at you, looking like a confused puppy across the café table.

“Dieting…” you say past a mouthful of lettuce leaves, “Quit looking at me like that. I’m not speaking an alien language. D-i-e-t-i-n-g. Dieting.”

His head remains fixed in place, tilted to one side, the corners of his eyes scrunching up.

“Stop it!” You throw a napkin at him, which misses its target and floats down to the floor. You’re laughing, and he eventually breaks his gaze to chuckle as well.

“Okay, but seriously, why are you dieting?” His arms stretch across the table, reaching for your wrists as you bring another forkful of salad to your mouth.

A shrug is his answer. “I’ve just been feeling… I don’t know… ugly lately.”

“You don’t look ugly lately.”

Your eyes trail up to his. “You’re just saying that because you’re my boyfriend - you have to say nice things.”

“No way!” He leans further over the table, cupping your face in his hands, “Listen, if you want to diet for your health – fine. But I don’t ever want you thinking you’re ugly, because -  honestly! cross my heart and hope to die! - you are-” (he leans forward and kisses you) “- gorgeous.”

Originally posted by bwibelle


! none of the gifs are mine !

move like you want | (m)

Originally posted by heavenly-minds

pairing: kim taehyung x reader
genre/warnings: smut, explicit descriptions of sex, fingering, oral, dirty talk
words: 7,960
summary: where you meet the gaze of an incredibly attractive red head at a music bar and one thing leads to another…

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anonymous asked:

do you have any favourite voltron au's? c:

yesssss! I love altean prince lance and blade of marmora keith!!! or any variation in which keith is a galra soldier and they meet by circumstances (peace negotiations, political visits exc) and fall in love 

The Naked Truth

Written by: @peetaspikelets

Dialogue Prompt: this has got to be the strangest day of my life…(submitted by @xerxia31)

Rating: M (for nudity and language)

A/N: I need to thank Mr Pikelet for helping me bring this story to life. He brought ‘an event’ to my attention and after my initial shock and a bit of a giggle I thought I have to everlark this some how. 

A BIG thank you to my beta @sponsormusings for her amazing guidance, support and advice. I would be lost without you!

Enjoy!

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Would You Let Me Love You?

❝ I will admit that I cried and had to stop writing because it hit such a sensitive part of myself. But furthermore, enjoy. xx

word count: 2k +

It was on Twitter the first time you saw the rude comments. You were out for dinner with the boys - it was the last day of promotions and to celebrate, you all went to your guys’ favorite restaurant. You were looking through your phone while waiting for the food to arrive. Seokjin, your boyfriend was sitting next to you. His hand placed on your thigh as he scold the young one. Scrolling down the notification timeline, you couldn’t help but read the comments. 

She’s so fat, ugh. What does Jin see in her!?

Someone please get her out of the picture!!

She’s a foreigner, only wants Jin oppa for the money. 

Oh God, her thighs are huge! Grosssss!! Jin deserves better, not someone twice his weight. 

Time froze as you scrolled and scrolled - torturing yourself with the ugly words said about you. You ignored all these comments ever since you and Seokjin announced your relationship to the fans. Some of them were happy that you made the eldest of BTS happy; then there was those rude fans. These are what his fans thought about you - someone gross because of your weight. A foreigner, who can’t speak Korean, makes you a gold digger. There’s photos of female idols that make a perfect pair with Seokjin. Making comparisons of you to them. You swallow hard as you try to hold back your tears. How can people live each day insulting someone they hardly know? What good does it make for them? You didn’t notice that you were staring at your phone when you felt Seokjin squeeze your thigh. 

“Y/N-ah, eat,” he said in his best English. 

In front of you the food as arrived. More than fifteen side bowls, meat grilling on the small grills, lunch boxes, kimchi soup, gimbap, and salad. You could hear your stomach growl. Looking around, all the boys are chattering away, laughing, and having a good time. You look beside and watch Seokjin stuff his mouth with meat wrapped in a lettuce leaf. The thoughts that you’ve kept locked up behind your mind somehow escape the lock.

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8

The touch of another person’s hands.

Hands that wrap us in warmth, that hold us close. Hands that guide us to shelter, to comfort. Hands that hold and touch and reassure us through crisis. The first thing we ever learn is that the touch of someone else’s hand can ease pain and make things better. 

A Spy Can’t Love - Elriel

AO3

Characters: Elain Archeron,  Lucien, Azriel

Timeline: ACOWAR AU

Place: Spring Court

Wordcount: 1210

Note: Before ACOWAR comes out, let’s do some Elriel fics. Dedicated to @propshophannah for getting us all into this. Edited prompt: “You’re secretly a spy and to keep me safe when things go downhill you have to break up with me and hope I don’t try and follow you” by @toxixpumpkin . Elain is taken to the Spring Court by Lucien without anyone else but Feyre. Might have part 2.

Elain Archeron did not know much about her sister after Feyre had been Remade, but she knew enough to see that Feyre was pretending to love the High Fae - High Lord - of the Spring Court. She knew, because that was what she had been doing too, to Lucien.

She had almost screamed when Lucien had called her his ‘mate’. She had no idea what Faes and their mates were supposed to do, but Lucien seemed to think that Elain was now in love with him and she could not say no. She had seen Lucien, the empty shell beyond his mask, the flinch when she stared too had; she had seen his bleak past and broken soul, and she could not say no. Not even when there was someone else.

That someone else was the reason she steeled her nerves and smiled at the Faes, at the people who she had thought as monsters and still did, except for maybe Feyre and him. She did not know his name, for the time spent with him were so short she dared not ask, but the way his shadows called to her light, the way he was always silent because he knew Elain was tired to talking and pretending…the way he understood her so well, it was more than enough to make up for his anonymity.

The first time they had met, Elain saw him hiding behind a grove of trees - the grove that she used as her safety place. She had known that he was there for a reason, an ulterior motive that was not admiring the Spring Court’s flora. But she had not ask, maybe because she thought she recognized him, or maybe because he had not either when she shuddered when she smelled Lucien’s scent on her clothes and heaved up her breakfast.

Most days she would kiss Lucien lightly and briefly, swallowing her revulsion and stilling her trembling hands as she asked for permission to go out. That place - the Spring Court - was her home now, but still she had to ask for permission to leave because the High Lord said so and Lucien would never go against him. Disgusted was putting it lightly.

Then she would walk past rows and rows of exotic flowers she could not name, their sweet scents too cloying, until she reached a grove of trees. The trees were huge, towering above her and blocking out the sunlight when she walked into the centre. She would throw up there, heaving out her breakfast, shaking so hard from fear of those Faes.

He would be there, always close by but unseeing, giving her the privacy she fought so hard to maintain. And always after, he would stand by her, his shadows hugging her because neither dared touch each other, Elain more so. And as much as she hated spending time anywhere close to a Fae, he was different. He knew his limits, he knew Elain wanted to be herself, to own herself, not to be tied to someone else because to a stupid mating bond. Elain knew he understood, because he never brought the topic up, the topic she wanted to close her ears and eyes to.

Softly, so softly she sometimes could not hear herself, she would whisper her fears, her disgust of Lucien and the High Lord, and the Faes who thought they should have sex just because they were mates. She would whisper her hopes and dreams; whisper her need to protect Feyre but wanting to be protected. She knew the dark Fae was there to spy on the Spring Court and she was wasting his time, but he would still stand there, patient and always listening.

She would suddenly want to prove herself to him, to earn his trust and time, to repay him for his kindness by giving him something worth it. She would want to be worth something, to mean something more than just a broken doll hiding behind a fake remade body; she would want to be like those flowers she used to grow, standing strong despite the cold winter winds and the scorching summer heat. But she could not - could not think about what Lucien and Tamlin were up to, what schemes Feyre was planning.

Every time it would end with them awkwardly leaving, her carefully stepping over her puke, knowing that it would be magically cleaned, either by the Spring Court’s magic or - she tried not to think about it - Azriel’s shadows. And him, just disappearing in a silent puff of smoke leaving behind faint wisps of shadows that would disappear too, under the sunlight of the Spring Court.

It would happen every few days, whenever Elain felt like she needed some air or time. Until she slipped.

Lucien was following her, though she did not realized, too wrapped up in her excitement to meet the dark Fae. She did noticed actually, felt someone following her, but dismissed it as her paranoia of living in a Fae mansion.

But then the wind shifted, and she smelled the scent of fallen leaves and cool wind, smelled fire, and she nearly freaked out. She buried that feeling, that scream, deep deep down, and turned around innocently, eyes wandering over the flowers like that was what she was there for, then falling on Lucien like she just noticed him.

She forced her eyes to widen in surprise, forced her lips to tug at the corners, as unwilling as she was to smile at him. She lifted her skirts daintily, as she half-skipped towards him. Then because she could not bring herself any closer, smiled at him in greeting and cocked her head.

Lucien only shook his head and left, a smile ghosting on his lips. Elain just stood there, her heart beating loud enough that she knew Lucien could hear - not because she was so, so scared, but because of his Fae ears. She prayed, prayed to whatever forgotten Gods and to whatever deities or objects the Faes worshipped that Lucien did not know about the mysterious Fae male waiting just so close behind.

When she was sure Lucien was gone, she ran, tore off her slippers and ran back into the mansions, ignoring the thorns that ripped her gown and tore her feet. She stormed into her room and grabbed the first pen and paper she could find, praying that neither were magicked to record words as she scribbled down her apology, her explanation, her loss and her love. She scribbled down in the loopy cursive that her mother had taught her, asking for forgiveness and telling him that she had no choice, and that Lucien was suspicious but she still loved him anyway and I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry and please don’t follow me, please leave, leave, leave.

And at the last second, she asked for his name, knowing how foolish she was asking for his reply after all of that. She left that piece of paper in a hole of one of the trees, praying that the Fae got it before Lucien or the High Lord did.

Days later, she was sitting in her room, directly above the trees when a paper flew in.

Don’t be sorry, it’s not your fault.

—Azriel

Little Quirks

Hey y’all, this is a comfort fic, I was in desperate need of it.
I kinda took the cowards way out in terms of choosing a character to write, but I’m trying something new…
In the interactive box, write a male’s name that you would like to be paired with… and if the box doesn’t work, H/N stands for “His Name” then there’s the usual YN for you… (that’s not interactive, I apologise.) This is just fluff and comfort
Here goes

Originally posted by friendshipfeelsbetter

Your name: submit What is this?

H/N groaned as the bed jostled, he felt the sudden emptiness next to him and heard the light pat of feet against the floorboards as YN disappeared out of the bedroom and into the ensuite. The tired partner fell back asleep, waking five minutes later to notice YN was still gone, the slight illumination from a phone coming from the crack in the door to the bathroom.
H/N rolled over and rubbed at his eyes, kicking back the covers and standing from the comfy, warm, bed.
He padded over to the door and tapped twice, pushing it open when YN gave a faint hum.
“You okay?” H/N croaked, his voice still thick from sleep. Looking down at YN, she was sat on the toilet, phone in hand, sudoku open on the screen, her other arm wrapped around her middle.
“Yeah,” YN answered, halfheartedly.
“What’s up?” H/N asked, crouching and circling his fingers around her calf, tentatively, remembering how she’d pushed his arm off her and rolled to the fair side of the bed, earlier that night.
“I don’t know, I just woke up and didn’t feel good.” She sighed, meeting his concerned gaze. Her mouth was turned down and her eyes reflected her tone; defeated.
“Do you want me to get you anything?” He asked, rubbing lightly up and down the back of her leg.
“A stomach that doesn’t hate me?” She asked, shaking her head for a real answer. He murmured an okay and kissed her hair before he left. She gave him a weak smile as he closed the door, mouthing a thanks.
She sat there, concentrating on the pattern and the numbers on the phone’s screen, forgetting about her stomach pain until, finally, she was able to move without her body protesting. She finished the third game, and balanced the phone on the sink’s edge, staring at her toes as her brain receptors sent message after message to wiggle. Her feet were numb from sitting for so long. She closed her eyes, resting them for just a moment before cleaning herself up, then pushing up onto the useless limbs, balancing. She leaned against the sink and washed her hands, picking up her phone and turning quickly, praying she could make it back to bed before her feet began to tingle painfully from new blood flow.
She climbed into bed and repositioned the pillows, packing them against the headboard and propping herself into a half sitting position. Her stomach was already threatening to start doing weird flips and knots, would she never find peace tonight? YN frowned and huffed, unlocking her phone, she started another game, grinding her forefinger back and forth over her sternum as she began to concentrate, again, on fitting the numbers into the boxes.
“Still no good?” H/N muttered, rolling over to face her, propping himself up onto his elbow. She shook her head and kept going with the game. He watched her for a while before stilling the hand on her chest, moving it so he could start rubbing firm, broad, circles into her chest. She let out a deep breath, relaxing under his fist. For a second, he experienced an out of body thought; how weird it was that he was rubbing his knuckles, hard, into her chest and this seemed to relax her. He quickly discarded the thought and watched the game, she was quite good at it, finishing one game in five minutes before starting another.
After three games, they were both struggling to keep their eyes open. She locked her phone and put it down, H/N withdrew his hand and folded his pillow under his head, watching as she slowly and carefully sunk further down the bed, finally horizontal. He could hear the faint noise of the sheets moving, he could feel the slightest tug of the material against his boxers. He reached across the bed toward her.
“H/N,” She groaned, telling him she wasn’t well enough to cuddle, but he continued, he knew her well enough not to attempt to smother her, but he did want to feel her, fall asleep to the touch of her warm skin. He found her hand smoothing circles on her belly and took it in his, squeezing gently. Even in the dark, he knew she was trying to smile at him, her hand slipped from his, back to grind against her sternum as he gently pressed the heel of his palm into her stomach, drawing a large circle, moving in a clockwise direction.

What were once odd quirks to H/N, were now routine. If YN had a stomach ache, she’d lie on her left side or rub clockwise circles into her belly. If she was trying to take her mind off anything, she’d play sudoku, and if that wasn’t quite working, she’d press against her sternum. If she had a sore throat she’d sip hot lemon and honey, and if it progressed, she’d start on the vitamins before ever seeing a doctor.
H/N once teased YN for all these different remedies, but now he could see just how much they worked for her… and somewhere along the way, they started working for him. Maybe not in the way they were intended, but they brought him comfort.
Her slow and even breathing told him that she was finally asleep, her body had given into the night and let her drift off peacefully.
“I love you.” He breathed into the dark room, retracting his hand from her abdomen, knowing if he were to fall asleep, the dead weight of his hand would wake her up in the night, and the last thing he wanted was to do that. He had faced her wrath of a morning once before, and he’d sworn never again. As much as he loved her, a tired, ill and angry YN was worse than a hundred hellhounds.

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anonymous asked:

i wish you would write a fic where it's all fucking ANGST and Plumette gets sick and Lumiere is freaking the hell out trying to take care of her whbfejdnnd

She falls like a feather: silent and light. Thank heaven Lumiere is there; she would have fallen off the staircase.

They lay her in her bed. She cannot recognize the hands that put her away—their faces are too dim, the hands don’t feel like the shape hands should be.

She tries to sleep and has nightmares: she dreams of standing still, and it is horrible, in a way she cannot explain to anyone who has never lived enchanted. She dreams he does not love her. She dreams he cannot hold her hands again.

She does not know it, but she is speaking while she dreams.

Her forehead is wet. Lumiere, awake, is having nightmares: the way her eyes just shut, the way she crumpled beside him and the way he gasped and only caught her in time, and he’s reliving over and over again what would have happened if he hadn’t been quick enough and let her drop.

She cannot stop moving in her sleep, and when she wakes her eyes roll around and she doesn’t seem to recognize him. “Cherie, cherie,” he whispers, “c’est moi. Quiet, now, I am here, c’est moi.”

“You are not quite on fire,” she says. She cannot remember the bookends of the curse, her time as human. In delirium, she’s stuck in candles and wax.

The castle cannot sleep at night for her crying out. Mrs. Potts tries to hide the truth from Lumiere, but it is impossible: she cries at night because she feels her own legs, and they feel wrong to her.

“Delirium,” agrees Pere Robert, quietly coming up from the village and checking her pulse, opening his old books for cures. “She is weak and so has nightmares she was afraid of having as a healthy woman. In her mind, the enchantment still lives.”

In her bed, Plumette knows none of this. She knows that strange people flit about her bed, and make her drink things she should not be able to taste, and lift her head and touch her and whisper things she cannot comprehend. Where is Mrs. Potts, she cries, and the woman beside her says “dearie, I’m here.” No, not you, she wants to croak, not you, the tea-kettle. A boy beside her reads fairy-stories from a book and she wonders where Chip has gone off to. Where are Cadenza, Cogsworth, Chapeau? The castle has abandoned her to humans who look like villagers, villagers who bruise and battle at your home.

“Lumiere, don’t wear yourself out so,” says Belle. “Getting exhausted yourself does nothing. Please sleep.”

Beside her now is another man. Plumette cannot bear all these strange faces, she cannot bear how they tell her she’s sick when all that’s wrong is she’s just a little hot—and a little cold—and a little thirsty—and sometimes her hands shake, her wings fail her. That’s all that’s wrong. She’s well, truly, just—too weak to get off the ground.

He’s probably a villager. She tries to turn her face away, but she is too weak to move it. Another human, to come visit the feather duster. He speaks to her at length but her mind wanders off. She doesn’t notice he’s gone until an hour later.

The little boy is back. She doesn’t mind him quite as much as the others—he doesn’t make her drink, or try to sit up and be human, he just sits beside her and talks aloud about what he’s reading.

“Belle is teaching me and I’m up to books an inch thick,” he says, and “Belle” means nothing, but “books” do and she tries to listen. “I still stumble over the bigger words, though.”

Plumette has no idea who this child is, but at least he’s trying to talk of other things besides health and humans.

“Uhh—Plumette?” he says. He looks around, like he’s keeping secrets. There isn’t anyone else around right now: just the boy and Plumette. She tries to listen, she tries to focus her eyes on the wide face and big eyes she doesn’t know. “I brought you something. They said I shouldn’t but I thought it might help.”

He hands her a cup.

“This is Chip,” he says.

She holds the cup. Her hand trembles but she doesn’t drop it.

“This is Chip,” the boy says, “and he can’t talk to you all the time, because when I’m not here he gets sleepy, but when I’m here you can talk to him. He—uhh,” the boy’s voice falters, shy, “he misses you.”

“Chip,” she says, and she talks to Chip.

She tells him how lonely she is, now that the palace has gone away and left her all alone. He asks her how he can help and she smiles and says she’s happy he came, and asks him how he’s doing, and Chip tells her he’s been learning to play this game with balls and sticks and how much fun it is to go outside.

“I thought Mrs. Potts wouldn’t let you outside,” she said, “because you might crack of cold.” She talks to the cup, and the boy grins. She cannot tell but she has sunk deeper into the cushions, the tight spots in her arms easing up and lightening.

She tells Chip about how the boy who reads to her is amazing, she couldn’t read that well at his age. She tells Chip that she’s so grateful he came. She thanks the boy for bringing her Chip.

“Don’t tell anyone about this,” says the boy, taking the cup back and smiling. “I don’t think the grown-ups would understand.”

“Chip,” she says, and her eyes shift between the boy and the cup, “could you find Lumiere?”

The boy thinks; the cup is quiet. Finally Chip says, “he’s not like most grown-ups. I’ll try. I need to find a candelabra first.”

“Well, he is a candelabra,” says Plumette. “So just find him.”

Two hours later and he’s back, and Plumette wants to break with disappointment. The boy has brought back Chip and a human. A villager, probably. Her arms ache and she trembles.

“Shh, shh,” says the human, and he eases into the chair beside her. “Shhh, ma cherie. Look.”

And he takes a candelabra from his coat and lights it.

Ma cherie,” he says again, his voice low, a slight break in it, and holds the candelabra near her. Her ears find his voice, her eyes seek the candle. Her face breaks into smiles as the two connect.

Mon amour,” she whispers. “I’ve missed you for so long.”

They talk for four hours, and Chip is payed handsomely to distract the rest of the castle for that time. She cannot stop speaking; she craves hearing him say her name. At first Lumiere is heartbroken that her eyes seek the candle and not his own, but eventually it grows natural, easy. They have had harder times before. She is so glad to be near him and tells him everything, everything, and as she speaks the fever breaks.

“Lumiere,” she gasps, and he sets down the candelabra and flies to get her water before she can finish the word. He sits beside her while she holds the glass, and brings the candelabra back before his eyes so that she will see it and not him when she is done.

“Lumiere,” she gasps, and sets the glass down. Her eyes turn back to the candelabra, then waver and quiver. He is terrified she is falling deeper into the delirium, but he dares not set the candles down again.

Mon amour,” she says, and pushes the candelabra aside with one weak hand, and looks into his eyes. “You don’t need to hide behind the light.”

Lumiere weeps, and she is well.

Pure Magic, part 2 (Alec x Female!Reader)

Warning: I know Alec is a gay character. But he is just that, a character. Keep that in mind. Please, also note that english is not my first language. I am sorry if there are any mistakes, please feel free to point them out to me I won’t be offended. All credit goes to the creators.

Also, you might need to read part 1 of this story.


“She is not going. She is not a weapon, mom!” Alec shouts. “Too many people are aware of her abilities, every time she goes out there she is put in danger!”

“There are demons attacking mundanes, Alec. All our soldiers are out there, but it is not enough. We already lost ten people, we’ll loose ten more by the end of the night without her! Shadowhunters are dying while we’re discussing this!”

“Our teams are well trained, we dealt with this before we knew about her. Death is a part of our job, and as much as I hate loosing my people, I am not putting her life in jeopardy. This is not her battle” he states, ready to leave.

“What is her battle, Alec. What is she worth of if she doesn’t use her magic to save people? Right now, she’s useless. There’s no need for her to stick around if she doesn’t serve a purpose for our cause.”

“Don’t you ever speak about her like that. Never again” Alec turns around, his eyes sending daggers. If looks could kill. “She is here because of me. Because she linked my life to hers in order to save me. People like you are the reason why she stays under radar, you use her. She steps in when I ask her to, when I am sure I can protect her. And right now, I can’t. There’s too many demons, to many witnesses.”

“You need to be realistic. Last night she literally sat a whole group of vampires on fire with nothing but a glare. Y/N is powerful.”


“You need to stop doing that!” Alec shouts at me. “I get that you are powerful, but you can’t put your life in danger just for the sake of it!”

“Alec calm down! I’m not a kid, I can take care of myself!

"You are not immortal Y/N! I can’t have you die on me, just go back to your old life and stay of supernatural business.”

“Do you want me to leave, to go back to London?” I ask, hurt.

“No. I-” he calms down, his eyes turning soft. “I don’t want to you to go back to London. I want you to get a job, I want us to argue about me coming home late, you coming home drunk, boys flirting with you. I want us to go back to normal. I want us to be normal.”

“But we can’t, Alec. Our entire relationship is not normal!” I exclaim.

“Don’t say that. It sounds like you regret saving my life, linking our lives” he whispers.

I sigh, put a hand on his cheek in order to force him to look at me in the eyes. “Don’t you ever say that. I regret nothing, baby. I would do it all over again if I had to. I love you. The fact that we are linked probably helped the process of me falling in love with you, but let’s face it: I would have fallen in love with you if we had met under other circumstances. We are meant to be. Don’t you ever doubt our love.” Alec wraps his arms around me, pulling me to his chest. “I love you, I can’t loose you” he speaks quietly, his chin resting on my head.

Two years passed since I saved his life. Since I linked our lives. Since he changed my life. We fell for each other pretty quickly, the link probably helping. At first I had try the old method: having a job, going out with friends, not getting involved in the supernatural world. But I always that feeling. I felt when Alec was hurt. When he was scared. And I just couldn’t concentrate on a normal life while he was out there fighting demons I could get ride of with a blink of an eye. So I got involved, and he hates it. Alec is a protector, he just can’t help it.

“Come on, they need us out there.”


As we step into an alley, dozens of demons appear out of nowhere. Alec steps in front of me, ready to fire his arrows. I stay behind the group, only stepping in when needed, as agreed. As the group steps closer to the demons, more of them appear behind us, we are trapped. I look up and notice demons standing at the edge of the buildings surrounding us. “Do you mind if I do my thing? I am not carrying your corpses back to the institute, dead bodies are heavy as shit” I speak. “Mind your language” Alec says, “do your thing but stick with us. Make a circle around her” he commands. I sigh, raising a brow. “Done, where to now?” I ask, turning to Alexander. He rolls his eyes, leading the way out of the alley. “I’ll never get use to this” Jace sighs. Jace tends to feel useless when I’m around, everyone knows how much he loves to show off with his ninja moves.


It had been eventful. You had roamed the streets all night long, killing demons after demons. The shadowhunters bodies were hurting from all the fighting and my energy was all gone. I kiss Alec’s jawline, waiting for Maia to bring our orders back. “Get a room, you two!” Jace laughs. I kick his leg under the table and he mocks me pretending to be in pain. “You have something” I mention to Simon, pointing to the blood on his chin. He quickly swipes it off, smiling, his fangs showing. As he places a hand over his mouth I can’t help but giggle. Simon is so bad at all this vampire stuff, I never met a baby vampire before, they are not as lethal as they are said to be.

“Yes, thank you Maia!” Clary shouts, causing mundanes to turn to us. “Sorry, I’m just really hungry.”

“I can see that. So, you’re off to Idris tomorrow?” Isabelle asks her brother.

“Its just a week” he responds, eyeing me. “Just a week” he repeats after my displeased grunt.

“And of course you’re leaving me in charge of the grumpy one! When is Theo coming back anyway, my ears could use some rest” Jace speaks, swallowing his food. “I am telling you, if you think Simon talks a lot, you never witnessed this one when you’re not around. She can’t stop complaining.”

“I wouldn’t complain if Alec sticked around” I defend.

“Yeah, and the whole empty feeling is not nice either! Quick reminder that I feel it too, if you don’t care about her think about me!”

“Hey!” I say, throwing my napkin at him. “And Theo is coming back in a few days. I bet Izzy can’t wait.”

“Alright, we need to go back mom just texted me” Isabelle says, getting up.

“No she didn’t, you’re phone is in my pocket” Alec speaks up.

“Shut up” she mentions, slapping the back of his head.


“Who is this?” a woman asks Maryse, pointing at me.

“I’m right here, talk to my face. I don’t know who you are, Mrs Uptight, but you may want to take that stick out of your ass when speaking to me. I respond to no authority” I bark, stepping in front of Alexander.

“Alright, we’re headed bed. I’ll talk to you later” Alec mentions his mother, dragging me to the stairs. “You can’t yell at people like that, Y/N. She is a part of the Clave.”

“Being a member of the Clave doesn’t make her unattainable. I could make her burst into glitter. Oh! Or I could make glitter burst out of her ass!” I says, as excited as a child on christmas.

Alec laughs, opening the bedroom door and gently pushing me inside. “I won’t do it if you don’t go to Idris” I challenge. He smiles and kisses me deep and slow. “Bed, baby. You’re getting out of control” he pushes me down on the mattress. “I love you.”

Believe In Me

Request: In which Jungkook swears to always protect you—even if you don’t accept him.
Pairing: Jungkook | Reader
Genre: Fluff/Angst, Guardian Angel!AU
Word Count: 8,681
Author’s Note: oh my god I finally finished this. I don’t know how I feel about it yet, but I hope you guys like it!!

.

Jungkook doesn’t remember dying.

He actually doesn’t remember anything much about, well, anything. As strange as it may sound, all he really remembers is darkness. Just an endless pitch, devoid of any life, the only thing to keep him company the whispers and remnants of his own thoughts—even though he’s not even sure he’s had much to begin with. It just feels like he’s floating around in some sort of strange bubble of extended unconsciousness, aware of everything and yet absolutely nothing all at the same time.

He isn’t aware of how long he’s stuck in this stage, caught between the realms of the dead and the living, unable to settle in one for too long, before it feels like he’s being pulled down. As if the carpet beneath his feet have been ripped from below him, sending him spiraling until he’s standing within a white room with no doors and no windows.

It all feels a little bit like waking up, embracing some sort of artificial sunlight that takes the form of blinding lights without a source and Jungkook is left alone to walk, touch the walls as the questions spring in his mind like wildflowers. He’s confused, because even though he doesn’t remember dying he knows for a fact that he’s dead and when he pictured afterlife this is certainly not what he had been expecting. Whatever fantasy he may have conjured up in his mind seem a lot more exciting than the confined space of 4 walls, no end in sight.

“You must have a lot of questions right now.”

Jungkook whirls around towards the voice, sprouting from someone he knows could not have been in the room a few seconds ago. But again, he knows he must certainly be dead because how else could someone have appeared within a room with no windows or doors, an eerie quietness drifting and biting at his skin—a previous reminder that he had been alone.

Up until now.

The speaker of the statement is a man behind a desk, hair a short pale blue color and black framed glasses across his face, fingers laced together and folded upon a file. The man is unfamiliar, yet his smile is one of comfort and a vague recognition, and Jungkook could have sworn he’s seen this man before once in his lifetime. Or, at the very least, he trusts this man almost immediately. It could be a naive part of Jungkook’s original nature, but the man has just appeared to him out of thin air, seemingly willing to answer any question Jungkook dare try to speak—and he seems calm.

Jungkook turns to face the man completely. “I died,” He speaks quietly, clearing his voice when it sounds as if he hasn’t had to use it in years, like vocals rubbing against sandpaper.

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Reasons why I think Yuuri and Viktor have already had sex

This is going to get long, I can see it now, so heads up.

So to start off, let’s start at the beginning of the episode with this:

This one’s been overdone a lot already but! I want to take this into new perspective. Viktor was clearly drunk as all hell in this scene. Being drunk doesn’t mean transforming you into a new person, it just lowers inhibitions, right? Now look at Viktor’s face closely.

I’ve seen some people call this possessiveness. Tbh I thought so too before watching this episode. Now I just think it’s lust, and not possessiveness, because Viktor is so smashed at this point that his inhibitions are practically gone. What I mean by that is, Viktor wants to bone Yuuri (as seen by all the sexual innuendos and physical flirting back in episodes 3, 4, and 5) and him being drunk only enhances his outward emotions, if you catch my drift. 

He even goes so far as to strip. I’m going to elaborate more on his dialogue under the cut.

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Fic: Bleeding Love (Legends of Tomorrow; Rip/Sara)

Fandom: Legends of Tomorrow

Rating: PG

Pairing: Rip Hunter/Sara Lance (Time Canary)

Summary: Or five times Sara gets hurt and Rip fusses and freaks the hell out, and the one time Sara returns the favour …

Author’s Note: So this is the result of all those excellent time canary gif sets (especially the one of Rip being repeatedly punched) and the wonderful discussion that goes on in the tags and also @teruel-a-witch, and just the time canary fandom in general. You’re all awesome. Hope you like this :-)

Can also be read here on AO3

] I [

It starts with a papercut.

(Although, in all honesty, when asked about it later, he’ll say it started with a finger squeezing around a trigger, painting the ice crimson.)

She’s leafing through the stack of papers Nate had earlier dumped on the office desk, when her finger slices across a surprisingly sharp edge. The hiss of pain is instant.

“Damn it,” she mutters, lifting her finger on instinct to her mouth, and sucking on the tiny, inconvenient wound.

“Sara?”

The concern is palpable. She can hear it in his voice, can feel it in the air around her, feel it in the sudden burn of his eyes trained on her back.

She turns on the spot ready to wave it away, but finds Rip already edging around the centre table, abandoning his perusal of their most recent mission specs and standing less than a foot away. It’s not his closeness that bemuses her, but the expression on his face.

“I’m fine,” she’s quick to reassure, waving her finger around, “Just a stupid papercut.”

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Jealousy - part 2/3

ao3

Shiro’s metal fingers clicked sharply against the long marble table. The rhythmic tapping floated up into the vaults of the Andrean castle’s Great Hall, where it folded into the sound of hushed meeting-table conversation, the scurrying of castle staff, and the ever-present lull of the nearby ocean. It was nearing the end of the seventh consecutive day of never-ending diplomatic meetings and Shiro’s focus was beginning to wear; he had no idea how the other Paladins’ bore it so well. Maybe because the novelty of the new planet was still fresh for them, or because they all could sleep more than four hours a night, or because Prince Xor’s face didn’t inexplicably piss them off like it did to Shiro. 

It had been a long week.

In all fairness, Andrean was just as impressive as Coran had said. The spires of the royal castle stretched far into the clouds, its white facade reflecting the glittering mist that obscured part of the blue sky. An entourage of banners, musicians, and diplomatic corps had waited to greet them at the castle’s sweeping steps, scores of Andreans thronging at the sides of the wide central avenue. Allura’s descriptions of them as the cousin of Alteans seemed accurate; their ears had a similar shape and the crowd was a rainbow of different hair colors, but Shiro didn’t notice any facial markings like Allura or Coran’s.

The whole flight down he had been preoccupied with memories of the night before; he could feel the Black Lion snickering at him when he thought about Allura’s face, soft and flushing as she transported them into the past, talking longingly of her memories of Andrean. Of Prince Ronan. The sweet, witty, devastatingly handsome prince that loomed in Shiro’s consciousness. Sure, the devastatingly handsome part was his own invention, but still, her words starting something brewing in his chest that he didn’t like (and would never admit.)

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