he is great in this though

I like Touka best when she is at her most flawed.

I love when her abandonment issues show, I love when she’s mean, when she’s rude and abrasive, when she’s violent. These are personality flaws that all stem from the turbulent and traumatic life that she’s led, and they are realistic flaws.

Each and every flaw that Touka is one that makes sense given her past. She had to grow up too young, had to fight tooth and nail to protect both herself and her brother, and had to distrust literally every human that she’s encountered since the faithful night that her father disappeared.

Of course she’s mean. Of course she’s rude, violent, and abrasive. Of course she’s afraid of being alone.

I love Touka’s flaws because they all make it much more poignant when you see that despite those flaws she is capable of great kindness and care. She loves her most important people deeply and will literally risk her safety for them or die for them.

Even at her angriest, she stopped Kaneki from killing his closest friend, she saved Shuu even when he repeatedly attacked her when she was a minor, she made Akira reconcile with Hinami even though her father killed Ryouko, she risked her life to bring Hinami back from cochlea, and she even helped Amon face his fears and talk to the woman that he cares about. I could go on and on about how Touka has helped almost all of the core characters in the series, even when some of them had previously wrong her.

She’s real – and she isn’t sugarcoated. And while some of you want an idealistic female character who is always sweet, and always kind, and always understanding that way of thinking always makes me appreciate characters like Touka that much more.

A Hundred Lesser Faces: (Five)

Notes from Mod Bonnie

  • This story stems from the premise: what if Voyager!Claire had gone first to Lallybroch instead of directly to the print shop in Edinburgh?

My own Jamie,

Almost six months ago, I learned that you survived Culloden. You made history, my darling! Q.E.D.

As many nights as I’ve lain awake in those months cursing myself for not having looked soonerI know I shall thank God every day of my life for the series of events that led me at last to the right pages, to you. When I fully realized what it meant— that you had been spared the death you faced so bravely that April morning, the death that has haunted my thoughts and my nightmares for so long— It was like a wound, the oldest and deepest scar ripped back open, inch by inch. I was completely laid bare from it, from the storm of emotions warring within me: such joy, such anguish for the lost time (how many more years could we have had, Jamie, had I looked?), such fear—and then joy again, because the years of grief could now be ended, and *against all reason!* I could see you again.  

Likewise will I thank God every day for the small voice in my head that nudged me at the very last moment to go first to Lallybroch, rather than to your shop in Edinburgh. Please thank Jenny for me. She explained everything. 

It is for the best, that it happened this way; easier, I think, for all concerned. Perversely, despite the shock, I find myself smiling in this moment: for we promised there would be no lies between us, remember? It is a promise I make to you again, today. You can know, then, with absolute certainty, that it can be no lie when I tell you that I am glad glad and on-my-knees grateful to Heaven that you have found true happiness. 

After all the pain and the loss, the war and the hunger and the suffering you’ve endured, to know that you have a wife with whom you’ve found something new and wonderful; that you have had the joy of holding your own children in your arms, to have seen them be born and grow? It is a balm, Jamie, a comfort to know that despite all the cruelty fate has dealt you—dealt us— you have been blessed with such great and abundant joy. Never would I wish anything less for you, just as I know you would not for me. 

It is my deepest prayer that as you read these words, you will know the truth of them, will be able to feel my heart through the page, and KNOW that from its very depths, I wish you every happiness with your wife and your daughters. 

And yet I couldn’t leave, couldn’t go back from whence I came, without telling you about another little girl, who was born the 23rd of November the year of Culloden. 

I hope the contents of the brown packet, here enclosed, tell you more than any words could about your daughter—our daughter—Brianna Ellen.

Jamie was shaking—no, he was — crumbling

Every breath wrenched through him, agonizing, and the tears were falling, blurring his vision. He had to sit back on his haunches to keep them from dropping onto the page and blurring her precious words. 

Her words

CLAIRE’s

His hands were quaking with

November

with EVERYTHING

Jesus, GOD in 

Couldn’t

He COULD NOT think

Thoughts, words, they were—

They failed him, simply abandoned him as he shook on the study rug. Only his body seemed to know the way, for he was snatching for the parcel, tearing at the string binding the paper. There was an oily, unidentifiable wrapping within, then a layer of soft flannel, and then —   

The sound that escaped him—He didn’t even know there existed such a sound within him. It was terrible and beautiful at once, and though it was in no language, what he felt, his lips over and over formed a word, the only word he could muster: “No….NO….” 

For as though a great knife had cut through those terrible, looming stones on the accursed hill, Jamie held his infant daughter, newly-born, sleeping there in the palms of his hands. The portrait—picture?—painting?—was all in shades of grey, and yet somehow lifelike as a true bairn in miniature before him, like peering through a spyglass straight into that distant life.

He had not a single thought to spare for how, or by what means…

He could only trace the bitty wee fists curled on the blanket, the sweet wisps of hair on the tiny skull.

“Oh, mo chridhe…” 

He couldn’t look away, could not even blink, though tears were coursing downward. 

God, the child —this very child — 

—delivered safely into the world and into the arms of her mother—her mother.

The babe had lived—LIVED.

The pad of his thumb caught slightly as he caressed her cheek, and the portrait slid upward just enough to reveal — “Ohh…Jesus…”

She was grown to a toddling child, eating a cake that was smeared all about her face. And damn him if he didn’t LAUGH amidst the weeping to see just how pleased with herself she looked for it, a cuddly toy raised in triumph like a sword, four wee teeth visible as she giggled out a victory cry.

There she was again, older, standing in a great snowfall, naught but wee cheeks and grinning eyes visible under the great padded suit she wore against the cold. 

Older, still. Three? Four? Sitting proper-like in a pretty frock with her hair combed smooth. 

Such a sweet face—

Older, still, standing with a wee box in her hand beside a giant something with wheels, proud and eager, eyes bright.

And then he was gasping as the spyglass world ignited into blazing, brilliant colors. He saw his daughter’s hair, red and victorious and shining against the black coat of the huge dog she hugged tight; saw the pink flush of her cheeks, spread down her neck as it always did his, when he was happy and exuberant.

On and on flashed the paintings, these captured moments of his daughter’s life.

Going fishing and doing a damn fine job of it. 

Playing uproariously in the sea-surf, splashing and laughing with complete abandon.

Absolutely lovely as as she grew out of girlhood, and God, how vividly he could see Claire in her, as she did—in the lines of her, the way she held her mouth, tilted her head—that broad, clear brow that begged to be kissed, reverently—

Laughing, carefree, safe

Braw and strong as she chopped wood. Good lass!

Gazing softly out a window, seeming not even to notice her image being captured. 

On 

and on

and on 

until he was gasping and looking at the last portrait, of an achingly beautiful young woman sitting on a rock before a fire, making camp for the night, perhaps. Her face was cast in the same golds and red as her hair; the dreams of her heart seeming to dance across her eyes—as they always did her mother’s. His daughter…grown.  

The paintings were strewn all around him on the carpet, a tableau of her; her life. On his knees he bowed over them, overwhelmed and shuddering with great sobs as he looked, and looked, and looked.

She was—

She would be

…..she was well.  

The child HAD been safe.

It hadn’t been for naught. 

He fell, then, and sheltered her like a cloak, keeping his child, his daughter, safe and shielded from the world for just one moment; safe…his….

Brianna


It was only sudden, ripping, screaming panic that yanked him out of the quiet calm, searching wildly, fumbling with desperate hands—

But relief tore from his throat just as suddenly as he found a second page: 

Not everything can be captured in a photograph, of course (that’s what they’re called. Did I ever tell you about them?), and there’s so much I long to tell you about this wonderful person.

Will you believe she’s been taller than me since the age of thirteen? She carries it like a queen, though, like I imagine your mother did. She doesn’t slouch or try to hide. Not Bree. 

Oh, yes: most people call her Bree, for short. 

She bites her nails, when she’s thinking hard. I don’t even think she notices when she’s doing it.

She’s absolutely brilliant, Jamie, studying at one of the top universities in the world to be a historian. You would be so very proud of her. 

She’s not perfect, of course. Perhaps her biggest flaw as half-Scottish is that she HATES whisky, haha. I’ll do my best to win her over, though, don’t you worry. 

She’s a spectacular artist, another way in which she takes after her grandmother. She captures you, completely. 

That statement, actually, is true in more ways than one. Our Brianna is captivating, in every way. 

She’s an absolute wonder with maths and figures —as natural to her as breathing, it seems, just like they are for you. 

She smiles in her sleep, just like her father. 

She’s so like you, Jamie, it breaks my heart. 

After Frank died—But Lord, I haven’t said anything of him. 

It was two years ago. He had a good, full life, and he loved Bree more than anything in the world. He could have been cruel, could have taken out his anger upon the child, the very breathing manifestation of the ways in which I’d betrayed him—but he didn’t. From the moment he first held her, Frank loved her as his own, and while things between he and I were tenuous, to say the least, I will always love him for the father he was to her, for the sacrifices he made for her. I hope that is a comfort to you, and not a blow. 

After he was gone, after giving her time to grieve, it felt important that Bree should know about you, about the stones. It took—well, it frankly took a bloody lot of luck and a jolly good miracle to get her to believe, *but she does.* She loved Frank with all her heart, but she knows now that Jamie Fraser was her father. IS her father. 

You should know that she was instrumental in finding you. She persisted when I would have faltered under the doubts and the fears. As ecstatic and overjoyed as I was at the news that you were alive, I was so afraid Jamie, for you, for me, for Bree. 

Even though I know she, too, was plagued with fears, she remained strong; and she kept ME strong. Even at the very stones, when I was so wracked with guilt over leaving her forever that I would have stayed, for her sake, she was there to strengthen me, to tell me not to look back. She said that she was giving me back to you, and that if I didn’t go, *she* would. ‘Someone has to find him and tell him I was born,’ she said, and she meant it. 

THAT is the kind of person your daughter is growing to be, Jamie: determined, and brilliant, and selfless for the sake of those she loves; *and that includes you.* She asked me to give you a kiss, just from her. I’ve left it here, on the page, for you to keep, always. 

Brianna has been the greatest joy of my life since we parted, a joy that would have been richer only if I had been granted the grace to raise her with you at my side. Thank you for her. THANK YOU for making me go on, for her sake. Despite everything, it has been a good life. Even in those long years of grief, I had the joy of seeing you every day, of seeing your spirit, there in the child of our love. And I’m so very grateful. 

I’ll keep telling her about you. There wasn’t enough time, before I left. She’ll be able hear everything, now. I promise. 

Jamie shook his head hard, fast, feeling for a third page that wasn’t there. “No…” 

Be happy, Jamie Fraser, and LIVE. 

“No,” he moaned. his eyes clinging to the fleeting words, even as he begged them not to stop. “Claire…”

Love, always

“Mo nighean donn, don’t —  

Claire


Those next seconds were everlasting, each terrible, catastrophic truth echoing in his soul like the toll of a great bell, over and over. 

She had been here

Claire had been here

She left

Claire left

Because Jenny—


She was sitting at the bottom of the staircase, crying hard into Ian’s shoulder. When the study door crashed open, her head shot up and she jumped to her feet, her face pure terror. “Jamie, mo ch—”

“When?” He snarled it, and Jenny convulsed with a deep sob like a swallowed scream, and covered her face with her hands. 

Jamie was thundering toward her, a veil of red over his vision as he demanded, “WHEN?” 

Ian—in a shockingly deft and smooth movement given the leg—shot to his feet, shielding Jenny from Jamie’s rage with his body. 

In all truth, the rational parts of Jamie’s mind were glad for Ian’s presence, for that was the only thing keeping the blood rage from taking control, from taking revenge. “WHEN was she here, woman?” he bellowed over Ian’s shoulder,  “How fucking long did ye see fit to keep—”

Ian shoved him, eyes blazing. “You’ll NOT talk that way to—” 

Mor—ning—”Jenny sobbed, her voice a strangled whisper, “—gone before—Jamie! Oh, JamieI ken I’ll—never for—give mys—for—” 

HOW MANY MONTHS?”  he roared, overtaken by despair, overtaken by rage, becoming a nameless beast under it. “HOW MANY YEARS, JENNY?” 

“This morning—” she wailed, “To—TO—DAY—” 

Nothing. 

Silence. 

And then a great wave, tall as a mountain, rose up within Jamie, blasting out everything within him in a single cataclysmic moment of clarity. 

Today

T O D A Y

Then she was—

She could be no more than—

He vaulted up the stairs four at a time, paying no heed to Janet and Wee Ian and the others who were gathered at the top of the staircase, wide-eyed and pale and gaping.

Less than a minute later, he thundered back down past them all, breeks only half-laced under his boots, traveling bag on his back. 

“No,” Jenny moaned, grasping at his sleeve as he passed and trying to hold him back. “Jamie, ye canna—Ye CANNA catch her, she's—GONE—she’s—”

He shook her off, hard enough to knock her off-balance, and ran to the kitchen, shoving what food he could lay his hands on into his sack and moving straight to the door, so crazed with determination he could barely see what it was he took. Food didn’t matter. Fatigue, already tugging at him, didn’t matter. Claire was— 

“Jamie, she’s nearly a day ahead—” Jenny caught the handle just as he did, eyes absolutely wild. “Ye dinna even ken where she’s bound or—” 

He spared his sister one look, and let all the hate and contempt, the rage and the betrayal show there as he growled, “I ken precisely where she’s bound.” 


Ketch Her If You Can

Title:  Ketch Her If You Can

Summary:  Dean’s not happy when Ketch and the reader start flirting. Ketch seems interested in her, until the truth comes out, then he shows his true colors.

Author:  Dean’s Dirty Little Secret

Characters:  Dean Winchester, Female Reader, Arthur Ketch, Sam Winchester

Word Count:  1795

Warnings:  canon typical violence

Author’s Notes: This was written for @supernatural-jackles Birthday Challenge. My prompt was the gif below. I decided to go a different route and not write demon!Dean. Also, this is smut free. Go figure.

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anonymous asked:

Can I have Kise getting jealous over his crush's friend (Oikawa Tooru if possible please who happens to also like his crush and stuff) and they both suddenly compete for her attention?

Kise eyed out the other male; or rather, he eyed out the bandages that were wrapped intricately around his forearm and elbow. He knew Oikawa had been injured from his last game, but the volleyball player seemed to be making it out as if it were worse than it actually was.

And you were falling for it all.

It was annoying how you doted on Oikawa’s every whim just because of a few colorful bandages on his arm. Kise couldn’t stop the crinkling of his nose as he sneered a little in the other male’s direction.

And of course, Oikawa was quick to catch on to Kise’s jealousy. How many times had he looked over toward the blonde, a victorious smirk hidden from your view on his face?

“____cchi, you wouldn’t want to baby him,” Kise whined, though he tried to hide the desperate tone behind it. “You might take away his pride as a man.”

For a moment, you hesitated. Now you were unsure if you should continue helping Oikawa with every little thing. After all, he was a prideful person, so maybe your fussing really would get on his nerves.

A quick scoff dispelled your worries. “Nonsense, what kind of fool would I be to not accept help from a great friend.”

Oikawa’s words were smooth and you smiled in his direction. Kise couldn’t help but grind his teeth in annoyance as you continued to listen to his every beck and call.

Guilty things I like: adult Iwaizumi who smokes

anonymous asked:

Hello hello! For the kink drabbles can you do #9 spanking and "beg for it" with Taehyung please?

Warning: Smut. Spanking. Taehyung in a suit.

Word:

722


Type:

ceo au

Hot would be an understatement, your whole body is burning when Taehyung’s hand lands smack dab on your ass. Then the same hand, the one that abuses your skin mercilessly, lovingly caresses the red imprints with so much fondness and love - it drives you insane. You’ve dreamed on his long, nimble fingers touch you places he shouldn’t. At long last, after years of suppressing these feelings for your best friend, a drunken slip up leads to a whole lot of mistakes managed.

You didn’t think the sweet, ever loving Kim Taehyung is capable of such a thing. He’s no longer the innocent, all smiles boy you’ve fallen in love in high school. College was great though the parties were not better but you and Taehyung learned a lot during those four years. Now, all suited up in the finest tailor made tuxedo and you the best designer brand outfits, you still enjoy a good hang out at one of your places with beer, snacks and everything the high lives can top. Along the way, you always thought he’s your adorable best friend, failing to see the man he’s become. The thought makes your core drip.

“T-taehyung, I can’t take it anymore.” You whimper, tears brimming in your eyeline at the feeling of his fingers so close to where you want them to be but not enough.

He hums, contemplative. The baritone of his voice shoots through your heart to your core when he speaks and he can sure as hell feel you tremble underneath his touch.

“Beg for it.” His tone playful, sending an image of the boy you once knew.

 As if possessed, your mouth is already spewing words you never dream of saying. Yet here you are, pleading for a part of him to actually pierce into you and relief you of the torment.

“Such dirty little words coming from a pretty little mouth.” You can practically hear him smirk as he circles your dripping entrance with his finger casually.

You swear you would have fallen boneless on the ground if not for Taehyung’s thighs supporting your torso as your knees and palms burn from the fixed position you’ve been in since the last thirty-two minutes. Though you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world but here.

He chuckles when you thrust your ass backward, swallowing his finger all the way in with a pleasured sigh. Taehyung finally decides it’s enough teasing for tonight as he’s sure you can feel his excitement through his trousers. He slips his finger knuckle deep and draw out only to thrust it back inside. Soon, he’s fucking you with two oh so long fingers and making you moan his name.

You would have taken offence when he throws you off him like a rag doll if it isn’t for his overeagerness taking over him so much so he forgets his manners as he hurriedly undoes his belt and push his pants to his ankle. He’s standing tall, glistening with precum.

“Sorry for shoving you off like that, ___.” He cups your cheeks lovingly with eyes of a saint and in that moment, you lose yourself to lust. “If you don’t mind, love, I’d like that sweet pussy of yours taking a seat on my dick.”

In no time, you’re scrambling on your feet, barely able to stand and then everything goes blank. All you know is Taehyung is balls deep inside of you, stretching you out like one man you’ve been with ever could and no man after him ever will.

An arm bands around your waist loosely to allow movement and his free hand cups one of your bouncing mounds roughly. He meets your pace easily, soon becoming increasingly faster as you both reach your climax. You see a burst of white stars as you clench around him, milking his own orgasm.

Taehyung pushes out the stray strands out of your face as he kisses your shoulder and lies you on top of him.

“Hey, Tae?” You mumble, using the nickname you’ve given him from high school.

“Mhm.”

“I like your tie.”

The chuckle vibrating through him is melodious and enchanting, reminding you that he’s still your Taehyung.

“You do?”

“Yeah.”

“I can help put it on you next time.”

And you both know it won’t be on your neck.

Nothing can come between us

Blindspot fanfic. This started out as a short drabble but got a bit out of hand. I really miss Sarah and Sawyer and hope they come back next season.


Sarah Weller loved her brother, but if she was being totally honest, she’d have to admit that she was dreading this visit.

She kept one eye on her son’s back as they made their way out of the baggage claim area at La Guardia Airport and scanned the faces in the waiting crowd with the other.

She knew Kurt was eager for her to spend time with his new girlfriend, Jane, but as eager as Sarah was to see him, she didn’t share his enthusiasm. The last time she’d seen Jane, the woman had been pretending to be Taylor Shaw, a childhood friend magically returned after being missing for twenty-five years. Only the whole thing had been a lie just to worm her way into Kurt’s affections and the FBI. And when the lie had been revealed, Kurt had been destroyed. And even though he may have forgiven and forgotten, Sarah hadn’t. She’d never seen her brother so devastated, especially following on the heels of their father’s death and his deathbed revelation that he’d killed Taylor.

Kurt wasn’t entirely wrong, though: Sarah was going to spend some time with Jane this week. She was going to find a few moments—away from her brother—to let Jane know that if she ever even thought about hurting Kurt again, Sarah was going to make her pay, no matter how many fancy martial arts the tattooed woman knew.

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anonymous asked:

So, Yuri Plisetsky was a pretty isolated kid, so what if he never got chickenpox as a kid? What if he gets them now. The day after he performs. And it's /bad/. Can I see Viktor, Yuuri, and Otabek taking care of him? And a sick miserable Yuri too tired to care? It'd also be great if you could throw in some homesickness from missing his grandpa in there.

WARNING: descriptions of vomit below

read the warning

read the warning

read the warning

okay, you’ve been warned!  enjoy the fic!

When Otabek got a call from Yuri the day after the Grand Prix, he wasn’t sure what he expected to hear.  He could say with certainty, though, that “I think I’m dying” was not it.

“What?”  Otabek asked flatly, his heart pounding in his chest in spite of the fact that he suspected an exaggeration.

“I’m dying, Beka, my body was infected by itchy red dots days ago and now they’re blistering and scabbing and my skin will probably fall off tomorrow and so I called to demand that you take care of Potya when I’m gone.  She’s a good friend of mine, so I’m sure you’ll like her, and she’ll like you, though she might bite at first-”

“Yura, are you talking about your cat?”  Otabek asked, frowning as he searched Yuri’s symptoms on his laptop.

“She’s much more than a cat, Otabek!  You can’t treat her as anything less than- oh, maybe I should just ask Lilia, she knows all of this already…  Yeah, I’ll do that, goodbye Otabek, you’ve been a great friend!”

“Wait, Yura, I don’t think-”  Otabek heard the click of Yuri hanging up and sighed.  “I don’t think you’re dying,” he mumbled to himself.  He called again, but Yuri didn’t pick up.  He supposed there was only one thing left to do: jump on his motorbike and ride over to the hotel where Yuri was staying.

When he got there, he was surprised to hear the voices of Viktor Nikiforov and Yuuri Katsuki coming from inside.  In fact, Yuuri was the one who answered the door.

“Otabek!  What are you-”  Otabek could practically see a lightbulb go off above Yuuri’s head as he realized and slapped a hand to his head.  “So Yurio called you, too, then?”

Otabek nodded, and moved to go inside, only to be stopped by Yuuri.

“Have you ever had chickenpox?”  Yuuri’s eyebrows drew together, worry lining his face.  “If not…”

Otabek understood.  For better or worse, he had contracted chickenpox as a child, so he nodded, and then followed Yuuri inside the hotel room.

Yuri was on the couch, covered in blisters and looking absolutely miserable.  All of his energy regarding spreading the news of his impending death seemed to have completely disappeared.  Viktor, who sat on the arm of the couch, offered him a glass of water.  Yuri refused, but quickly caved as he realized that Viktor wasn’t going to let it go immediately.

That’s what scared Otabek the most: Yuri was normally so stubborn, it was terrifying to see him give up so quickly.

“How’s he doing?”  Yuuri asked, walking over and brushing Yuri’s hair out of his face.  The boy blinked blearily, for once not even bothering to glare at the Japanese skater, spilled the glass of water down his shirt, and immediately started crying.  Viktor’s eyebrows knit together as Yuuri calmed the blond.

“About that good,” Viktor said.  He turned to Otabek.  “Don’t worry, though, he’ll be okay!”

Otabek nodded, only half-convinced.  He helped Yuuri remove Yuri’s wet shirt, and put a hand to Yuri’s heated and swollen face.  The younger boy flinched, but didn’t even bother to pull away.

“Viktor, if this gets much worse, we’ll have to take him to the hospital,” Yuuri said.  He dabbed Yuri’s face with a wet cloth, but the sick boy didn’t even seem to notice.

“Beka?”  Yuri croaked, belatedly acknowledging his friend’s presence.  Otabek smiled.

“Hello, Yura,” he said.  “How are you feeling?”

Yuri made a face.  “Tired.  Sick.”

Otabek didn’t think that a two word response like that could possibly be very helpful, but, judging by the way his head whipped around, Yuuri begged to differ.

“Viktor,” Yuuri said, voice more commanding than normal.  “Get a bucket.  Or a trashcan.  Or a shopping bag- anything.”

Viktor was frozen for a moment, and though Yuuri didn’t take his eyes off of Yuuri, he must have sensed the older man’s inaction.

“Now, Vitya.”

After that, Viktor didn’t question Yuuri any more.  He found a large plastic salad bowl in the kitchen and brought it back to his fiancé.  “Is this-”

“That works,” Yuuri confirmed, taking the bowl.  He then turned to Otabek.  “Can you help him sit up?”

Otabek nodded, too intimidated by Yuuri’s current presence to refuse, and put his hand on Yuri’s bare back.  The sick boy was limp as a rag doll, but somehow Otabek was able to get him into a seated position.  As soon as he did so, he felt Yuri’s muscles tense.  

Then Yuri let out a low whine, bent over at the waist, and threw up.  Yuuri had the bowl ready, and sick splashed into it, sloshing around.  The sight and smell of it made Otabek’s stomach churn, but he forced himself to keep it together for Yuri’s sake.  The younger boy vomited again, and Otabek rubbed Yuri’s back as he choked on puke.  Tears streamed down his face as he coughed violently, eventually hacking so hard that more bile spilled over his lips, despite his stomach being nearly empty.

“I want-”  Yuri gasped and gagged again.  “Want my grandpa,” he managed to choke out miserably.

“Just breathe, Yura,” Viktor murmured.  He held Yuri’s hair out of the way gingerly, making sure not to pull on it.  Yuri didn’t respond.  In fact, as soon as he was done spewing, he drifted off to sleep, tears running down his face as he continued to mumble about missing his grandpa.

Otabek was left feeling helpless and scared as the two adults in the room exchanged worried glances.  After a minute, Yuuri turned to Otabek.

“Otabek, I think we’re going to have to take him to the hospital.  He’s going to be just fine, but we want to make sure he feels better as soon as possible.  Do you want to come with us?”

Otabek hesitated.  “Is it… alright?”

At that, Yuuri smiled.  “I think Yuri would appreciate it if you did.”

“Okay,” Otabek said quickly.  He didn’t have to think about it; Yuri was his friend, and he would do anything he could to make him happy.

Head canon where Tony had been secretly keeping tabs on Peter since they first met in Iron Man 2. Even though few words were spoken between them, he was impressed by the bravery of the kid and instantly knew that the little boy was going to do great things later on in life. So he took it upon himself to watch out for that boy throughout the years through any opportunity he received. He wasn’t surprised at all when he found out that that same brave boy received spider powers several years later…

Fantasy Medieval AU

This Fantasy Medieval AU fic ides comes from @keith-and-shiro-were-dating


When King Zarkon’s beloved younger sister dies suddenly, leaving behind her now orphaned only son Keith. The King adopts his nephew in her memory. He raises Keith alongside Heir Prince Lotor as if they were both his blood sons. Keith is expected to learn all the intricacies of his new position, and maintain the image of the prince he now is at all times. He is to participate in the great hunts alongside Zarkon and Prince Lotor. He is to be handy with a sword and capable of defending his families honor in both duels and battle, and at all times he is to be the perfect gentlemen, capable of being presented to anyone in the court without coming up lacking.

Some things come easier to him than others. He’s always loved the blade and bow, and there is no more dedicated hunter than he. Social niceties have never been his forte, though. His mother always thought his mannerisms the spitting image of his, unknown to him, father, and encouraged his sometimes coarse behavior. He’s managing, though. Due in no small part to his life long friend, long term body guard, and secret lover Shiro. His constant support through these trying times.

At least, he was managing until Zarkon decides to grow his ties with a neighboring kingdom through the marriage of two foreign princesses to his two sons. Keith is caught in horrible straights. Due to his privileges as Prince, he may object to the marriage on grounds of wishing to marry another, even a non-female, but relations between a Prince and non-noble is forbidden. Punishable by death or banishment to the non-noble party.

anonymous asked:

give us a linkkkk

EVERYONE READ THIS. It’s officially #18 on my top thirty list

Through Eerie Chaos :  For as long as anyone can remember, Old Hillsbridge Manor has always been believed to be haunted. Everyone in the village agrees and keeps a respectful, fearful, distance. New in town after a bad breakup and an internship that led to disappointment rather than a permanent job, Harry Styles figures taking pictures of the decrepit building could be a great new creative project. Or at least a much-needed distraction while he searches for a job and crashes at his parents’ new house. No one warned him about the apparitions though; about the music, the laughter, the people who flicker and vanish when you call after them, the echoes of a past that should be long gone… Harry has never believed in spirits but even he can admit that there’s something weird going on. What starts as mere curiosity evolves into a full-blown investigation and soon enough, Harry finds himself making friends with an aristocrat from the 1920s and struggling with finding the best way to tell him that he’s dead.

anonymous asked:

Don't panic(too much anyway)! Tailgate might still be saved cause this time there are people that do care if he goes missing unlike 6 millions years before he went missing the first time (and whoa would'nt that be great parallel in the story). Thats what I tell myself even though hope is super scary like it was for Cyclonus and I'M Panicking D8

OH that’s actually a really good point and that would be a wonderful parallel omg. (And if it doesn’t happen in canon then probably I or someone else will eventually fic it). 

Thank you!

anonymous asked:

Michael Mell the character thingy ding!

general opinion: fall in a hole and die | don’t like them | eh | they’re fine I guess | like them! | love them | actual love of my life
hotness level: get away from me | meh | neutral | theoretically hot but not my type | pretty hot | gorgeous! | 10/10 would bang
hogwarts house: gryffindor | slytherin | ravenclaw | hufflepuff
best quality: He was there for Jeremy (with the help of Mr. Heere) even though he treated michael like he didnt exist 
worst quality: Too codependent, he depended too much on Jeremy being there for him, but then again its hard to have someone by your side all the time then just watch them leave
ship them with: Jeremy
brotp them with: Christine, Brooke and Jake
needs to stay away from:
misc. thoughts: Great character, I love him so much audhdfuhahkdf

anonymous asked:

TRA kookie: what kinks do you want to try with Y/N?

“That’s easy: anal,” Jungkook answers.

You guffaw. “What?”

“You heard me. I want to fuck her ass.”

Snorting, you say, “Like that’s ever going to fucking happen.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. We’ll see. Won’t hurt to try it, though.”

“Anything else, Jungkook?” you ask, monotonously.

“Another kink would be her actually sucking my dick.”

“My mouth is not coming anywhere near that thing.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “Titty fucking. Actually fucking her in public and not just eating her out. That time at the convenience store was fantastic.”

“Oh, great. Now he’s going to get a boner.”

Ignoring you, he asks, “Did I mention anal?”

“Yes. Shut up about fucking my ass.”

“Just checking,” he says. “Point is… I’ll try anything she’ll let me do to her.”


Send my muse “👀 + a question” and they’ll have to answer with 100% honesty.

the Master is a cruel being but we have seen that in those rare moments he can be kind, and now with Missy the Master apparently is learning to be more than just kind and the Doctor is again believing in the Master. i think it would still be great though if Simm!Master’s last act before regenerating would be a kind one, to really show that what Missy is becoming has been there before

3

UPDATES ON MOONLIGHT PLAYING GOH:

- HAHAHAHAHA WEDGE IS FINALLY MINE.  Biggs is about halfway to 6* and gets regularly farmed for shards, so I am on my way to a decent Wiggs set-up! It’s absolutely destroyed my stockpile of Fleet tokens, but, eh, it’s for a worthy cause.

- I UNLOCKED IMA-GUN DI.  I HAVE BEEN WORKING ON HIM FOREVER.  I have no strong feelings on him yet, but *rubs hands together eagerly* he is going to be a great help in Raids.

- My current Rebel and Jedi lineups.  I’m halfway to 6* for Qui-Gon as well, though, I haven’t dumped any other resources into him.  I’m waiting until I 7* him because otherwise my other characters are currently more useful.  And just a few more shards until Lando is 6*!  :D

- I swear I MUST BE USING JYN WRONG, because she hardly does much damage at all, yet she’s always listed really high on the power rankings?? I’ve tried pairing her up with K2SO, but even then she dies quickly and doesn’t seem to make much difference?

- I think I might be able to get Palpatine, if I really work on getting more credits and sacrifice Wedge farming for mod farming, even if I can only get 5*+ health mods right now.  (I DON’T WANT TO PUT TOGETHER A TEAM OF JAWAS CAPABLE OF SURVIVING TIER III OF THE MOD CHALLENGE AT 3*.)

How’s the game going for everyone else?

anyway I love all the Mahoutoukoro uniform designs YOI fandom is creating.

Who knew Yuri on Ice fandom of all places would be a hub of cool wizarding world design shit wtf. The few Koldovstoretz designs I’ve seen are great too. 

(I particularly like the way people have combined the gakuran with the robes in a lot of them?? It looks so good. More fanart needs to remember that Yuuri would def have gold robes by the time he was older though. :o )