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Missing Person, Please Help

Hello everyone,

Tumblr has proven to be an excellent resource in finding missing persons.

We are appealing to you, especially those in Scotland, but anyone can reblog.

Our friend Nusrat Jahan (or Nusrat Dow) has gone missing. She was last seen headed to the beach in Aberdeen, Scotland 5 days ago. The football match let out around the same time.

Nusrat is 5′3 and 34 years old. She was wearing flat black slip on shoes, black leggings or skinny jeans, a light grey patterned top, black rimmed glasses and was using a white handbag with black band across the top.

If you have seen someone resembling Nusrat or have any information, please get in touch with the Aberdeen police.

PLEASE REBLOG AND MAKE THIS GO VIRAL.

HELP US BRING NUSRAT HOME.

Glory and Gore

Prompt: “All I need is your lips against mine. Right now.”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (AU)

Word Count: 3,077 Words

Warnings: swearing, a bit of violence, fluff

Notes: This is for @bionic-buckyb ‘s 5k Writing Challenge! Seems like I’m really into Punk!Bucky nowadays. Don’t mind my title, I was just searching my ultra long playlist for ideas and this fit slightly. 

Originally posted by jlstreck

“Hurry up Y/N!” Wanda calls from the bottom of the stairs. It’s the first day back at school and you’ll be damned if you’re late. Some may give you disgusted side-glances because of your enthusiasm, but honestly? They’re the types of people who are destined to be future gas station attendants, so they don’t really bother you.

“I’m coming Wanda!” You reply, stuffing your matte lipstick into your bag and kicking your bedroom door closed. You hurry down the stairs, and smile at your best friend. “Ready?”

She rolls her eyes, grabbing your arm and tugging you towards the front door. “I’ve been ready since half an hour ago, you just take so damn long getting ready.” She tells you, leaning against the threshold as you lace up boots.

“Well, I’m sorry that I put effort into my looks.” You tease, squeaking as Wanda smacks your head.

“Stop rambling nonsense, let’s go.” She snorts, as you leave your home.

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some nerve you have, to break up my loneliness

this is the first fic I ever wrote! I found it in my drafts and revised it (there was a lot of cringing involved) but it turned out pretty okay, so I decided to share it with you guys. (in the original, there were a LOT of inaccuracies and some pretty bad dialogue… i mostly fixed it). yes, it’s a soulmate AU. yes, those are played out. give me a break. I was learning.


Baz doesn’t want a soulmate. Simon wants one desperately. They meet in a bathroom. (TW: swearing, mentions of homophobia)

Simon Snow wanted a soulmate desperately. His tattoo, written in neat, bold cursive scrawl, had begun to fade in when he was about twelve. And now he was seventeen, and he’d been waiting five years to hear those words (although, in truth, they weren’t very romantic words at all. His soulmate sounded like kind of a jerk).

Still, his life now didn’t hold much to look forward to other than the soulmate and his eighteenth birthday, when he could finally get the hell out of dodge. But that wasn’t for months, and his soulmate could come any day. It was far more exciting to wake up every day and think ’today could be it! ’ than to wait tirelessly for a day that seemed eons away.

It was on the inside of his wrist, so he always wore long sleeved shirts or bracelets to cover it up. It had always felt like his little secret. While the other children at school were eagerly pulling up their shirts to show tattoos half-formed on their ribcage and wearing shorts only to show the letters on the backs of their knees, Simon was hiding his. It showed up one letter at a time, and not in order. The first letter was a ‘W’, and he fantasized that it would be a gutsy girl, seeing him for the first time, falling in love with him immediately, and asking him in a rushed voice, “Will you go out with me?” But as more letters appeared, all jumbled (an F, then two Os on either side of it, then a C and so on) it became clear that his soulmate was… well… less than polite.

The whole tattoo spelled “Oh, fuck off, will you?”.

Simon didn’t care. He could not care one bit less that his soulmate was, apparently, an asshole. Whoever she was, she had the neatest, most old fashioned handwriting he’d ever seen, beautiful, calligraphy-like letters all looping together like a fine ribbon. He imagined her to look something like Agatha Wellbelove, the prettiest girl he’d seen to date, but it couldn’t have been her (first because her first words to him were, “You smell like cinnamon”, and second, because she didn’t have a tattoo. It happened sometimes, that people didn’t have soulmates. She cried about it often). Agatha had warm, brown doe eyes and long hair like corn silk. She and Simon were alright friends, but she was a grade above him and had just graduated, and it was getting difficult to stay in touch.

The alarm went off, and Simon sat up out of his bed, groaning. Simon knew he had the morning to himself- his father hadn’t heard the alarm, and he never got up to make sure Simon went to school anyway. He decided that he’d much rather walk around and feel the sunshine on his back than lounge around and suffer through math class. Running a brush through his hair and grabbing some money, he left, thinking he would head down to the bakery and grab some scones, maybe eat them in the park. Today was no different than any other day. He wondered if he’d meet his soulmate. He probably wouldn’t.

-

Baz Pitch dreaded the day he met his soulmate. One, because he sounded like a twat, (“Hey, you can’t smoke in here”), two, because his handwriting was shit, and three, because he really didn’t want one. He didn’t want to fall in love. He’d had enough of love. He loved his mother, and she died. He loved his father (in a twisted kind of way), and they hadn’t spoken in almost three months (“Dad, I’m gay.” “Get out of my house.”). He loved his sister, Mordelia, and he couldn’t do anything to help her when their father would go into fits of rage, smashing plates and windows (and sometimes Baz’s face) and she would hide under the bed, her small body racked with sobs for hours. Now that he’d moved out, he could do even less for her. But he’d given her a number, in case she ever needed his help. He’d kill Malcolm if he ever laid a finger on Mordi.

She hadn’t called.

As far as Baz was concerned, life could go so much better if you just didn’t care. About anything. People, yourself, whatever. Love ended in disaster of some sort, every time. And even though he’d never experienced romantic love, he figured that it’d be just as bad, if not worse, and he wanted to do everything in his power to avoid it.

It was just an innocent visit to the coffee shop. He wanted a cocoa (was that a crime?). The morning bright but chilly, and he figured a hot chocolate would warm him right up. He’d never been to this shop, but it looked approachable and friendly, with a cutesy sign on the door that said ’We’re open, come on in!“ He walked in. The scent of baked goods practically smacked him in the face, and he smiled a little.

But his smile quickly fell.

Fuck.

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

Malcolm. In the coffee shop. Two people in front of him. Ordering a coffee, and Baz knew exactly how he wanted it (black). Looking tall and mean and awful. Looking like Baz really shouldn’t have left Mordi with him, no matter how hard it would have been to take her away.

He was about to turn, and Baz was still contemplating what to do. Fight or flight.

Baz flew.

-

The smell of smoke assaulted Simon when he entered the bathroom. Who the hell was smoking in here? It was a public building, there was a no smoking sign two feet from the goddamned door. Christ, could people not read? He looked around for the culprit, but there didn’t seem to be anyone in the bathroom.

He heard a faint hum from one of the two stalls.

“Hey,” he said, a little irritated. “You can’t smoke in here.”

Baz took a sharp breath.

“I said, you can’t fucking smoke in here. Did you not see the sign? Hello?” Baz needed to find the quickest possible way to get rid of him. Jesus. Fuck. What a day. It wasn’t even nine yet and already he’d been inadvertently chased away by his dick father and (sort of) met his soulmate. His idiot soulmate, whose voice was just like his dumb handwriting- inviting, but rough around the edges.

“Oh, fuck off, will you?”

Simon froze. What? What the hell was his soulmate doing in a boys’ bathroom? And the voice… Not exactly deep, but throaty and smooth and impossibly not-belonging-to-a-female. He didn’t know what to say, and so he didn’t say anything.

Instead, he went into the stall next to the guy (it was a guy), clambered clumsily onto the back of the toilet, and peered over the side. Perhaps not the most intelligent decision, but Simon had never prided himself on common sense.

Gorgeous. That was the only word that registered in Simon’s mind for a whole thirty seconds. The boy (definitely, definitely a boy) had thick, shoulder length hair, pitch black, and reddish-gold skin. He was sitting on the back of the toilet, legs crossed, with a lit cigarette hanging casually from his lips. He was exotic. He was beautiful. He looked up. He was pissed.

“What the actual fuck are you doing?” He snapped. Simon could see he’d been crying. His eyes, a stunning grey-green, were rimmed with red and shining. “Get away from me, you prick.”

Simon found his voice. “No. I’m not going to get away from you. Not until I figure out a few things.”

“Like?”

“Let me see your tattoo.” Simon demanded.

"And why, exactly, would I want to do that?”

"Because… Because just do it, okay?” He looked at the boy pleadingly.

Baz didn’t want to. He wasn’t going to. He wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction, this boy who had the guts, who had the gall to just look over the fucking stall at him when this was a place for privacy-

"Please?” Desperation had crept it’s way into Simon’s voice. His eyes were big and blue and honest.

Baz pulled the hair away from the back of his neck and showed the beautiful boy his tattoo.

God damn you, Baz thought. He was so flawless. He was glowing, like the sun was trapped inside of him, shining out through his curly bronze hair and his lovely golden skin and his bright eyes and his honey-coated voice.

"Oh.” It was soft. He sounded defeated. “So I guess…”

"We’re soulmates,” Baz finished for him. “What’s that face for? You disappointed?” He wiped the tears from his cheeks.

"No, no-” Simon interrupted quickly. “It’s not that at all. No.”

"Then what is it? Because you look like you just found out that all your Christmas presents were underwear.” Baz studied him for a second. “And that none of them fit. And they may or may not be used.”

Simon suppressed a laugh. He spoke slowly, chose his words carefully. “I just… didn’t think… that I liked guys. And it’s surprising, to say the least.”

"Good. So go away.”

"No.” Simon had waited this long for his soulmate, and just because he was a he didn’t mean Simon was going to let him slip between his fingers. “We’re going out on a date. Right now. I need to figure this out.”

"That’s how you ask someone out? You didn’t even actually ask.” Baz shook his head, but dropped the cigarette, grinding it into the tile floor to put it out. He ignored Simon’s disparaging look, swinging the stall door open and following him out of the bathroom.

"This is some crazy shit,” Simon muttered, just loud enough for Baz to hear. Baz nodded in agreement. “Where do you want to go?”

"Anywhere. Anywhere but here.” Baz paused. “And don’t expect this to be like… a date. I’m not ready for a date. I don’t even…”

"Whatever, it doesn’t have to be a date. How does a walk in the park sound? I’m Simon, by the way. And you’re a git. Who introduces themselves with ‘Fuck off’? You do realize I have that permanently tattooed on my body, right?”

Simon. Simon who talked way too fast, all his words running together into one big long word, barely intelligible. “I-” Baz began, but Simon held up a finger.

"Shhhhhh. We’re going to the park.” They walked in silence for a while, Baz a step behind Simon, studying him. He was shining. He was even more beautiful in the summer sun. Clad in basketball-type shorts and a muscle shirt, Baz could see that he had dozens of moles scattered all over his body. Simon looked back, like he was checking if Baz was still there, and Baz saw that on his face was a sweep of freckles across the bridge of his nose and the apples of his cheeks. He was substantially shorter than Baz, probably by three or four inches, but then again, Baz was tall. The kind of tall that makes people stop you in the street and say “Wow, you’re tall.” Little kids looked at him and whispered to their mothers in awe, “Look, it’s a giant!”.

"How old are you?” Baz asked, a feeble attempt at conversation. He felt awkward in the quiet, with just the light breeze whispering in his ears. He wondered how Simon wasn’t cold, as scantily clad as he was.

"I’m a senior in high school,” Simon replied in a pleasant tone.

"Oh. Um, I just graduated.” Usually, Baz was fantastic with words. He could spin poems out of his head like woven silk and his wit was quick and sharp, throwing insults and jabs left and right, comebacks falling from his mouth with ease. He was a good conversationalist, too, but that was mostly because he couldn’t tolerate small talk. It bored the hell out of him. Life was short, he figured, so why waste it on discussion of the weather? But this boy… He was stealing everything. Baz’s words, his breath, and apparently his free will, because every step towards the park he knew he should turn around, wanted to- but didn’t.

"What’s your name?” Simon asked, glancing back for just a moment. Just long enough to catch Baz’s eyes and bring a soft blush to his cheeks.

"Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch,” Baz said, as casually as he could manage. “But you can call me Baz.”

"Baz.” He considered it for a moment. “I like it. It suits you. Dark. Mysterious. Straight out of a romance novel.”

They reached the park and suddenly neither of them knew what to do. It was awkward and the sun was too bright, so they were both sweaty and squinting and trying too hard not to look too long at the other one. Was this how it was supposed to be? Weren’t you supposed to fall right into your soulmate, and everything was supposed to feel right, like it had just clicked into place? Because it didn’t feel that way, not at all. It felt strange and a little bit empty and very, very stilted. Their conversation wasn’t going anywhere. There was no conversation, neither of them were even speaking.

"I play the violin,” Baz said, a little too loud. It was a stupid thing to say, a total non-sequitur, but he said it because he wanted to know if Simon played an instrument. He could picture him jamming out on a bass guitar or banging on a drum set.

"I always wanted to learn to play the violin.” He spoke in a wistful tone. “But we could never afford music lessons.”

"Oh.” Baz replied, his face bright red.

"Okay, this is getting ridiculous,” Simon sighed, leaning forward towards Baz. “I feel like I’m at a middle school dance. Just tell me something about yourself, something you wouldn’t tell anybody else.”

"Um…” Baz began, not sure what to say next. “I- I just met you. Why would I-”

"Because I’m your soulmate, you fuckwad.” Simon sounded exasperated now. He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Don’t you think I should know things about you?”

"Point taken,” Baz admitted. “It’s just that… I’ve never really wanted a soulmate.”

Simon looked hurt. “Well it’s not like you have a fucking choice,” he spat. “It’s not like I have one.”

The end of his sentence was so tender that Baz couldn’t help but give in. “Alright. I’ll tell you something, I suppose. Um… I guess… I like to watch Disney movies sometimes. When I’m alone.”

Simon brightened immediately. “Alright, good! Good. My turn.” He furrowed his eyebrows, bit his bottom lip. Baz swallowed hard. “Sorry, this is kind of a question- what the hell do you put in your hair to make it so smooth? It’s absolutely gorgeous. Mine is a rat’s nest, and I’ve tried everything on God’s green earth. Nothing tames it.” He grinned, sheepish.

Baz giggled and Simon’s insides were on fire. Here was this beautiful, regal boy, and he was making him laugh. Making him giggle, even.

"I don’t put anything in it, really. Conditioner. I grow it long to hide my tattoo.” He paused. Simon nodded and took off his rubber bracelets. Baz recognized them as the ones all the young girls wore nowadays, the ones in his sister’s class. They were shaped like animals and food and things. Simon had one that looked like a slice of pizza, a butterfly, and the state of Texas (at least, that’s what Baz thought it was.)

"My tattoo is on my wrist. I don’t like people to see it either.” Baz reached out, an instinctive move, and ran his fingers over the soft skin of Simon’s wrist. Sure enough, his meticulous handwriting was written on Simon’s wrist. He felt almost bad about what the words said.

"I apologize for swearing at you,” Baz started, unsure where he was going with this. “You know, my little sister’s tattoo says something similar. I think it’s "shut the hell up”, or something.“ He felt a blush come to his cheeks, and cursed himself. He hadn’t blushed this much in months. "I miss her very much.” It was almost a whisper.

"I miss my mother very much. She died when I was ten.”

"Oh, my sister isn’t dead. I just haven’t seen her in a long time.” It seemed an inadequate addition. A sad smile crossed Baz’s face, the smile of those remembering what they’ve lost. “My mother died, too. When I was seven. And as far as my father’s concerned, I died about three months ago, when I told him I was gay. He’s got Mordi- that’s my sister.”

And then Simon had his fingers intertwined with Baz’s, and Baz didn’t want to pull away. “I suppose this means I’ll have to tell my father about the whole ‘gay’ thing,” he fretted, his worried tone only half a joke.

"No offense, but how didn’t you know before? I’ve known since I was five.”

Simon frowned. “I just never thought about it, I guess. But I think you’re lovely, and funny, and I like you. So I guess that’s what matters, in the end.” Simon beamed, his dimpled cheeks overtaking his sky-blue eyes.

Feeling wanted wasn’t something Baz was used to. “Oh,” he replied. But then it hit. The complete, oh-wow-I’ve-been-waiting-my-whole-life-for-this-don’t-let-it-stop, heart warming, mind shaking feeling of finally finding your soulmate. How could he not have wanted this? Baz took Simon’s other hand and faced him.

"Oh.” Simon let his fingers slip into Baz’s.

For once, Baz didn’t need to be good with words. He didn’t need to say a thing. All he needed to do was lean over and press his lips ever-so-light against Simon’s temple. Then his nose. Then his lips. He was warm and he tasted like scones and cinnamon and everything good in the world, how could anything be this lovely, this good.

"Oh.”


Hope you enjoyed! It’s about ten billion times better as a reboot than it was when I posted it on my ao3- to anyone who read that…. I’m so sorry. Originally titled "Oh.” (Creative, I know). current title taken from "I’m Yours” by Alessia Cara, which I listened to on repeat as I edited this. Check it out if you haven’t heard it! ^-^
Taught (Bucky Barnes x O/C)

Originally posted by stuckwithbuck

A/N: The third and final part of the ‘Caught’ series. I got a little carried away. And by carried away, I mean I wrote my longest fic ever, clocking in at 4.3k words. Keep hydrated, prepare your underwear ladies- because it is about to get hot in here. 

Part One- Caught

Part Two- Worked 

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So, I already posted about her once, but this is my Percabeth girl! I came up with some fun ideas about her, though I haven’t totally settled on everything, so some stuff may change?

Also the bottom picture is by the amazing @meldy-arts, she just sketched up my girl and everything??? And I LOVE IT! *flops*

Calida and the top two pictures c) @aceofstars16/ @aces-creative-corner


If you want to read more about her you can read it under the cut cause it’s kind of long xD

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