dry curls

Tips I've learned from being a hairstylist that I'd like to share with you:

1. Don’t wear your ponytail, bun, or clip in the same spot everyday. This can cause friction that will eventually cause breakage. Instead, mix it up by wearing your ponytail higher or lower or to the side. You could even try a braid.

2. It’s healthier to NOT wash your hair everyday if you can. When you wash your hair, you strip the scalp of it’s natural oils that moisturize the hair. I know you can’t always skip shampooing, especially if you workout everyday or your hair gets greasy after one day of not washing. You don’t have to skip shampoo too many days in a row, just try every other day.

3. Static in the hair is caused by lack of moisture. Lack of moisture can be caused by washing your hair too much, using alcohol based products (such as hairspray or mousse), salt water, chlorine water, using too much or too high of heat on your hair, or simply by not conditioning enough.

4. When you condition your hair, don’t put it on the scalp. Only put in on the mid shaft and ends. Why not put it on the scalp? Because of those natural oils I mentioned earlier. They’ll moisturize the hair near the scalp.

5. You only need to condition Every other day or a few times a week. Make at least two of those times a deep conditioner.

6. Chlorine can dry and damage your hair. One way to help prevent this is to get your hair wet before going swimming. Your hair is like a sponge, it sucks up and holds water. If there’s already water in your hair when you go swimming, it makes it harder for chlorine water to get in and stay.

7. Please use a thermal protector when flat ironing, curling , and blow drying. It will not prevent damage altogether, but it will cut down on it. There are blow-dry cremes and sprays out there that are just for styling and not protecting. Make sure it actually says on the bottle ‘thermal protectant’. My favorite is Redken’s Iron Shape. Just about every salon sells it.

8. Acne: There are several causes, hormones, stress, bacteria, poor diet. Zits on the neck or jawline are usually caused by hormones (puberty, your period). Those you can’t really prevent/heal without acne cream. Acne on your cheeks is most likely cause by poor diet. Cut down on sugars, processed foods, and bad fats. Zits along the hairline at usually caused by stress. Another cause of zits may be from bacteria on your pillow case. Wash your pillow case every other day. On days you don’t wash it, flip over so you always have a clean side to sleep on. Another way to keep your face clean is to actually clean it with face wash. Make sure it isn’t one that is too abrasive. Also, avoid touching your face a lot. Oils from your hand can build up on your face and cause zits.

That’s all I can think of for now. I’ll try to add more later.

“Kiss Me” Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 3,293

Dean Winchester x Reader

Request: Could you do one where you’re not super tomboy but you don’t usually wear “girly things” and to go undercover you have to wear a short black dress, basically what happens is a lot of tight spaces with you and dean and some accidental rubbing against each other here and there and it ends with some good smut where he basically just hikes up the skirt of your dress and you realize how convenient dresses can actually be 

Warnings: Smut, language, lots of sexual tension, unprotected sex


Originally posted by dean-sam-winchesterbros

“There’s no way in hell you’re going.” Dean shakes his head, not even considering the idea of you going on the case with them.

“Come on. You’ve been training me for months now, besides it’s not like we’ll be doing any actual fighting. It’s a goddamn dinner party. All we’ll be doing is socializing and stealing that dumb bracelet.” You argue.

You had been living with Sam and Dean for a few months now. They’ve been training you to be a hunter, but refuse to take you on any actual hunts yet. They keep saying that you just aren’t ready, despite kicking ass in training. Tonight they were supposed to be going to some fancy dinner party/auction at some fancy collector’s house, and you were desperate to go along.

“What if something goes wrong, huh? What are you going to do then?” Dean questions, obviously getting frustrated.

“Then I can be a helpful asset to the team! I know what I’m doing. I’m getting training from the best hunters in the country.” You beg.

“Dean, she has a good point. She’s going to have to start somewhere, and this is probably the best place to do that. The chances of anything going wrong are slim.” Sam defended you.

“What, both of you are going to gang up on me now?” Dean rolled his eyes. “Fine, you can go. But if you get hurt, I get to tell you that I told you so.”

“Ah!” You say in excitement. “Thank you!”

You’re not sure why Dean is so protective over you. You’re only a few years younger than Sam, not too big of a deal. You can take care of yourself. But ever since you moved in with them, Dean has been overly-protective of you, and honestly, it could be a bit much. You feel like he treats you like a little, helpless girl instead of the woman you are.

“But, those clothes are a no. You’re going to have to wear a dress.” Dean pointed to your outfit.

“I hate dresses. What’s wrong with my clothes?” You frown. You were wearing ripped skinny jeans and a flannel, nothing too fancy, but you wouldn’t consider it ugly. You like your clothing, even if it’s not the girliest.

“There’s nothing wrong with them,” Sam interjected, staring down Dean. “This event is just really fancy and we have to fit in.”

“I don’t even own a dress.” You realize. “Or heels. Or anything fancy, for that matter.”

“Guess you can’t go on the case then.” Dean sighed dramatically.

“You wish, Winchester.” You roll your eyes. “What time is the event?”

“Seven.”

“I’ll be back later.” You glance at the clock, seeing that it was almost one in the afternoon. You definitely had time to run to the mall and grab some stuff before tonight.

-

A few hours later, you returned to the bunker with a few shopping bags in each hand. It had been a successful trip- you managed to find a relatively cute but not expensive dress that had matching heels, and also some earrings.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you carry shopping bags in your life.” Dean commented as you walked past them to go to your room.

“There’s a first for everything, right?” You shoved a couple bags in his arms, making him help you bring them to your room.

“You know, I’m not trying to be mean. I just don’t want to risk you getting hurt.”

“Dean.” You set the bags on your bed, turning around and looking at him in the eye. “You don’t have to act like my big brother. I’m okay. I can take care of myself.”

Dean looks at you, seeming like he wanted to say something, but he kept his mouth shut.

“I’ve got to start getting ready, so…” You trail off, implying that he needed to leave.

“It’s only four. It starts at seven.” He raises his eyebrows.

“Uh, trust me, girls take a long time to get ready. Now, get out.” You laugh, playfully shoving him out the door. He raises his hands in surrender, and closes the door behind him.

You are determined to look good tonight, to go all out. You rarely ever dressed up, hence why you didn’t have any nice clothing. This was probably the last time you’ll ever dress up as well, you hate dresses, so why not make the most of it?

You started out by taking a shower and making sure that you used your favorite body wash that left a good scent on you for hours. You normally only used it for when you were going on a date, but this is a special occasion.

You then blow-dryed your hair and curled it, which was a nice change from your usual ponytail you typically threw it in. Next you applied makeup, which was also a nice change from the bare face you normally sported. You have clear skin and decent eyelashes, so you didn’t think you needed makeup on a day to day basis. Tonight, you were rocking a smoky eye and red lip combo, thanks to the YouTube tutorials you had watched. You attempted to put on fake eyelashes, but they were a complete fail so you just went without them.

The last thing you did was put on your dress. You looked in the mirror and admired yourself once it was on. Man, is that dress sexy. It was a tight, bodycon style that stopped just below your butt, showing off all the right curves of your boy. Paired with the black heels, you looked good.

You were about to grab your purse when you hear a knocking on your door.

“Y/N? It’s almost seven, we’ve got to-“

You interrupt them by opening the door, revealing both Sam and Dean standing there. The reactions of both of their faces are priceless. Sam raised his eyebrows and glanced away, doing his signature nervous gulp. Dean, oh poor Dean, he didn’t know what had hit him. He couldn’t look away. He had never seen you look so… Good.

“You can take a picture if you want.” You tease, walking past them. They both cleared their throats and watched as you walked past them, not moving a muscle.

“You know, boys, we’re going to be late if you don’t get a move on it.” You say.

“Yeah yeah.” Dean mumbled, rushing to get to the impala.

The ride there was uncomfortable, to say the least. You couldn’t sit in the backseat since Dean hadn’t cleaned it, and you didn’t want to get anything on your dress. Sam was entirely too tall to sit back there, and there was no way in hell that Dean was letting either of you drive. So, that left you to be in your current predicament- squished between the both of them in the front seat.

Sam was polite enough to try and scoot over as far to the door as possible, which was nice. You had some room, but you were still basically attached to Dean on the hip. Your thighs were touching and your shoulders were bumping into each other, and no one said a word the entire ride there.

When you finally reached the house, you couldn’t be more happy to get out of that car. You stepped outside of the impala, enjoying the feeling of the warm summer air hitting your skin.

“How are we going to go about this?” You asked them, leaning against the impala. You couldn’t exactly go inside without a plan.

“The bracelet is inside one of the upstairs bedroom, inside the top drawer of one of the dressers. We’ll socialize for a little bit, whatever, and then I’ll excuse myself to the bathroom and go find the bracelet upstairs. You and Sam can keep watch downstairs.” Dean directed.

“Okay, sounds like a plan.” You say. You link arms with the both of them and walk inside the house, which was absolutely beautiful. You’re enchanted by architecture and all of the collections spread about the house. It was something out of a movie.

“Grab a glass of champagne. Fit in.” Dean whispered to you, not looking at you as he waved to a person across the room. You took a glass from the table behind you, taking a small sip as the person Dean waved to came over to the three of you.

“Hello! What brings you guests here today?” The man asks, all smiles. He must be the owner of the house.

“Just very interested in seeing what you have up for auction today, Sir. You have lovely collections.” You tell him, putting your charm on.

“Why, thank you!” He smiles.

“So, why don’t you tell me about some of these pieces? I’d love to know more.” You lie, hoping to keep the man’s interest long enough for Dean to sneak upstairs. It wasn’t exactly the plan, but it would work. You shoot Dean a look, and he gives you a thumbs up, and you can see him dash away upstairs.

“This piece of art work I got from Venice, isn’t it lovely?” He pointed to a painting.

“Yes, it certainly is.” You pretend to admire it.

He keeps on talking, and at some point you zone out. You look back over to where Sam was standing, hoping to see Dean standing there, but he wasn’t back yet. Odd.

You glance over to the other side of the room, and two men in bodyguard suits are talking, grabbing your attention. They keep glancing over to the stairs and over to Sam, and your heart drops. They must be suspicious.

“Excuse me, sir, but I am going to have to get back over to my friend. Thank you so much for telling me about the history of your painting.” You rushed. You didn’t wait for him to respond while you went over to Sam.

“Sam, those men are onto us. I have to go get Dean.” You say from a few feet away so the men don’t think you’re talking to him, so they think you’re just grabbing another glass of champagne.

“I’ll go.”

“No, they are already staring you down. You take one step and they will follow you up there. They haven’t noticed I’m with you yet. I have to go.” You turn around, taking a sip of the champagne.

“Be careful.” Sam whispered, not daring to look at you.

“I will.”

You walk upstairs, making sure the men don’t notice you. They’re still watching Sam, thankfully. When you get up to the top, you see Dean standing in the hallway, closing one of the doors to the rooms.

“Did you get it yet?” You asked, running over to him, which is difficult in heels.

“No, there are so many goddamn rooms in this house, I’ve still got like five more rooms to check.” He says. “Why are you up here?” He questions.

“People are onto us. You need to hurry.”

Just as you say that, you can hear people walking up the stairs. You grab Dean and pull him behind one of the columns, just to where you two were out of sight to anyone walking in the hallway. You admit, the two of you were in a compromising position. He was leaned up against the column and you were pressed up against him, your head against his chest.

He goes to say something, but you press you hand against his mouth and raise a finger to your lips, indicating that he needs to be quiet.

“I don’t see anybody up here. You’re just being paranoid, Seb.” You hear a man’s voice booming from down the hallway. The voices trail away as well as their footsteps, and you peek your head around the corner.

“We’re clear.” You whisper. Your bodies are still pressed together, and Dean looks down at you, you feeling his hot breath against your skin. His eyes are sparkling and his arms are wrapped your waist- you admit, he looked really good.

“We, uh, we need to find the bracelet.” You say nervously, pushing yourself away from him.

“Right. The bracelet.” He nods, following you back into the hallway.

“I haven’t checked this room yet.” Dean points to a door, and you follow him inside. Just like the rest of the house, the room is absolutely beautiful.

You walk over to the dresser, pulling open the top drawer. A shiny bracelet with a blue stone in the center of it was set on top of a pillow, almost begging to be taken.

“This it?” You hold it up to Dean.

“Yes, thank god.” Dean shoves it in his tuxedo pocket.

You footsteps approaching the room, along with the same man’s voice from earlier. Panic fills your chest and you freeze. How are you supposed to explain this if they walk in? You can’t exactly just be like, ‘Hey, yeah we were stealing your jewelry. Excuse us.’

“Dean, kiss me.” You say.

“Wh-“ He begins, but you cut him off by pressing your mouth to his. He kisses you back immediately, sneaking his arms around your waist and bringing you into the same position you were in at the column. The door to the room opens, and you and Dean pull apart.

“Oh, we’re terribly sorry-“ The man apologizes, blush filling his cheeks.

“Yeah, you should be.” Dean snaps, and the door closes. The two men outside start mumbling and then they walk away.

“That was-“ Dean looks at you, an expression you can’t quite read.

“Yeah, fuck, that was close. Good thing I was here to save the day.” You joke.

“Yeah. Close.” He breathes heavily.

“We should leave now. Before someone realizes its missing.” You start to walk out the door. Dean is silent as he follows you back downstairs. Sam has a relieved look on his face when he sees the two of you coming back unharmed.

“I thought you were both screwed when I saw them go upstairs.” Sam says, the three of you walking back to the impala.

“Yeah, we came close to getting caught. They opened the door while we were in the room grabbing it.” You slide into the car, back into your uncomfortable middle seat.

“How’d you manage to get out of that one?” Sam looks shocked. Dean grunts, and sits down to your left to start the car. His hand landing on your thigh doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Said we were looking for the bathroom.” You lie. You’re not sure why you just lied to Sam, but the feeling of Dean’s hand inching up your thigh was not a feeling you ever thought you’d get from Dean. Sure, he’s attractive, but you had never really thought of him that way before… Not until tonight.

The drive back to the bunker was ten times more uncomfortable than the drive there. Dean’s hand never left your thigh, but the minute it would get to the hem your dress, he would bring his hand back down to your knee, repeating the process. Your breath was hitching and you were sure that you were soaking through your underwear. If Sam noticed what was going on, he never said anything. He just kept his eyes focused on the window the entire time.

The minute you got to the bunker, Sam shot out of the car and went to his room, looking uncomfortable. Oh, he knew.

“Y/N, we have to talk…” Dean sets the keys down on the kitchen table.

“Look, it was just purely for business-“

“No, it wasn’t. You felt it, too. And I could tell how turned on you were in the car.” Dean walked up closer to you, pinning you up against the kitchen counter. “Remember earlier today when you told me that I think of you as a little sister?” He fiddled with the hem of your dress.

You nodded, unable to form any words.

“You couldn’t be any further from the truth.”

He smashed his lips against yours, his kiss full of lust and need. He lifts you onto the counter, not breaking the kiss as he lifts your dress up past your hips, revealing your black lace thong.

“This is pretty.” He says, and he brings his head down to your lower area. He takes your thong between his teeth, bringing the lacy material down your legs and onto the floor.

It was the most erotic thing you’d probably ever seen.

Dean starts planting kisses up your legs, starting from your calves and stopping right at your upper thigh.

“Dean, please, stop teasing.” You breathe out, desperate for more.

“Be patient, baby girl.” He mumbled against your skin, and finally his lips pressed to your clit. You moan, the feeling of his tongue on you radiating throughout your body. He enters a finger inside of you, making you moan even louder. You clamp your hand over your mouth, but Dean reached up and moved your hand.

“Don’t. I want to hear you.” He smirked, entering a second finger. With the rate he was going, you weren’t going to last very long.

“Fuck, Dean, I’m going to cum.” You’re a moaning mess, and he picks up his pace. You clench around his fingers, coming around him. Dean removes his fingers and puts them in his mouth, licking them clean.

“You taste so sweet.” He gets up, giving you a deep kiss. You’d never had a man kiss you after eating you out, but man, did it turn you on even more. Or maybe it was just Dean.

You brought your hand to his pants, palming his hard erection through the clothing. He groaned, and you started to fumble with his belt. Sliding it off, you pulled down his pants and his boxers in one motion, leaving his hard member in your hands.

“Damn, Dean.” You commented. He was perfect. He positioned himself with your entrance, and entered himself slowly.

“Fuck,” Dean hisses, throwing his head back in pleasure. He starts to move at a faster pace, the only sounds in the room being both of your moans and skin slapping together.

“I’m going to cum again,” You tell him, the pleasure you’re experiencing being more than any you ever had. The man knows what he’s doing.

“Cum, Y/N, cum on my cock.” Dean says, and this brings you to your second orgasm. The feeling of your walls clenching around him made Dean reach his orgasm as well, his warm spurts filling your insides.

“Holy fuck.” Dean breathes out, pulling out of you. He grabs a towel from the drawer beside you, wiping the two of you off.

“That was…” You trail off, unable to find words.

“You were great.” Dean tosses the towel across the room, it landing right in front of the laundry room. You hop off the kitchen counter, and Dean hands you your thong.

“Sam’s gonna be pissed you just used a nice towel.” You laugh. You slide your underwear back on, and you pull your dress back down your body.

“Worth it.” Dean smiles at you, kissing you once more.

“You know,” you pull away. “Dresses are way more convenient than I remember.”

Release

Characters: Dean Ambrose x Reader

Content: Sexual Content, NSFW, Daddy Kink, Choking. 

Summary: Dean storms backstage after WM32 enraged, finds You and drags you off to release some of his anger.

“Come with me. Now.” Dean barked at you while grabbing your arm. You’d been sitting backstage while the makeup girls finished off your look, getting ready to head up to Gorilla to go over your match plans again.

“W-w-what. Where are we going?”

He was dragging you down the aisle of the backstage area, fingers digging into your arm as he pulled you along. You wanted to protest but you weren’t sure how he was going to react.

Kicking open a few doors open he finally settled on an empty room, which was rare considering it was Wrestlemania. Locking eyes with him you could see his pale blue eyes were filled with rage. Dean was in one of those moods where he wanted to fight or fuck. He’d done one of those and that clearly hadn’t satisfied him.

Keep reading

Escape:  the residency years

Claire sat cross-legged on the bench outside of the hospital.  She was trying to decide if she should call Jamie or take the bus home after her appointment. Her OB-GYN had given her the all clear today.  

Six weeks.

Six weeks since she’d lost her daughter.  Six weeks since her body had survived a bloody nightmare.  

You can resume a normal life, her doctor had said.  

There was nothing normal about her life, except for the hospital.  Her life as a doctor was normal in that chaotic, hectic way.  

Her home life wasn’t normal.  Jamie was quiet, and distant.  Some nights she would see him at his drafting table gazing off, unfocused, his face a mix of sadness, and introspection.  Some nights she would get home from working late, and see him on the fire escape sipping from his tumbler of whisky.  He was a strong man, yet even he had his limits.  

She wasn’t normal.  She felt and looked different.  She was softer now.  Her mind, her body, her strength all so much softer than before.  Her stomach was far from the flat plane it once was.  Her mind was plagued by insecurities, what ifs and why me. 

You can resume a normal life.

It was time to reconnect.  Reconnect with her husband, with herself, and with her dreams.  

Claire unfolded herself from the bench, gathered her things, and began walking to the bus stop.  She was standing at the corner waiting for the light to change when the small shop caught her eye.  Normally she would walk past. That was for other women.  Life was no longer normal, so maybe a trip to that shop would be what she needed.  A suit of armor, so to speak.  

She crossed the street and pushed open the glass door.  


Jamie was waiting for her text.  He’d asked her to tell him what the doctor said, and she nodded absentmindedly.  He didn’t want to badger her, so he waited. He checked his phone obsessively, and fought against the impulse to call her and ask. By three o’clock he’d had enough of waiting.

“Gu ifrinn le e!” Jamie said, and started to pack up for the day.

 “Willie!” he shouted to the outer office.  

His assistant lifted his head.  “Aye, Jamie?”  

“We’re done for the day, mate.  Let’s go.  It’s Friday. We’re knocking off early.”


Jamie walked into the flat laden down with his computer bag, and two grocery sacks.  He bustled in banging into the door frame, his keys wound around a finger, and the post in his mouth.  

“Claire!” he said, and dropped the envelopes in surprise. He laboured over to the kitchen trying not to drop anything else.  “What are you doing home so early?”

“I could ask you the same thing?  And what’s all this?”  Claire got up from the sofa to check out what her husband had brought home. The floppy leaves of fresh leeks were sticking out from one of the brown bags, and in the other she could see the tiny spears from a bunch of asparagus peeking over its edge.

“Ach.  It’s been a long week.  Willie and I skived off early.  Also,” he said a little sheepishly, “I saw this dish on Instagram today and I wanted to try it.”  

“Jamie Oliver?” Claire laughed.  Ever since she started her residency Jamie had done the cooking, and once she got pregnant –

You can resume a normal life.

“Aye.”  Claire’s breath caught at his smile.  Jamie really did have the most beautiful smile.  “Risotto.”

“Oooooo!”  Claire started removing the foodstuffs.  

Jamie looked at this wife.  She was freshly showered, her curls drying around her face. She had on one of those wee dresses she found so comfortable, and that he found sexy.  He could see most of her legs, and the fabric clung to the curve of her bottom.

“Ye look beautiful, Claire.”  

She paused for a moment, and glanced up at her husband.  It was his voice that stopped her.  That mixture of wonder and awe that sometimes crept into it. She could see truth in his eyes.  After all he had witnessed, after all the ugliness, he still found her beautiful.  His compliment was a soothing balm to her mental wounds.  She walked around the counter, and placing her hands on the sides of his jaw, kissed him softly on the mouth.  

“Thank you.  Now go change.  I’m starving.”  


Dinner was amazing.  The risotto was delicious, and it did his heart good to hear Claire laugh as he tried to juggle the recipe on his phone and imitate Jamie Oliver while he cooked.  They’d had wine, and talked.  Claire told stories of people at the hospital that made him laugh until he ached.  He caught her up on the recent projects at the Distillery and showed her a couple of his newest designs.  

When he sat down on the couch with a beer and turned on one of his many recorded rugby games, she stole upstairs.

You can resume a normal life.

Jamie stretched his long legs out in front of him. He sipped from his beer, still content from dinner and the fact that Scotland was winning.  It took him a minute to register the shape at the top of the stairs.

“Jesus.  God.  Claire.”  He fumbled trying to put down the bottle without knocking it sideways.  He almost missed the table because he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her.

Her breasts were plump over the barest of lace cups.  He couldn’t tell from this distance but there was no way they covered her areolas.  The panties hugged her low on her hips.  Her hair was a riot of curls dancing over one shoulder, thick and full.  She smiled like the devil herself, twirling one curl around her index finger.  Well, if that wasn’t a damn metaphor for how he felt right now.      

Red.  She was wearing scarlet red lingerie.  

She set him afire.  

Mesmerized he walked slowly, one bare foot in front of the other, to the bottom of the stairs.  

“Holy Mother of God.”

Claire laughed out loud.

“What?  What did I say?  Are ye laughing at me?”  Jamie’s brain was completely addled.  

“Yes, I most certainly am!”  She couldn’t stop giggling.  

What had he said that was so funny?  

“You can call me Claire, darling,” she added, teasingly.

Jamie bit his lip.  Aye, she wasn’t exactly the image of an angel.  “Don’t make fun, Claire, or ye’ll get what ye deserve.”  

“Promise?”  The vixen turned, and walked away.  The scrap of lace from behind framed her bottom in such a way that her bare skin resembled the shape of a heart.  

He groaned and missed the first step, swearing as he stubbed a toe.  The sight of her bare arse swaying in front of him was too much.  He sprinted up the stairs two at a time.  

Their bedroom was dark, just the light from the hallway seeped through his first few steps into the room.  He moved to turn on a lamp but she stopped him.

“Please don’t.”  Claire stood by the foot of the bed, twisting her fingers.   She was nervous.  She had been offered so many opinions. Women telling her it would be different.  It would hurt.  Don’t expect too much.  

“What’s this, then?”  Jamie approached her cautiously.

She shrugged.  Her eyes begged him to acquiesce to her request.    

Jamie moved to the window and opened the curtains. The pale gray light of the streetlights coupled with the moon bathed her in a pearly glow.  She was luminescent.  Claire covered her tummy, just below her belly button.  Ah. So that’s how it is.  Jamie moved toward her slowly, linked his pinky fingers through hers and slowly drew her hands away from her body, and the flesh they covered.  One red striation snaked down the left side of her tummy.  Her belly button was droopy.  Jamie looked at his wife, and saw the insecurity in her eyes.  

“It’s ugly,” she whispered.  

You can resume a normal life.

“Aye,” Jamie whispered back.  “I ken a wee bit about scars, Sassenach.”  He let go of her hands, and pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it to the side.  “I ken how they make ye look at yerself.”  He turned his back to her, and spoke over his shoulder.  “Because I once looked at myself, and felt ugly, too.”  

Claire made a small noise that made him turn around and face her once more, fingers tapping nervously on his thigh.  Claire needed his reassurance.  He would give her the same gift she gave him years before.

“I remember every minute, every second of that first time we made love.  Ye walked around me, and ran yer hands over my back.  I waited to see revulsion in yer expression, and when I looked at ye, weel, I saw lust.”  Jamie chuckled. “Ye’ve no idea how relieved I was because by then I was so turned on I couldna bear it if ye walked away.”  

Claire smiled at the memory.

He ran his index finger lightly down her stretch mark, and hooked it under the lace edge of her panty.  He heard her breath hitch.  He tugged at the fabric, just enough to knock her off balance so she had to take a step toward him.  He placed his big hands on either side of her, and slowly ran them over her hips and down her backside.  He cupped her, lifting her slightly.  Her face was close to his, her mouth a fraction away.  “Now kiss me, mo neighean donn, and let me show ye how beautiful ye are to me.”

Claire grabbed her husband’s shoulders, and hung on. He kissed her, pouring all of his love into that first meeting of their mouths.  She ran her hands over him, feeling his familiar scars.  The scars that made him Jamie, and no one else. This big man who was the gentlest of lovers when she needed him to be. 

Tonight, she needed him to take the lead.  She surrendered herself to him, let him turn her around in his arms and hold her against his chest.  Let him run his hands over her body, feeling the weight of her breasts as he kissed the side of her neck.  Let him slide a hand down over her soft stomach, and find the heat between her legs, making her feel warm, and sexy while he nipped at her lobes.

Jamie led her by the hand to their bed.  He slid off her panties, murmuring in Gaelic, his eyes hooded.  He worshiped her body, kissed every inch of her skin.  He ran his tongue down her stretch mark, and kissed her misshapen belly button.  He took her slender legs and placed them over his shoulders, making her writhe and buck, and finally shatter.  

Then, he stood and shucked his jeans.  Climbing onto the bed, he nestled himself between Claire’s thighs before she could catch her breath.  He balanced on his elbows, and kissed her again.  

He felt her tense beneath him.

Jamie pulled back and looked at her.  “What’s wrong, mo graidh?”  

“I’m scared,” she breathed.  “I’m scared it will be different for you.”

You can resume a normal life.

“Och, aye.  After 2 months without my wife, it’ll feel different right enough.  It’ll feel like Heaven.”  He bumped his nose against hers, waggling his eyebrows.  

Claire did not smile.  “They say,” she swallowed, rubbing the back of his neck. “They say after you give birth that it’s….it feels….looser, down there.  To a man.”

A Dhia, she was struggling. Jamie had no idea that Claire had all of these thoughts battling inside her head.  While he appreciated her honesty, she picked a fine time to reveal her anxieties, when he was fit to bursting.  He took a deep breath, and brushed her hair away from her face.  Laughing through dinner relaxed her.  Their banter on the stairs relaxed her.  He’d carry on with the humour.  

“Is this yer way of saying size matters, Sassenach?”  He teased her with the tip of himself.  “Are ye afraid ye’ll find me lacking?”

Claire grinned, and slapped his bottom.  “That is not what I meant, and you know it!”

Jamie took that moment, when her legs relaxed, to enter her.  She arched her back, and gasped.

“Can ye feel that?” he asked, breath hot against her neck.  “For I surely can.” He kissed her, licking her bottom lip.  “And it feels like I’m home.”

You can resume a normal life.

It did feel like home.  Jamie was right.  He was in her arms, and in her body, and it felt like it had a hundred times before.  It didn’t matter what she looked like, how many stretch marks she had.  Even the damn lingerie didn’t matter. This was right.  This was perfect.

In response Claire locked her legs around his back.  She shifted and settled him deeper between her thighs. Reaching up, she brought his head down for a scorching kiss that had him rocking instinctively.  She gave him all of herself and took nothing in return.  When Jamie shouted and stiffened above her she felt the joy of loving him fill her heart.


Jamie’s head was pressed against her neck as he tried to catch his breath.

“So, where did ye find this?”  He pulled at the strap of her bra.  

“At that lingerie shop near the hospital bus stop.  The doctor said I could ‘resume a normal life’ and I wasn’t sure I could without a bit of help.  A suit of armor, so to speak.” She ran a hand over his bicep.

“Christ, Sassenach.  Dinna show up to battle like that again.”  He dropped a kiss on her shoulder, and mumbled sleepily.  “My heart canna take it.”  

Claire woke up some time later to the sound of cheering. Slipping out of bed she stole downstairs to find the television still on, and Jamie’s beer warm on the table. She hit the button on the remote, and silence fell. She took his bottle to the sink, and turned off the lights.  

Darkness in the flat allowed her to look out the window at the lights of Edinburgh.  She could see the fire escape that mirrored their stairs inside. She had taken those outside steps, cautiously, years ago, not knowing where it would lead her.  Now, she was on the inside, having taken those steps towards love, marriage, medical school, and a family.     

As she climbed up on her way back to bed she laughed softly thinking of how Jamie had bolted up these stairs tonight at the sight of her.  Honestly, why had she worried so much?  Scars be damned. They didn’t change how she looked at him, how could she have been so shallow as to think hers would have mattered to him?  Resuming a normal life had made her think that how they had been living for the past six weeks was somehow abnormal.  Wrong. Flawed.

It wasn’t.  

They would carry their scars together.  The ones on their bodies, and the scar of losing Faith on their hearts.  Together.  Forward in life.  

She crawled into bed next to her husband,and stroked the russet coloured curls back from his forehead.  He smiled briefly, and her heart melted. Jamie was still Jamie.  They still found pleasure in each other’s bodies.  They still had the same dreams.

Everything was normal.  

10

Bearded Pinnipeds-Bearded Seal

The bearded seal (Erignathus barbatus), also called the square flipper seal, is a medium-sized pinniped that is found in and near to the Arctic Ocean. It gets its scientific name from two Greek words (eri and gnathos) that refer to its heavy jaw. The other part of its scientific name means bearded and refers to its most characteristic feature, the conspicuous and very abundant whiskers. When dry, these whiskers curl very elegantly, giving the bearded seal a “raffish” look.

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anonymous asked:

but imagine Harry coming home and when he opens the door he see little Alfie toddling naked and he is like no clothes today little man?😂😂😂

He’s barely through the front door when his little boy comes colliding into his legs, completely naked with his dummy in his mouth, his toffee-blond curls drying and sticking to his forehead and making Harry aware that he’s probably just had his bath with Persephone and has decided to run havoc around the house by refusing to put his pyjamas on. Dropping his keys into the bowl and kicking off his shoes, he’s turning his attention to Alfie by crouching down and giving his belly a little tickle.

“Fancied going commando again tonight, little man? Yeh just love to be naked, don’t yeh?” He chuckles, hands coming under Alfie’s arms to lift him up, pulling him to his chest as he straightened up, “yeh definitely my boy, aren’t yeh? Being naked feels very freeing, doesn’t it? Nice and relaxing. I feel yeh, buddy.”

“It’s far from relaxing when you’ve got a daughter with an ear infection, two new babies to look after, and a little boy who’s feeling naughty and misses his daddy,” he hears his wife say from the top of the stairs, hair pulled back into a messy ponytail and her t-shirt completely soaked through, feet walking down the stairs to greet him with a soft kiss to his lips, “someone decided to flood the bathroom during bath-time and that included soaking me in the process. Didn’t you, you little bugger?”

“Is Persephone still bad?”

“She’s sleeping at the moment. Fell asleep right after her bath,” she smiles, as Harry follows her through to the kitchen with his naked son on his hip, “I booked an appointment at the doctors for the morning. But, whilst I was on the phone, Alfie slipped passed me and came down here.”

“You’re a little bugger,” Harry growls playfully into Alfie’s cheek, inhaling the delicate smell of his baby body-wash as he giggles out and grips at the t-shirt on Harry’s body, “yeh’ve driven mummy mad today, haven’t yeh? Shall we go find some clothes to put on? Otherwise yeh gon’a get cold.” xx

and the rest of the world falls away

im such a wreck after the clip and i needed to make myself feel better so this happened. 

@badassandbeautiful wanted to be tagged, so here you go!!!

au in which sana goes to even and isak’s after the fight at the karaoke bar


Sana has nowhere to go.

She can’t go home, not when her mother is there. Her mother with her concerned looks and the ability to tell when something is wrong. 

Not when Elias is likely back there, licking his wounds and gathering his pride. Elias, her soft brother who erupted like a firecracker; Elias who wound up in a fight tonight.

She can’t go to Noora’s, either. Noora doesn’t want to talk to her, and it would be weird for Sana to just show up even if she did.

She can’t go to Chris or even Eva, as chances are both are out drinking the night away. 

Vilde isn’t an option; her name tastes like ash in Sana’s mouth.

She walks for a while, all the while subconsciously heading in one direction, not realizing where until she’s staring at the little plaque on the door that reads Valtersen + Bech Næsheim.

She knocks. 

She’s tired and she’s sad and she’s broken and she’s grasping for straws that have slipped too far out of reach. 

She knocks and she waits, and after a moment, the door opens.

Even’s brows pull together when he sees her, and he steps out of the way, a silent invitation to come inside.

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9.

(A/N: This installment contains potentially triggering content.)

He loves her. This much he knows. Scully is the sea, all salt and moonlight, and she says his name like she’s luring him to the rocks. She leaves a dry, dusty curl of petal on his desk, like one last kiss from Phthinoporon. 

This work is his life, not theirs, and it’s a lonely road to Graceland. 

The office is quiet that morning. Coffee going cold, the diligent scritch of Scully’s Waterman. They shed their suit jackets, Mulder loosens his tie. The hush of rain on the skylight, files and books spread on the desk, research for Arlington. The office is quiet that morning. And then it isn’t. 

“The condoms,” Mulder says, leaning against the filing cabinet with his arms crossed, studying a scuff mark on his shoe. “You’ve been… this is why.” There’s a hot flood rolling in his belly. 

He glances up, and her beryl eyes scorch him. She gingerly sets her pen down. “Bambi Berenbaum,” she says, slowly, as if he’s stupid. “Detective White. Don’t be juvenile, Mulder.” 

“Scul-”

“I’m not your wife. Right? Isn’t that how you put it? I can sleep with whomever I choose. You certainly exercise the same freedom.” 

Mulder sees red. 

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FIC REC’S OF 2017 part 4 (march-april)

Perfect Storm by cherrystreet (80k) CHAPTERED 

What do you do when your best friend asks you and your (now) ex to be the best men at his destination wedding? You can either tell him the truth, tell him you’re not together anymore, and deal with the consequences, or you can pretend you’re still together and roll with it, just pray you don’t spiral. Fake it ‘til you make it. You know, for the sake of the wedding.

Harry and Louis choose the latter.   FAKE/PRETEND RELATIONSHIP WITH A TWIST

You Always Seem To Bring Me Light by sinisterist (18k) CHAPTERED

He jumps when he feels a hand stroking his hair lightly. “I love it like this,” Louis murmurs, reaching to tug a wayward curl.

“Love what like this?”

“Your hair.” Louis’ touch is hesitant, almost reverent, all trace of humour gone now. “When it’s still kind of damp but the ends are dry and curl up like corkscrews. It’s supposed to look gross but it doesn’t.” He pauses before continuing quietly. “Your curls are so lovely.”

Harry swallows. Louis is a hurricane, and amidst his whirlwind of emotions, he slowly says; deliberately says, “So are you.”

In a world where YouTuber baker Harry pines for the (inconveniently taken) Louis. In other words, another YouTuber AU.

Emperor’s New Clothes by sunsetmog (92k) CHAPTERED

The fact that Louis’s most precious belonging was a cat with a face like thunder and an uncanny ability to cover every single inch of Louis’s clothing with cat hair was something that Louis chose not to think about too much.

or: Harry’s a pop star and Louis isn’t, and there’s a non-disclosure agreement where there used to be a relationship. SECRET RELATIONSHIP

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It is, by all reckoning, the first warm bath he has had in over a decade. 

In Bedlam the water was always cold; used to torture, to coerce, to hurt and roughly scrub away lice and dirt. Water frightened him in that place, a fear that followed him to the ship that took him to Savannah. 

In Oglethorpe’s prison the water was cold simply because it was cheaper that way. Bathing was done regularly and with no privacy. The cold water was a blessing in the heat but when winter came it made him shiver and shake uncontrollably. 

Thomas only let the maids cut his hair. None of them were able to get a razor near his skin, with or without water. He was terrified of the thoughts that would follow if one came close to him, thoughts of then when things had come to something akin to an end and he had almost-

He pushes the thoughts away and lets the heat sink into him. Steam is rising from the surface of the water and he finally feels warm. It seeps into his bones, so old and weak now he has time to feel it. There is soap and a mug of tea on a stool next to the large copper tub and Thomas lets himself cry softly at the sense of home and safety they give him. 

James is hovering nearby, a nervous shadow in the corner like a schoolboy awaiting the cane. He had brought each bucket in from the well near their new home one by one, heated them continuously until the water made his hand pink when he tested it. Thomas had watched silently from the single armchair they owned. 

“James,” he whispers, sniffling a little and stifling a laugh at how ridiculous it is to cry over hot water but knowing that this- this is luxury. “Would you- would you wash my hair?” He asks in a low voice. 

James stands by him moments later and picks up the soap. 

Silently he works the soap into a lather and gently washes the dirt, sweat, errant bugs, from Thomas’ hair. His fingers massage the knots from the strands, short though they are, and Thomas lets himself forget the fear of water and closeness for that time. 

The scent of rosemary and clove, odd but beautiful in their decadence, fill his nose along with the tang of clean sweat from James’ form so close behind him. 

“Do they make soap from pine?” He asks after a moment. 

James pauses, thinking. “I think so, I don’t see why not.”

Thomas nods and sits forward. He lets James pour a bowl of water slowly over the back of his head, ignores the shake in his own hands, the sting of fear that clamps on his chest, and shudders out a breath. 

“I’d like some pine soap, if it can be found,” he manages after a few moments. “I miss the woods. I miss the smell of them, I miss-” He chokes on a sob and leans back. James is there, an arm around his shoulders as Thomas falls apart a little. 

It is ten minutes later, the water cooling and Thomas’ mind clearing, when James speaks again. “There is an apothecary in town. I saw a few different soaps and colognes, even some fragrant oils. We can go look tomorrow if you’d like?” Thomas nods and hears James’ happy sigh. “Pine soap for you… I’d like to smell like roses instead of sweat for once, maybe even lilies.”

Thomas laughs, the sound brittle but honest. “Lilies? Honestly, James, what would Miranda think?” It hurts to say her name but the smile James wears is worth that sting. 

“She would no doubt hate it. Perhaps lilac instead, lavender on her birthday…”

Thomas is out of the bath in the next minute, dry linen wrapped around him and James softly drying him. The fire is roaring and James’ short hair is glowing like embers. 

When James strips and climbs in he lets Thomas wash his back. James is quick and methodical with his cleaning, not wanting to sit in cooling water for long. In ten minutes he is out and dry, curling himself around Thomas like a contented house cat. 

They watch the flames flicker in the hearth and drink tea before going to bed and sleeping wrapped in one another’s arms.

Early Bird

Group: BTS

Pairing: YOONGI(SUGA) X JIMIN

Excerpt/summary: ‘ They were too different; an early bird and a night owl maybe it was doomed from just this small fact. ’

Genre: Angst, eventual fluff

Length: 3.1k

Warnings: mild swearing, sexual scene 

Inspired by: @artofennun (and her domesticau yoonmin )

A/N: I’ve always been pulled out of my writer’s block by looking at your art or watching your live streams and I hope I’ve done this piece justice!  

Originally posted by bellahasjams

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Stolen - FE Heroes Fanfic (Kiran/Alfonse)

I got to thinking about Kiran and Alfonse being from separate worlds, and then this came about. Basically, I thought about what would happen if Kiran went back to his regular world and then couldn’t return to Askr. 

Normally I post anything longer than 1,000 words on AO3 (and this is 1200 words) - let me know if you want me to put it up there, as well. Please excuse any typos - I haven’t been good at catching them in my own writing lately. 


Kiran’s hand runs along Alfonse’s forehead, sweeping his blue hair across. The prince’s head is a comfortable weight against his thighs. From beneath his hood, Kiran studies the blue eyelashes pressed against pale skin. Alfonse is looking a little more gaunt than he did the last time. His forehead is cool beneath the hair, and for an instant fear grips Kiran’s chest tight in a familiar ache. How much time is left? Kiran forces a smile, even though Alfonse isn’t looking at him, and shifts the hair back across the other way.

Kiran glances down the couch, taking in the sight, committing it to memory. Their hands are twined together on Alfonse’s chest, which rises and falls, cool through the fabric. Alfonse is wearing a loose cotton shirt and pants borrowed from Kiran’s closet. It looks strange, but yet completely normal. If Kiran wanted to pretend, he could imagine that Alfonse will wear this all the time. He’s already grown more familiar with the un-protective garments. 

Through the windows one can hear the sounds of children playing in the street below, if one wants to. Kiran doesn’t want to. He ignores the low drone of the airplane in the sky and the shouts and squeals. Instead he listens to Alfonse’s breathing as if it’s the most important sound in the world, and tries to determine if he’s asleep, or still awake. 

Just as Kiran thinks the prince is on the edge of sleep, the cell phone beside him vibrates. It buzzes through Kiran’s body, fracturing what little pieces remain of his heart into a single, all-encompassing question. 

Always the question, when the alarm goes off - how much time is left? 

Alfonse stirs as Kiran reaches out and slaps the alarm into silence. The prince blinks and focuses, and then slides up onto his elbows, a soft, secret smile darting across his mouth. 

Kiran feels his cheeks heat up at the expression - he still can’t get used to seeing that look directed at him. The prince rises up into the cowl of his hood and presses a soft, cool kiss to his mouth, and Kiran’s blush deepens. His fingers go to the gold-dipped hairs near Alfonse’s jaw, and he melts into Alfonse’s mouth like there will never be enough time for them. 

It wasn’t always like this between them, but Kiran can’t place the exact moment he realized he was in love with him, and that the prince’s feelings were reciprocal. It just became reality, just as that fateful day Kiran had been in the middle of his math class, listening to his professor drone on about theorems and the existence of an imaginary number, and between one drowsy blink and the next he found himself tossed into a new world, familiar and yet completely foreign. 

“Were you watching me sleep?” Alfonse asks in that gentle voice that is only for Kiran. His hand snakes up into the cloak, cold fingers running along Kiran’s warm neck, eliciting a shiver. 

“Were you sleeping?" 

"No, just enjoying the cuddling." 

Kiran makes a face and gestures like he’s going to shove him off the couch. He could never actually do it, but Alfonse laughs anyway, and sits up. He slides against Kiran, bicep to bicep, hip to hip, hand to hand. Alfonse never talks about the events in Askr, since Kiran left, but Kiran can see the signs in his tired body.

Alfonse’s eyes go dark, hooded as he tries to disguise the pain from Kiran. "It’s nearly time,” he whispers. 

Kiran’s fingers go to the strings which will pull the hood closed around him. It’s so selfish, but he can’t keep the word from escaping from his lips. “No.”

They get nine hours from the moment Alfonse appears. Nine hours and a few precious minutes. It hurts Alfonse less if he goes right away, when the alarm goes off. But as much as Kiran hates to see him in pain, he’s desperate for a few more minutes. Especially this time. 

Alfonse takes hold of his hand and presses it to his chest. Through the shirt he feels Alfonse’s heart beating, slower and slower, and yet the seconds seem to be ticking away within the ribcage, faster and faster. 

“This is yours,” Alfonse says, in that old-fashioned way that is completely genuine. Nobody says it like that in the “real world”, but Kiran loves it. 

He pulls Alfonse to him, and the hood shifts off his head and flops to his shoulders. Kiran presses their chests together, hooking his chin over Alfonse’s shoulder and hanging onto him. How much time is left? he thinks, and then dashes the words from his mind. “You should go,” he says instead, strangled. 

“If I could stay, I would,” Alfonse says, cool cheek pressed against Kiran’s. “You know I’m working on a way, back in Askr." 

The country name sends a fresh wave of cold through both of them. It is Alfonse’s attachment to that country that draws him from Kiran, the cursed link between the prince’s blood and his homeland. Even the fact that Alfonse’s heart belongs to Kiran cannot keep him here, nor can it return Kiran to Askr. 

Kiran swallows, and Alfonse’s arms are tight around him, one finger digging into his spine, but he doesn’t mind. "Come back to me,” he says, like always. 

“I will.”

They sit in silence, and then Alfonse lets out a little pained noise, shoulders curving inward protectively as if struck by a savage blow. Kiran knows what that looks like. He’s seen Alfonse take mortal wounds again and again. 

Kiran pulls back, and stares right into those blue, narrowed eyes. “You should go,” he says, even though his heart is breaking. “Go, and take Br… Briedablik with you.” His voice cracks. 

Alfonse shakes his head vehemently. They both know why he’s sent back here, again and again. The summoning weapon sits on the table beside the couch, glowing faintly. It doesn’t belong here - but it calls Alfonse to him, for nine hours at a time. 

“I love you,” Alfonse says, though his eyes are narrowed. 

“I love you,” Kiran echoes. And he does. He knows what Breidablik’s absence is doing to Askr, what it is doing to Alfonse. Breidablik belongs in Askr - like Kiran’s heart. The weapon will turn the tide against Embla. 

Alfonse leans in, and their lips touch. 

Their last kiss, although Alfonse doesn’t know it. 

“I’m ready,” he whispers against Kiran’s mouth. Then Alfonse stands, always graceful despite the pain. 

Kiran draws in a deep breath, bracing for what he’s about to do. His eyes feel puffy and hot but he won’t let tears blur the view. He takes in Alfonse, those bright, loving eyes, and presses this vision into his memory. 

With trembling fingers he picks up Breidablik. He caresses the weapon, steadying his heart, and then looks once more at Alfonse. 

“Goodbye, Alfonse,” Kiran says. “Please don’t hate me.” Then quick as a lightning spell, he reaches out to take Alfonse’s hand. He presses Breidablik into Alfonse’s dry palm and curls the prince’s fingers around the grip. 

“Kiran–!” Alfonse shouts, trying to withdraw. 

Kiran has the upper hand, the element of surprise. He turns Breidablik toward the prince’s chest and pulls the trigger. 

The last thing he sees before Alfonse and Breidablik disappear is the anguish in Alfonse’s eyes. 

His legs tremble, and he falls to the floor, all his strength leaving him in a rush. Alfonse will prosper, and take back his kingdom from Embla. 

It’s what Kiran should have done ages ago. It’s the right thing. 

He only had to sacrifice his heart to do it. 

Worth the Weight ~Baron Corbin Imagine~ *Smut*

Summary: When the number one contender for the women’s championship gets a low-blow from Creative about her weight Baron takes it upon himself to show her how beautiful she really is. 

Warnings:smut, body shaming

Originally posted by becklynchs


I slammed the wooden door behind me, the paper sign reading ‘Creative’ flapping at the force. I pulled my hoodie over my freshly curled hair and purposefully walked down the hall quickly. Fresh tears pricking my blue eyes and threatening to ruin the elaborate match makeup that the sold out arena would never see. I passed by numerous stage hands and talent, keeping my head down in order to make it to my locker room and leave in peace. But the glee of giggles stopped me as I glanced over to see Eva Marie adjusting her new ring gear in a mirror as she laughed with a few of the other Divas.  She was preparing for my match, taking my opportunity. I felt my fists clench. But how could I be mad at her? I let this happen.

I heard my name called and paused to glance over my shoulder. My friend Becky sat cross legged on a stage crate concern painted on her features. Next to her stood Baron who’s concern mirrored Becky’s. His shirt stuck to the fresh layer of sweat that had accumulated on his body from his earlier match and his dark hair was pulled into a bun on top of his head.

“Don’t ya have a match?” Becky asked. The tears intensified and I blinked furiously glancing back at Eva.

“Not anymore” I mumbled lowly before tucking my head down pushing on to my locker room.

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Take my whole life too

In the process, he learns a few things. First, the pup is most certainly a girl. Second, she’s a lovely golden color beneath the muck. Third, once she is clean and dry and fed and curled in front of the fire, snoring quietly, Vax can’t bring himself to leave her. Never let it be said Vex is the only twin with a soft spot for strays.

the working title for this was “vax adopts a dog” which is really all you need to know. vaxleth, 2.2K. title from “can’t help falling in love”

He finds the poor thing huddled under the eaves of the inn where he’s staying, comes back late in the dripping, seeping cold and only just notices the shifting shadows out of the corner of his eye. It’s a testament to the long hours he’s spent following his Lady’s mark that his first thought is to draw his dagger and slip towards the disturbance, silent as a wraith, until he gets close enough to make out––

Well, no dark being of undeath, anyways.

“Oh, you poor thing,” he murmurs, sheathing the dagger and paying no mind to how very much like Vex’ahlia he sounds as he crouches. “Oh, you poor poor thing. C’mere, I’m not gonna hurt you. C’mon, there’s a good boy.”

The pup shivers in the rain, caked with muck and whimpering pathetically. Vax waits patiently, hand outstretched as it slowly uncurls itself, damp nose stretching forward to bump against Vax’s hand.

“That’s a good boy,” he grins. “There you go. What d’you say we go inside, hmm?”

The pup whines as Vax carefully sets his hand beneath its midriff and lifts it up, cradling it against the damp leather of his armor (which is sure to stink to high heaven after this, but what’s new).

And so Vax and his newfound charge slip into the inn, and thunder cracks like gunfire and the pattering rain swells into the white noise of a steady downpour.

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anonymous asked:

Courf has a video on the deep depths of his phone of Enj and Ferre drunk, singing Fight For Your Right by the Beastie Boys

He will never, ever delete that video for as long as he lives, because it’s prime material to use against them in the best way possible. Every now and again, Combeferre and Enjolras will assume they’re free of that particular mistake. But just as they’ve forgotten; just as they assume they’re safe… Courf digs it up from the trenches of the ocean and sends it to them.

Picture it: Enjolras and Combeferre on the night of Ferre’s birthday, drunk beyond belief, with drinks in their hands and all but hanging off one another. There’s a party hat sitting crooked on Enj’s head, and for whatever reason, Combeferre is half-way onto the table. They’re screech-singing Fight For Your Right. There’s no music playing, it’s horribly off-key, and Ferre is several words ahead of Enjolras. Courfeyrac, recording the video on his phone, is cackling like a madman.

Now, imagine this:

Combeferre has just made it home after a long day of classes. He had an exam that day; it didn’t go horribly, but it was dreadfully boring, and he didn’t get quite enough sleep the previous night. It’s raining, and he’s ready to change into something dry and warm, curl up on the couch with some tea, and sleep the rest of the day away. He enters to see Courfeyrac sitting on the couch, a book balanced in his lap, and an oddly mischievous look on his face. He’s trying much too hard not to laugh about something - but Ferre writes it off as nothing. He likely read something witty in the book, and he was trying not to laugh aloud over it. Courfeyrac greets him casually; now, he’s biting his lip to keep from bursting into laughter. This makes Ferre suspicious; but he’s too tired to worry much, and heads to the bedroom for a change of clothes after he returns the greeting.

His phone pings: it’s Courf’s signature text tone. Curious, he pulls his phone from his pocket, and unlocks it to pull up the message. Courf had sent him a video. It’s probably some sort of ridiculous meme; Courfeyrac frequently snatches them from various parts of the internet to send to Ferre, as well as most of their friends. The thumbnail is solid black, and the video is 47 seconds long. He doesn’t have a clue what it might be. Figuring it’s just something humorous, he opens it and hits play.

YOU WAKE UP LATE FOR SCHOOL, MAN, YOU DON’T WANNA GO!

Ferre hears Courfeyrac howling with laughter down the hall as his face drops in horror. That’s it. He’s kicking Courfeyrac out. Marius can have him back.

Enjolras has just given a speech at a protest that he’s rather proud of. He thinks that it went rather well, considering he hadn’t planned to give a speech at all that day; but someone in the audience apparently listened to his speeches before, and had asked him to take the stage. The stage, of course, being a wooden crate that barely put him over the crowd. It was impromptu, and came right from the heart - but, he supposes that isn’t a bad thing. Speaking from the heart is just as important as any planned speech he could ever give, and the crowd had responded favorably, anyhow.

He gets down from the crate, pleased with how things have gone so far, and his adrenaline is pumping. Today is going exceptionally well. No interference, no interruptions by anyone hateful, no police calls; he would consider it a win, all in all. As he rejoins his friends, his phone chimes. He’s usually against checking his phone during rallies, but Joly was home sick that day - what if he needed something? Enjolras wouldn’t risk ignoring a text when it could be from a friend in need!

It’s… from Courfeyrac, however. He glances over at Courfeyrac, who seems completely oblivious to the fact that he’d texted Enjolras when he was literally two yards away from him. It’s a video; maybe he’d recorded something from the rally, or a part of the speech he’d made. Curiosity got the better of him. He hit ‘play’.

YOU MISSED TWO CLASSES AND NO HOMEWORK

Enj almost drops his phone in his abject horror: it was only a matter of time before this monster of a recording reared its ugly head again, but he would have never expected it to have been in the middle of a rally… with his volume all the way up. He barely manages to close out of the video and silence his phone before it gets any worse, but people in the immediate area are giving him odd looks, and Courfeyrac is hunched over, nearly in tears at Enj’s shock. 

Enjolras would have whacked him with his own cardboard sign if they weren’t at a rally against violence.

Charming

Originally posted by whyparkjimin

A/N: here it is!! this took forever to craft but i’m so so happy w how it turned out and this is just the beginning! i hope you all love it as much as i do <3

wc: ~4.5K

witch!hobi | witch!yoongi | witch!tae

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