for something unwelcome


This is quite short - apologies
Word Count - 1201 words

Based off of this request:(xx)
Warning: Light smut at the end.

You listened as your daughter got continually more riled up with Harry’s muteness, wanting nothing more than to talk to her Daddy. He had strict orders to rest his voice, something very unwelcome with how busy your day is.

You were stood in the kitchen while the two of them sat at the dining table, keeping you company. You attempted to stir the pot of noodles cooking on the stove one handed while also keeping your newborn latched to feed.

“Daddy! Stop it.” Luna raised her hand as if she was going to hit him but the look of seriousness that he gave her stopped the four-year-old, deciding to sit back down and pout. You could feel sweat running down your neck with the heat of the pan clogging the air and you were finding it hard to find clean air.

You paced over to the window, opening it wide and leaning out as much as you could without squishing the 3-week-old baby, Noah, in your arms. The fresh air was a relief to your system and you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away.

You felt a hand on your shoulder and turned to find Harry, a concerned look on his face, his eyes asking if you were okay. The little girl following behind him caught you eye and her tear streaked cheeks hurt your heart. There was no point explaining for a third-time Harrys situation, you had given up a while ago.

“Fine, babe.” That was until the smoke alarm sounded, the smoke arising from the burning pot of noodles setting it off. “No, no. Fuck.”

You rushed over and tried to stir the clump but it proved impossible, the noodles sticking to the pan with no budge. You threw the pan off the hot plate on to the bench, the sound alarming the sleeping baby, sending him into a fit of cries.

Meanwhile Harry watched in a shock, Luna at his side tugging on his hand. He could see you were slowly falling apart and he couldn’t so much as give you comforting words. Doctors order an all.

“Mummy said a bad word.” You heard Luna whisper it to Harry, obviously seeing the state you’re in and not wanting to push you any further. You rarely swore in front of the kids and felt shitty you had let one slip.

“Luna, get out of the kitchen please. Go play with your toys.” You were bouncing Noah, trying to lull him back to sleep while letting out anything but soothing ‘shh’s’. They came out harsh and angry; a clear representation of your mood.

“Can you turn that thing off, Harry? Don’t just stand there for crying out loud.” You were still bouncing Noah in a way you were sure wasn’t too relaxing but you were too stressed to care. Since you had ruined dinner, you were ransacking the cupboard looking for something easy and fast.

The smoke alarm had silenced, telling you Harry had done what you asked. Now the siren had stopped and it was much easier to think, you felt terrible about the way you had snapped at Harry and Luna.

Finding a box of macaroni and cheese, you decided that would have to do for tonight’s dinner. You turned to see Harry leaning against the island counter, eyebrows furrowed and watching you with careful eyes. You sighed, knowing what the look on his face meant.

“What?” You threw the box on the counter and rested your hand on your hip. Luna was gone, no doubt she had put up a fight when Harry led her out the kitchen. Noah had quietened with small whimpers sounding every few seconds.

Harry shrugged and put his hands up in surrender. He walked to stand in front of you and brushed your cheek with the back of his hand. Your head was cradled in his large hand and he pulled you forward for a kiss. Then he took Noah out of your arms, you let out a sigh of relief from the pain your arm was in for holding him to long.

He took a step back and mouthed three words. ‘I love you.’ With that he signaled he would check on Luna and exited the kitchen. You breathed in some air, thankful for the minute alone. However, the guilt of your abrupt snap weighs on your chest. For now, you would have to forget about it and make dinner.

You stood in the doorway of your ensuite later that night, brushing your teeth, as you watched Harry move about the space of the bedroom getting ready for bed. Dinner was quiet. You had to get up numerous times to see to Noah and didn’t get a chance to eat your food before it went cold.

Harry insisted on getting Noah and Luna to sleep but both kids were reliant on a story or soft whispers to lull them to sleep. Harry could do neither.

Now that both kids were sleeping soundly and the only sounds heard were the scuffling of Harry’s feet on the carpet and the bristles of your toothbrush on your teeth, you could feel some of the stress from the day lifting off your shoulders.

He looked up at you after some time, feeling your gaze on him. With a smile, he raised his eyebrows as if to ask you if you needed anything. You giggled around your toothbrush at his expression, foam from the toothpaste dribbling out of your mouth.

He shook his head and silently chuckled at you, pointing in the direction of the sink, prompting you to finish getting ready for bed. When you emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, the only light came from the lamp on Harry’s side of the bed.

He sat against the headboard, a book in his hands, reading glasses perched on his nose. You stood and stared again, enjoying the view way too much. Even after two kids, passion was not lacking in your relationship.

“You look very, very nice this evening, Styles.” You made your way to the bottom of the bed and crawled your way up to his legs. He lowered his book, looking down at you with a smirk and a sparkle in his eyes.

“I think apologies are in order.” You rose on your knees and sat back on your heels, settling between his legs, your hands on his thighs, inches away from his crotch. “I was incredibly rude earlier.”

He looked at you with wonder and lust. He nodded his head slightly, encouraging you to trace a finger up his thigh and circle it around his cock, feeling it hardening under your touch. You gave him an innocent look, but his eyes were closed, veins producing from his neck as he fought to stay quiet.

Your hand stopped its stroking and you worked on getting his underwear past his hips, his erection free from the confinements.

“I think you’ve been quiet for long enough, baby.” And with that, you took him into your mouth, feeling the length of him fill your mouth. It started off with whimpers, however when he came, he couldn’t stop the yell tearing through his throat.

The Signs and What II:

Aries: Something that comes in swarms. They feed on the trash. Awkward tacked-on maws filtering endless refuse.

Taurus: Something riding a bike. It seems that parts of it are missing. Or maybe that’s just how it is.

Gemini: Something slender and inches long. It sits, jaw agape, among your orchids, swaying in the breeze.

Cancer: Something you cant see but you can feel. You can feel it in your joints. Its doing something with your phone.

Leo: Something that cant properly be described beyond “opportunistic ambush predator”.

Virgo: Something prehensile. Something with a mouth where there should not be a mouth.

Libra: Something thin, dark, and very very fast. Wait. No that’s its shadow.

Scorpio: Something that means something. Its a part of you, and yet here it is.

Ophiuchus: Something just cinders now. Breathing hurts it.

Capricorn: Something that follows. Something that glides on rotten wings.

Aquarius: Something unwelcome. Something that is bad bad company.

Pisces: Something evil. Something hungry, but not for you.

rubbertapping  asked:

if you're still doing these, top 5 favourite specific liminal spaces. as in, specific locations. yknow.

okay Im gonna be like super specific about this

  • Mercure subway station in Roubaix, Lille. Im rather familiar to it and it always sounds like an industrial factory
  • Charles de Gaulle airport, the feeling of isolation is strong there and so is my Edge
  • Nội Bài airport, same reasons
  • that one thrift shop in Wazemmes that I cant find again. they sell rly nice wooden bowls and some spectacular wastebaskets
  • the bus stop near the middle school I went to on Giảng Võ street. I have so many memories with it its weird. I once read a percy jackson book from beginning to end at that bus stop

anonymous asked:

May I request some headcanons about Amajiki?

Sure thing dear! I very much hope I could answer you well enough and that you’ll like it =)

- Due to his quirk, he’s very aware of the things he eats and whenever he wants to try out something new, he has to think about how it’s going to affect his powers. At the end of the day though, at least when he’s still a student and knows he won’t be going anywhere before he goes to sleep, he allows himself a little treat from time to time, without paying attention to what it does to his quirk.

-  Amajiki can be pretty attentive of his friends. Just by greeting him, he can tell if they’re in a good mood or if they might be stressed. He doesn’t say anything about it until they’re alone and no one else is around, who might make his friend uncomfortable.

- He likes to be quiet and observe. Most of his neighbors would describe him as polite; if a bit shy and quick to withdraw if something makes him feel unwelcome.

- Amajiki is rather good at his school work. Especially since he’s working part time as a sidekick, he generally knows how to manage his time. Though it’s not always easy and there are times when he just barely gets everything done and afterwards wonders how he managed to get studying, training, school and his job under one hat.

- He likes to buy his shirts and jackets a bit bigger than necessary, since he likes to feel comfortable and doesn’t enjoy the feeling of the fabric hugging his body too tightly. In the same sense, he doesn’t like to show off or draw attention to himself.

- Amajiki doesn’t really know how to handle strangers or people he’s not familiar with, praising or complimenting him, though if someone walks up to him to talk to him privately and thanks him, he secretly gets really happy about it, even if he fumbles for the right thing to say.

For those living with abusers

I don’t know if this would work for everyone but here’s one thing I was able to do to stop a narcissistic/psychopathic father from attacking me verbally

It takes some nerve to do this and I wasn’t able to do it until I was holding him responsible for his shit and was very very pissed at him

I learned to shower him with attacks as soon as he would intrude into my space. Mindless attacks. Nothing real, if I had confronted him on something he had done he would start raging and gaslighting and insisting that I’m delusional and insane, but if I attacked something that’s really hard to be angry about it would work. If I criticized his shirt, his voice, his hair, his hearing, he would get very confused and completely diverted from his original intent to attack me. And the key is, don’t stop attacking them, no matter what, keep finding new things to throw mindless criticism on, until they feel confused and leave.

“What the fuck do you look like, what’s up with that shirt, whens the last time you brushed your hair, do you ever even hear what i’m saying? do you pay attention to my words, do you have hearing, it’s so frustrating to speak to you when you don’t even listen, how am i expected to deal with this bullshit, your shirt is annoying me, go fix it, don’t come at me looking like that” - this is not something an abusive parent would expect to hear from their kid, and it’s kinda hard to get enraged over someone criticizing your shirt, especially since they did it to you at least a thousand times. I think this wouldn’t work with the victim playing narcissist who would immediately start to cry “how could you say a mean thing to me” but it worked with a dictator-type psychopath narcissist who would never allow anything that affects him to show on his face.

Also this is not you stepping down on their level, you cannot abuse them, you’re literally just diverting their attention to themselves so they can’t focus on abusing you, it’s diversion tactics, they can’t feed on your fear and pain if they’re busy defending their lame ass shirt. They wont get hurt, remember they came in there to hurt you. 

Also one thing that helped me stop them intruding into my private life was to keep replying to them in this manner “I don’t feel obliged to answer that question.” and I kept repeating that no matter how much they would pressure me, so they don’t get information about my private life. And when they would start threatening to me I would say “Unless you’re going to threaten me with death or prison, get the fuck out of my room.” It’s a bit hard to give your child death threats and prison threats over them unwilling to do as you say or unwilling to give you information, so this would actually get them out of my room. I did get numerous death threats in other occasions but they were never classified as such so they didn’t register as doing something bad in abuser’s mind.

In order to be able to defend from constant abuse you have to not care what they think, feel, want or need, you can’t care about your abusers, you can’t value their input, you have to know they don’t get hurt from your attacks, and it doesn’t even matter because they’re here to hurt you, they’re the enemies, it’s okay to attack them and to use all you’ve got to stop them from hurting you, you’re not abuser if you refuse to give them information and if you refuse to give them an opening to attack you. Also I understand in some situations it would be incredibly dangerous to attack them in any way because they would take disproportionate revenge against you, so the point is to make them realize THEY’re the one doing something intrusive, inappropriate, annoying, unwelcome, they’re the one being a nuisance and they should start feeling ashamed of themselves. Of course they wont, but hey, one can hope. You keep putting the focus back on them no matter what they accuse you of, if they start attacking you and instead of defending you attack back, they’ll realize that particular attack has no effect on you and wont use it anymore, they’re literally learning how to attack you based on how you react, they’re not attacking you because you deserved it but because they’re enjoying your reactions, your distress and pain is like food to them, they’re consuming it like energy and enjoying it and will attack you more to get it. There’s nothing humane about this behaviour and it’s perfectly okay to attack them instead until they go away, you’re not feeding on their pain, you’re protecting yourself.

Eretria doesn’t know how to be in love.

She was young (too young, perhaps) when she learned the different between sex and love, between the urges of the body and that of the heart. She was young (too young, definitely) when she learned to use her body to get what she wants. Information, favours, pleasure. She used her body the way she uses her knifes, her tongue – it’s a weapon, sharp and deadly, it’s what brings food to her plate and, sometimes, what helps her stay alive. The world is a dangerous place, but not as dangerous as she is.

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anonymous asked:

As someone who has an extremely messed up sense of cultural and racial identity I hate the hate you're getting because people aren't understanding the case at all. I love how you're handling everything and I'm not articulate so I'm just going to send a lot of love your way! Thank you so much you have all my support

I don’t think it’s hate I’m getting - just a misplaced sense of authority, and the person(s) doing so is convinced that they’re in the right and that anyone else’s opinion is invalid and unwelcome, something that is very difficult to be on the receiving end of, and to enlighten. I understand the excitement of sharing an identity and getting representation, but that doesn’t mean that the character belongs to you or that you can dictate how people approach that character in fandom. We are all in the same boat - we don’t own him, just love him and view him in many different ways.

anonymous asked:

After becoming unblinded to the negative realities of the modern "queer community" I honestly don't know if I want to even go to Pride this year. It's like half the whole damn thing will be about stuff I'm against now.

if you have any like minded friends, consider going with them. that’s something i’ve found working for me in the past couple of years. and it helps to have friends to hold up huge ass placards and banners!

it’s a shame that gay and lesbian people are increasingly made to feel unwelcome at something that should absolutely be a positive event for us, but that’s another reason i still make the effort.

but of course, it’s all down to you in the end and what you’re comfortable with. i know a few people who refuse to go because of the rampant commercialization.

-Mod Jia

Boner Puns - Bucky Barnes x Reader

He doesn’t know when it started exactly, it was probably when you were in the middle of a mission and you had to get changed in the middle of it for a reason he can’t exactly recall. What he does remember is the curve of your waist and the lacy bra and knickers you’d been wearing. At the time it probably wasn’t, but in his memory, the moment was played out in slow motion.

That was the first time you’d given him a boner. And now whenever he saw you, you’d either do something that’d remind him of that one moment and give him another boner or you’d just do something that he found very tantalising and therefore, give him a boner.

One day you and the rest of the Avengers were all in the kitchen, it was ‘family night’ which is something that happened every once in a blue moon when everyone was over and free from doing a mission. You, Cap and Bruce were cooking a meal for everyone and Bucky was trying to help as best he could, though no one made him cook because they’d already learnt from a terrible food poisoning experience that he was most certainly not the best of cooks.

All you were doing was bending over to grab a bag of potatoes out from the fridge, but Bucky’s eyes suddenly became attached to your butt and there it was again, the stir in his pants, the oh-so-pleasurable tingle. He shuffled awkwardly in his seat, pulling down his shirt in hopes to hide it.

Bucky turned away from you, trying to calm himself before anyone saw. But as he turned, his eyes connected with Natasha’s, who was looking at him with a suspicious smirk marked on her lips. His eyes widened and he fell from his seat, thankfully recovering before making a big scene. “I’m going to the bathroom, “the words rushed out of his mouth and he was gone before anyone could even process what he’d just said.

He took care of his little problem and returned to the kitchen, the scenery had changed though. No longer were you all cooking, in fact, you weren’t even in the room anymore. But all the Avengers (Tony, Thor, Steve, Bruce, Nat and Clint) were stood in a line, staring at him wearing suppressed smiles.

“Um,” he was nervous, which wasn’t exactly a new thing to Bucky but it was something very unwelcome, “where’s Y/N?”

“She’s just one to get some more pasta,” Steve explained, “which was really nice of her. She’s so good of a cook, you know, I really hope she keeps it up, kind of like you do.”

The group proceeded to burst into giggles, though Steve sent Bucky an apologetic look, it didn’t stop him from laughing along with the rest of the group.

“Hey Bucky, do you want a stiff drink to go with your meal?” Tony asked, raising his own glass of bourbon, doing nothing to hide his wide grin. Bucky pouted, looking very unamused at their joking, he sent a glare at Nat who was obviously the one that told them about the incident, he was just grateful that they only knew of this one time and not the many, many, other times held got an accidental boner because of you.

“Guys, enough with the joking.”  Clint said, holding up both his hands, managing to calm everyone down into a heavy silence. “Bucky obviously has feelings towards her, and we all think that you should tell her the truth, straight up.” Once again everyone exploded into laughter, and it was at this point you decided to walk in, quite confused by the set up in the kitchen. Everyone was facing Bucky, laughing loudly. Steve was grabbing onto Bruce’s left boob and Nat was leaning against Clint even though even he was struggling to stand up because the laughter was overcoming him.

“D-Did I miss something?” You asked, all of them turning to face you which was a very scary sight at first. Though Bucky looked at you with fear rather than amusement like all the others, who were just staring at you with mere amusement.

anonymous asked:

I... no... *sees both of them being so wary around her* I can go if I'm intruding on anything, I know that my presence hasn't exactly been a welcomed one lately -Shout Out

*logic sigh he doesn’t mean to be mean the last thing he wants is to make something feel unwelcome. He also doesn’t want to make CG uncomfortable. He sign “you can stay if that okay with CG I don’t mind”*

I have always been tough. I have a will like steel. I am the nail and the hammer that hits it. I am the wolf. The lion. The last one standing. I do not cry in public, complain when I am hurt, or give up. I push harder. I am a fighter.

But sickness? Sickness comes for you no matter how tough you are. I can try to ignore it, to push it away, but the truth is still there, hard and edgeless: I have lost something that cannot be recovered. There is something stubborn and unwelcome in my body and it is stronger than my will.

My illness is not a death sentence, at least not an immediate one. If all goes well, I have a lot more years ahead. The struggle now is to accept the dichotomy: to be sick and still be whole. To be sick and still be tough. To be sick, and maybe even to be tougher than I was before.

Now I live side-by-side with the thing that hurts me. It is there when I laugh and kiss my boyfriend and write poetry. It is there when I take my pills, when my hair comes out in clumps, and when I can’t sleep from the pain. My sickness is there when I look in the mirror. It is not all that I am, but it is an inexorable part of me. I am finally beginning to accept that. Which is to say, I am learning to accept the world in all of its contradictions and live as best I can within them.

—  Clementine von Radics


Zacharie woke up, his mind and body slamming into one another as he regained consciousness with a jolt. Hay dropped from his hair as he sat, breathing heavily, ignoring the putrid aroma of his surroundings. For a moment, it felt like his hands were portals, opening up into the void itself. Portals, for something unwelcome, dirty, horrifying to pull themselves through.

He shook his head irritably. It was not his dream, not exactly. But it was still disconcerting enough for him to rub his hands together, to remind him of what was real and what was not. The stink of horse apples helped too.

He shuddered, picking himself up. Personal hygiene be damned for the moment, he was getting out of here before someone came at him with a pitchfork.

Moments later he was standing in a side alley dusting himself off. At this hour, the entire area was deserted, but he was wary as he checked through his inventory. Satisfied, he finally switched to a more appropriate mask - though there was no need, tradition dictated the toad mask be used for business. 

anonymous asked:

How about Grimm Reaper Maokoa AU?

As in, Makoa the Grim Reaper? If he were to personify death, it wouldn’t be that terrifying black vagueness everyone has depicted it as. Death is not scary, and neither should the figure representing death be. In fact, he’d probably look the exact same way as he is now, because death to him is not something scary nor unwelcome, and he doesn’t think it should be that way for anyone he guides to the afterlife as well.


“‘The king and Anne in the great window together, so everybody in the courtyard below could see them. The king has heard about the quarrel she had with Norris yesterday. Well the whole of England has heard of it. You could see the king was beside himself, his face was purple. She stood with her hands clasped at her breast…’ She shows him, clasping her own hands. ‘You know, like Queen Esther, in the king’s great tapestry?
It is a long moment. He feels himself on the edge of something unwelcome: superfluous knowledge, useless information. He turns, hesitates, and reaches out, tentative…But then she raised her hands and clasps them at her breast, in the gesture Lady Rochford had shown him. Ah, Queen Esther, he thinks. She is not innocent, she can only mimic innocence. His hand drops to this side. He turns away. He knows her for a woman without remorse. He believes she would commit any sin or crime. Be believes she is her father’s daughter, that never since childhood has she taken any action, coaxed or coerced, that might damage her own interests. But in one gesture, she has damaged them now.
She has seen his face change. She steps back, puts her hands around her throat: like a strangler she closes them around her own flesh. ‘I have only a little neck,’ she says.

Bring up the bodies, Hilary Mantel

... We're Naked

Rating: T+ on the verge of an M…

Summary: Clara knew those hologram clothes were too comfortable.

Word Count: 688

Notes: Haha this is going to be fun to write. My room is actually a disaster, and I should probably clean my kitchen, but writing feels so much more productive at the moment.

This fic is a response to this gif and is dedicated to hailclara! (Hope it’s what you had in mind)

Clara was having a hard time taking it all in. Hologram clothes? Naked in church? Suddenly being thrust onto another planet without the TARDIS? A planet called Christmas to boot? It definitely was one of the more interesting Christmases she’d experienced in her short lifetime.

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anonymous asked:

Could you write a fic about nikolia's visit to Alina and mal at the orphanage (after the war)?

Once, Nikolai viewed uncertainty as an unwelcome stranger. Something that visited in his younger years when his father thought he didn’t understand the way he looked at him, when sneering mouths twisted sobachka into something dirty. But he had lost contact with the concept over the years, as her put his minder to larger and larger goals, and achieved all of them.

Alina Starkov reintroduces him. It had taken him by surprise, how badly - beneath the political considerations and strategy of it all - he’d wanted her to like him.

Even after all these months, he can’t decide if it’s a comfort or an irritation, to know that Alina Starkov takes most people by surprise. It’s nice to be singular, sometimes.

He avoids glancing at his gloved hands. At other times, not.

There’s no room for uncertainty as King of a nation that was very nearly broken in two, and remains cracked from the strain of it. Nikolai works, and he works, and he works some more, and if he doesn’t exactly forget to worry, he at least doesn’t have the time to indulge it.

Until he does, and he decides to just take care of it all at once by abandoning his throne (It’ll still be here when you get back, Zoya says. If I don’t decide it looks comfortable, that is.) and visiting old friends. One of whom, he’d proposed to when he last saw her. The other, her husband. Husbands have often been of no concern to Nikolai, but Mal–

He’s never felt the same need to be liked by Mal, the way he had with Alina. But he has liked Mal in the pass, probably still likes him now, assuming no one throws any punches when he gets to Keramzin. And even then, he might still like the boy. It’s hard not to enjoy beating someone in a fight they should probably win.

The carriage stutters to a stop in front of the manor, still in the stages of being rebuilt. Nikolai stays where he is for a beat, fingers twitching in his gloves. The land isn’t tainted. There’s no sign of any kind of power. And yet, he looks at the stump of an oak tree, and feels it anyway.

“Alina!” a high pitched voice screams. “Mal! Mal! Alina!!!” 

There is definitely a small child standing in the doorway. He’s joined in about two seconds flat by a blur of greens and browns and pale, pale hair as the owner of the first screamed name scoops the child up, scolding her. 

“Masha! You just about gave me a heart attack!”

“But there’s a thing.”

Alina sets the child on her hip, and Nikolai finds himself grinning for the first time in days at the sight. She doesn’t quite have it down yet, the girl precariously balanced, her own body out of sync. He has no doubts she’ll pick it up. Eventually. But diving into a massive and necessary task with not much more than a sour hope and relatively good intentions?

It’s nice to know some things never change.

“I can see that it’s a thing,” she says slowly, before pitching her voice louder. “Is the owner of the thing going to come out and greet us lowly peons, or is he waiting for us to roll out a carpet?”

A shape moves behind her, and there’s her great lump of a tracker. Funny. For a dead man, he certainly seems more at ease now than Nikolai thinks he’d ever seen him before. 

Ruination suited some better than others.

Mal grins, nudging her. “Don’t be stupid. No carpet we have is going to be good enough for the likes of him.”

Nikolai sighs heavily, and loud enough - he thinks - for it to be heard by the lowly peons outside. “I suppose,” he says, pushing the tiny door open, “that I’d better get out, before certain people start to think they’re comedians.”

Uncertainty gives him a nice punch in the gut as he stands in front of them. Dead, retired, married, with purpose. There’s a haunting sadness in the shadows of Alina’s face that speaks to some dark place inside him, but an ease as well. One that Nikolai has his doubts he’ll ever attain.

He opens his mouth to say something else, something quick and devastatingly witty, but Alina is moving. She passes the girl - Masha - off to Mal, who accepts her with infinite more skill than the former Sun Summoner. And then she’s hugging him, pressing her face into his shoulder, and it’s somehow the easiest and most difficult thing in the world to hug her back.

“We’ve missed you,” she says softly. Mal says nothing, but the light of agreement strikes his face, in an Oretsev sort of way.

Nikolai closes his eyes for a moment - just a moment. And then a crooked tilt slashes his mouth, and he pulls away from her, striding easily towards the house. “Of course you did,” he tosses over his shoulder. “Your lives must have been inescapably boring without me here.”

Alina kicks him. He can’t really disagree with that.

anonymous asked:

hey! i have a moleskine drawing book and i adore it but i never dare to draw freely in it because i don't want to ruin it (do you understand??) also, i never really have any ideas of what to draw. i'm wondering whether or not you could make a "april drawing challenge" (similar to your february one) because i absolutely adore it (it's so quirky and interesting). thank you so so much!! ^-^

oO00oOps so I answered this too late and now it is now ½-way through May. 

ottersunday’s drawing challenge april may/june! 2015 edition

  1. number one on the list, as always, self-portraits.
  2. the first thing you see when you wake up in the morning.
  3. a pair of something.
  4. draw a map of your city. think about what kind of “map” you want to create.
  5. blind contour of your dirty laundry. and then actually do your laundry.
  6. someone you love. in motion, unaware that you are drawing them.
  7. fill a page with your least favourite colour. make a list of why you dislike that colour.
  8. worms, tubes, pipes, wires, snakes.
  9. sound waves. ocean waves. 
  10. orgasm. (here is mine from a year ago lmfao)
  11. an empty chair. make it look scary, uncomfortable, unwelcoming. 
  12. something broken, damaged, crumbled.
  13. something melting.
  14. something sweet.
  15. a corner of your favourite room.
  16. feet.
  17. flowers. wilting flowers.
  18. wrinkles. skin, fabric, paper. 
  19. exhaustion. 
  20. a bad habit. 

good luck, have fun ✿

(btw, here is february’s challenge)

elenyar  asked:

Hi! I love your fics over at ao3. Can you please write a Illya/Napoleon fic where Napoleon expressed all the things he love about Illya under the influence of a truth serum while being interrogated by kidnappers and Illya heard it over 1 of the bugs he planted on Napoleon. Cue angst/pining but a happy ending please? Thank you so much!

The sad part is that they technically planned for him to get caught.

In their line of work, information is really useful, and misinformation just as much so. It had been such a simple strategy. Get captured, take a few hits (preferably not to the face), and then spew out a bunch of lies before Illya charges in for the rescue, guns blazing. The bad guys scatter into the wind with their heads full of falsehoods, Napoleon leverages his injuries to gain extra allowances (maybe), and everyone gets a mostly happy ending.

Of course, the lying part is what’s important in this scenario, because the entire operation hinges on his captors believing the words that come out of his mouth. So when the syringe containing the supposed ‘truth serum’ comes out, Napoleon first gets a little excited, and then genuinely gets a lot worried. Their intelligence had never mentioned these people having access to any sort of ‘assistive’ technology, and if Napoleon starts telling the truth truth, then they might have a problem.

Information versus misinformation, it’s complicated. When competing information clash, people tend to get hurt, like Napoleon, in this example.

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