he never responds

anonymous asked:

It is kinda odd how Kira talk so much more to his victims than any other people. Like he only really feels comfortable talking around those that he will soon render unable to harm him.

Well I don’t think it’s so unusual; you more-or-less explained it yourself right there!

In addition though, I figure it’s a power thing. He does a bit of banter beforehand, yes, but it usually leads back in to humiliating the target, making them feel helpless, or just making them feel lesser in general. He is genuinely chatty in these moments, but it’s not like he’s really looking for a conversation or anything so two-sided. Even with Koichi, realize that he never really responds to what Koichi says (with the exception of addressing things that are a direct threat to him) in lieu of talking over him or mocking him. He’s always the one leading the topic at hand, and if he wants a response from a person, it’s one that he has forced from them.

It’s only after he’s been put into a vulnerable position that Kira is forced to converse.

It’s actually really interesting.

8

Maybe a relationship is just two idiots who don’t know a damn thing except the fact that they’re willing to figure it out together.

{PART 22} I Won’t Stop You (M) // Jeon Jungkook, Vampire!AU

Originally posted by jengkook

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Vampire!AU, Fantasy, Angst, Smut

Summary; You hear the great history of Vampires as you have never heard it before. But as the door into Jungkook’s world is opened wide for you - many more open in turn. Jungkook finds himself overwhelmed with anger - and that anger turns into something you least expected.

“His love and protection were both her weapon and shield. She didn’t belong or willingly surrender to anyone; anyone that was, except him.”

I update this series every Tuesday evening, 9pm-10pm (UK Time) 

{Part 1} // {Part 21} {Part 22} {Part 23}

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hey guys :)) did you know :)) the last thing jacobi ever says to maxwell :)) is “let’s go be monsters” :))))))

I was doing you a favor by playing the long game...

I too was playing yet another long game by holding on to this for so long.

SO I had read earlier today the owner of a previous job of mine passed away. This was a place that tried to screw me pretty hard and I took some pro revenge on. It drug up some angry old feelings, so why not take an equal dose of catharsis?

WARNING: This is a doozy so strap in if you dare, no TL;DR it wouldn’t do justice.

So this takes place almost a decade ago. I was working as a department manager for a fairly large privately owned pest control company. Their color scheme was black and yellow, much like the taxi’s the owner’s dad used to drive. Since the taxi industry would be around for ever(hello Uber/Lyft) so would this pest control company, (this is important later) or so the owner used to parrot constantly. My job was to over see the techs doing treatments and set their stops and generally manage assorted insect control services, inventory, payroll for that dept, etc etc. I had taken the job from the owners son who took it from the previous manager who they demoted and yet stayed in the dept…this is important later. The owners son was a late 30’s early 40’s man child. I mean if he had dialed it back a few degrees he would have been an awesome guy, but anytime booze was involved he was a mess. If it was weed, he turned into the stereo typical obnoxious stoner making nothing but bad Jamaican accented jokes. He also hit on anything younger than him that moved…while being married w a pregnant wife. But I digress, the owner was a piece of work too, old Jewish guy who was as racist as he was old, not with any kind of seething hatred. Just a “this is the way it is” type attitude. My fave line of his, “The sky is blue, Ch#@ks know math, N@&ers are lazy, Jews know gold. What else is new” Like it was the most clever thing of all time. Finally now on to the revenge and need for such.

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anonymous asked:

I don't know why ur actin up for attention. You're okay as a writer, but there are much better ones in the fandom who have far less recognition

You see. It all started when father returned from the war. He had never been an affectionate man, as much as I can recall. But after the war, the small nods and brief glances from him that I had grown to look forward to had disappeared.

He was quick to anger and quicker to drink. Sometimes I’d awaken in the middle of the night to find him standing in the middle of the quiet farm, bathed in moonlight and despondent. His eyes would be fixated on the moon and stars, unblinking.

“Papa,” I’d call to him, “you’re scaring me…”

Of course, he didn’t respond. He never did. Somehow, his silence instilled more fear than his anger. The eerie quiet when I wished so badly to know what he was imagining.

The chores on the farm soon fell on my shoulders, as my mother came down with a chest cold that never seemed to go away. Some days were worse than others for her. I remember running to fetch the doctor in the middle of the night when she couldn’t keep from coughing. Walking through the old wooden thresh hold he greeted my father, who sat unblinking once again in his rocker with the usual bottle of liquor in his calloused hand. The light from the candles flickered, showing glimpses of his eyes which were wide with madness.

Seeing now the state he was in, the doctor simply tipped his cap and tended to my ailing mother. And soon after that, the talk around town began. Not so quiet whispers accompanied by piercing eyes when I made my way into town to fetch mothers tonic or liquor for papa.

My trips became less and less frequent. Not only because I couldn’t handle the gossip, but it seemed papa would do something drastic every time I left. One day I found him in the coop snapping the necks of the chickens inside, feathers flying everywhere as the few remaining tried to escape his grasp.

“Papa! No!” I screamed for him to stop.

He dropped to his knees with shaking hands. It was the first time he had spoken to me in what seemed like years. His voice was more hoarse than I remembered.

“I’m…sorry,” he spoke through tears.

Heavy with the shame of what he had done, he dragged himself off as I took care of the mess and contemplated how we would get our eggs now. I didn’t see papa again until that night. He came stumbling inside near dawn, crashing around our old farm house in his usual drunken stuper and calling for my grandmother, who had passed some time ago.

Why am I seeking attention? Who knows…but reading this message I think back to those chickens and their snapped necks. Who can say why, but perhaps I am jealous of them a bit. For at least, even in a brief moment before their deaths, they felt my fathers touch. Something I never had.

“Much better writers with far less recognition?” I chuckled and inched closer to you.

When the fandom approached me, asking me to hand-choose which followers went to which blogs I was shocked, but proudly took on the task. Just as I had taken on the burden of my families farm, I would also carry out this task to the best of my ability.

I moved my lips closer to your ear, letting them ghost over the skin as my fingers delicately tucked your hair to the side. My warm breath was seeping into your pores as you waited for me to respond.

“I know,” I whispered so softly, “now unfollow me, bitch.”

We need to talk about something.

And that something is the way Harry would behave when you get home from the gym.

You get back, absolutely exhausted from a hard workout, your gym clothes cool and damp with sweat, sticking to your skin. And Harry’s in the kitchen cooking some “protein” noodles or maybe they’re zoodles or squoodles, and for whatever reason he’s only got a pair of tight joggers on, his chest completely exposed to the boiling pot.

“Don’t burn yourself,” you sigh, remembering the last time he cooked nearly naked and little grease spatter burns were across his belly for at least a week. You kick off your shoes, bending to remove the sweat-soaked socks from your feet. A sharp hiss escapes you as you feel the burn in your thighs.

“S’the matter?” he asks, turning the stove top off and removing the pot before crossing over to you.

“My thighs burn,” you mutter, slowly easing yourself up. Harry’s closer now, arms outstretched with his hands running over your shoulders. His fingers twist around a bit of damp hair before he pulls them back, brushing them lightly beneath his nose. “Are you trying to smell my sweat?”

“Yeah,” he grins unabashedly, taking a fist full of your wet hair and inhaling deeply. He growls in pleasure, before placing a kiss on your neck. “What do they call it? Natural musk?”

“I do not have a musk, Harry!”

You stomp away from him, but the ache in your thighs keeps you from achieving the desired dramatics.

“Yeh do, love, and it’s sexy,” he says, easily closing the distance between you once more as he slithers his arms around your waist and rests his head atop yours, swaying you gently.

“Well, I think I’m smelly and would like to take a shower.”

“Can I help yeh with that, love?”

Turning in his arms, you give him a hard look. “No,” you answer firmly, “because to you helping is fucking and I’m just too exhausted for that right now.”

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Hawkeye (2012) #11

Hiding in the Impala

Pairing: Sam x Reader 

Characters: Sam, Reader, Dean, Reader’s Ex

Warnings: the reader’s ex is an ass, fight scenes, angst, swearing

Word count: 2511

Summary: The Reader is running from her crazy ex and happens to jump into a certain Impala to hide.

Tag list: @jessabro101  @deascheck @cwstandsforcaswinchester @fralackles@danandphilforlife112 @rdy4thevoid @disneychic8 @deepbreathssammy@amanda-teaches @myplaceofthingsilove @evyiione @gallifreyansass @star-arm-and-shield @macymoosesuniverse @rosep16​ @arianacullen2008 @spectaculicious @spnfanficpond 

A/N: This isn’t my storyline! It’s an adaptation of @writingthingsisdifficult ‘s “Hiding no more” You all should go check out their page it’s awesome and has a ton of great fics! Ps. I’m going to write a part two soon! I have april break next week so expect a ton of new material:) 

Originally posted by stayclassysupernatural

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anonymous asked:

Please, we want the memey s/o, we're begging you, this is what we really want

F I N E


  • It’s honestly a mystery how the two of you met in the first place. 2D doesn’t get your humor at all, and wonders why the fuck you always send him strange pictures and videos instead of actual words.
  • Most of your conversations look something like this:
  • SOME pictures and videos he finds funny, but it’s very rare that he actually laughs at the weird shit you send him.
  • He tries to make you laugh too, but the memes that he sends are so fucking crusty, you have a stroke every time he sends them.
  • The only person that gets your humor is Noodle and the two of you bond together whenever she tags along to some of your outings with 2D. 
  • Sometimes you scare him with some of the bass boosted videos you send him, especially if you’re texting him at night and he opens one. It takes like 10 years off his life and he usually flings his phone onto the floor, cracking the screen.
  • He catches you bopping to some songs on your headphones and he’s curious as to what you’re listening to. When you place the headphones on his ears, he stares at you in amazement and confusion as he asks you how you could listen to something like this:
  • He doesn’t question it. 
  • He doesn’t question anything.
  • You scare the shit out of Murdoc especially, waking him up in the morning with the entire discography of J Cole, which sends him into a coma because it’s that bad. sorry j cole fans if you exist
  • 2D eventually gets tired of your bullshit one day and just dumps you straight up, except he sends this meme:
  • You thought he finally was understanding your humor at first but he never responds after sending that. 
  • You go to visit him, but you’re detained by the police upon arriving to his house.
  • You never meme again.

LET THIS BE A WARNING TO A L L

The Pleasure Collection | 2. If You Insist

Genre: Smut/Angst

Word Count: 14.5k

Summary: After being targeted by the criminal that has been kidnapping young women across the city, you meet a certain police officer who makes it his sole mission to protect you.

A/N: The goal of this collection was to write pure smut… clearly I got carried away with the story for this one. Thank you so much to @mirai-miri and @jngukie for your support and willingness to talk through ideas with me <3 

Originally posted by pinkpopcorn99

Heart pounding, arms pumping, muscles aching. A sweaty sheen covers your skin. Adrenaline pushes you and you refuse to stop running until you feel safe. You have a feeling it may be a while but you continue to run as your jagged breath makes your throat raw. Frantically, you search for somewhere to go.

It’s your first week in this new city. You just started taking courses for your Masters degree. You had been looking forward to a fresh start for your life and a new beginning to your career. But this is not what you expected.

You should have been more careful.

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“You’re cute when you’re jealous” - Bruce Wayne x Reader

Hey dude ! First, a big thanks for the compliment, always more than appreciated :D. And then, here’s your request, hope you’ll like it :

(My masterlist blog here : https://ella-ravenwood-archives.tumblr.com)

______________________________________________________________________

-I just don’t understand why it has to be with a model that’s all…

-Honey, I already told you, she’s the face of the brand, she has to be on every pictures.

-Yeah well then if she’s the face of the brand, why would they need you ?

-You know why, it’s for the charity campaign we’ve been working on for the past few months. They’re a huge brand, they’ll help spread the words across the globe, more than we could on our own.

-”We’ve been working on” are key words here ! I worked on it as much as you, if not more, and I don’t get to be on the pictures. They just want you and her to have cute and classy “couple pictures”, because I’m not good looking enough for their damn brand and…

-You’re very cute when you’re jealous.

-I could knock you out with a punch to the face when I’m jealous.

-Oh, believe me, I know.

Bruce massages his jaw a bit, as a reflex, reminiscing of that time he made you jealous on purpose…It was a terrible idea. 

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P.S. I Love You- A Sirius Black Imagine

A/N: I know, I know, two imagines in one night? Anyways, this is a little something that I decided to work on and post tonight in dedication to @goblackhatwithme . I hope you enjoy it, Renee! There are probably many mistakes in this so I am sorry but I wanted to get this posted tonight. This also has nothing to do with the film “P.S. I Love You,” but I thought it was a cute title. Hope you all enjoy!

Originally posted by nellaey

It was a lazy Saturday afternoon. You were in the boys’ dormitory, lounging on Sirius’ bed and waiting for him to get out of the shower. You sighed in slight annoyance as you knew it was going to be a while. He was always so keen on using the “finest muggle products for his precious hair” and cursed Lily and yourself for showing them to him in the first place.

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leahlisabeth  asked:

“i’ve been travelling a lot and somehow you’re in every single city i go to seriously what the fuck who even are you how are you doing this” au

Kay, so I know you were thinking Andreil and them meeting under different names - or at least with Neil having different names. Don’t ask me why that lead me to think “spy au” when it really should have been a soulmate au. (Also don’t ask me about this spy au I have no idea what I was doing, I don’t even know if they’re actually spies or it’s just a mobster thing, I don’t *k n o w*)

=====

There was something off about the whiskey in this city.

It didn’t seem to matter which pub he stepped into – any local brew here in Bornholm had a certain… something in the taste of it. Perhaps something to do with the cask the brew had been aged in… but he couldn’t be sure…

“What do you know of Danish whiskey?” Andrew asked, to seemingly no one. The bartender, bored of cleaning glasses, tossed him a curious glance and then scanned the room, seeing only distant guests chatting quietly by the windows. She might have answered him if he had spoken in Danish. But his question had been voiced in Russian and it was intended for the man looming behind him in the shadows.

The bartender startled when the man sat down beside him. Clearly, she hadn’t known he was there. Typical, Andrew thought, for one of Riko’s Kingsmen.

“Very little, I’m afraid,” the man answered, somehow not making any creaks or squeaks in the aged wooden bar stools. “I never grew the taste nor the interest.” A small wave of his hand dismissed the bartender, who had come over in anticipation of an order to break the monotony of her day. Disappointed, she let them be.

“Not going to run?” The man asked, curious but not thrown off-balance by the abrupt difference in their regular routine of international cat and mouse. Such grace was probably expected when running in Riko’s inner circles.

“You always seem to find me,” Andrew mused, swirling his off-tasting whiskey in its tumbler. “How is that, exactly?”

“You are stupid enough to think Riko cannot find you.”

Andrew chuckled to himself. “Riko cannot find anything I don’t want him to find.” He took a sip of his drink, then turned to his companion and looked him up and down. Grey, non-descript clothes and a wool trench coat, revealing nothing about his build, style, wealth, or loyalties (national or otherwise). He was as inconspicuous as ever. “I meant why is it you who always comes? You’ve hardly been effective at bringing me in.”

The man said nothing, did nothing, and Andrew almost laughed. “Who is it who’s found me this time? Alex, Alfons, Sven? I’ve lost track the number of aliases you’ve given to me to burn.”

“Call me Joseph.” Andrew scowled, pretending that barb didn’t dig under his skin. It was a stinging reminder that he knew next to nothing of the man Riko kept sending to pursue him – whereas Andrew’s life story was parceled somewhere in a neat little file folder and Joseph had read it. Probably more than once. “He won’t play this game much longer, you know. You’ll have to fight back eventually.”

“Will I?”

“You’re running out of cities to hide in and Riko knows it.”

“Does he think he’s running me into a corner?” Andrew finished off his whiskey, letting the burn of alcohol remind him to hold his tongue as much as possible. For Aaron’s sake. “You know the fun thing about traps? When they go off, it doesn’t make a difference who fell into them.”

“…You mean to turn Riko’s own plans against him?”

“I plan to let Riko orchestrate his own downfall and laugh from Hell when he joins me there.”

Joseph fell silent, a hand brought to his chin as he contemplated this new information. Andrew’s eye caught on the tattooed ‘4’ on his cheek and he almost reached to itch at the ‘5’ mirrored on his own face. Instead, he motioned for another drink, trying not to worry that he had revealed too much. Let Joseph scurry back to the Raven King with this warning. Let Riko be on his guard, let Riko grow suspicious and paranoid – whatever it took to keep Moriyama eyes following the wrong twin.

Even if it made his skin crawl to be made prey again, made his hair stand on end every time he felt eyes follow his movements behind his back.

Hell would be an eternal rest compared to this hunt.

Joseph’s ice blue eyes flickered back towards Andrew when the bartender brought over his second drink. Smoothly, Joseph plucked the drink from Andrew’s hand and took a quick sip of it himself. Setting it back he merely said, “Tastes like wine.”

Andrew peered in the glass, as though he would be able to see what Joseph meant by merely staring hard enough. Wine in whiskey…? After his own sip, he began to debate whether he was curious enough to google about Danish whiskey later on. He decided he wasn’t.

Joseph stood, again in such a way that no sound was made, even though the chair was pushed back against the floor. “When he sends Drake,” Andrew ignored the impulse to flinch, “you’ll know he’s done preparing.”

“Drake, huh?” Andrew drawled, remembering that the name would mean nothing to Aaron. “Will that be another alias of yours?”

Joseph violently gripped the back of his chair. Andrew had the crazy idea that Joseph would have preferred to seize Andrew’s own hair. Or maybe his neck. “Drake will know you when he sees you.” Carefully, Joseph leaned in close to Andrew’s ear and whispered, “Like I did, Andrew.”

Now that was surprising.

Andrew took a minute to stare Joseph down, scrutinized his every feature for recognition that must be there. Black hair, he thought, eyeing auburn waves. Merryhill Elementary. Sacramento, he remembered, memories of keeping his distance from all the other students and watching one other boy do the same.

“Abram…” He didn’t say it so much as the name simply escaped his mouth, running along his exhale the same way Abram had run all those years ago, in the middle of October. Everyone had called him William back then, but Andrew had noticed he never responded to it and had bullied him into telling his real name. Andrew had never told anyone else and he had never actually spoken the name aloud before now.

Not even six years after Merryhill, when he had spotted a boy bearing a striking resemblance to Abram that he almost called out. They were in Phoenix then, his foster family roaming some mall or other on the only vacation Andrew had ever seen as a child. He might have said hello, just to investigate, but the boy’s mother was yanking him away, scolding him for reckless behaviour and calling him Casper.

His eyes were brown then, Andrew thought, wary of the pale blue that barred Abram’s soul from him.

“You need the Queensguard,” Abram insisted, unshaken by Andrew’s remembrance. “Let Kevin help you.”

Andrew scoffed, unconvinced. If Andrew had heard the rumours of the Queensguard, an inner group rebellious to Riko’s Kingsmen, then Riko already knew about it. “Kevin is the one who needs help.”

“Why do you think he kept sending me to find you?” Abram finally relaxed his grip on the chair, seeming to relax now that their games and deceptions were done with. How long had he been waiting for Andrew to realize? Did he think he already had? “I told Kevin after the first mission that you weren’t Aaron and it only made him want you worse.”

“Should I be flattered?”

“You are of invaluable worth to Kevin, much more so than your brother is to Riko. Aaron is Riko’s grudge and his betrayer but you? You could be Kevin’s answer.”

Andrew glared and pressed a knife to Abram’s thigh in one quick move. “I am nobody’s answer.”

Abram pushed on, “Kevin’s Queensguard has all the pieces but he’s no match for Riko as a mastermind. You? You’ve already outsmarted Riko a dozen times over, toying with him on this wild goose chase. But Riko’s gonna tire of playing the game by your rules and when he sends Drake for you and discovers the truth, there will be nothing you can do to protect your brother.”

The knife dug two inches into flesh. Andrew wondered if he expected Abram to react with more than a blink of surprise. As one of Riko’s Kingsmen, Abram was probably used to knives, used to torture.

Aaron had been.

“You need bigger toys,” Abram insisted, backing away and off of Andrew’s now-bloody knife. Abram, to his credit, only shifted his weight and pulled his coat tighter, ensuring no bloodstain could be seen. “Come to Paris eight days from now. Meet Kevin yourself and see if you can do better on your own.”

And then, before Andrew said anything else, Abram laid some Euros on the bar and left, no limp apparent to any eye less discerning than Andrew’s. He wondered if he ought to demand more specific details on where exactly in Paris he was supposed to meet Kevin but he decided not to worry.

If he was in the city when the time came, Abram would be sure to find him.

Highway (Part 7)

Originally posted by misunderstood-adventures

Summary: There’s a charming man that enters the diner like he owns the place, like he owns the town. And when he’s calling you babydoll, with a devilish smirk on his face and a twinkle of silver in his baby blues, you know you won’t be able to stop yourself from falling for the infamous Bucky Barnes.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Wordcount: 2,923

A/N: lol poor bucky dude

Part 1  / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7

Masterlist


The disappearance of Bucky Barnes took more of a toll on you than you’d expected.

You would’ve liked to say that it really didn’t matter all that much because it really shouldn’t have. You knew nothing more than his name and his address and the exact depth of his voice, the exact color of his eyes and brightness of his boyish grins. 

It’s been nearly two weeks without a word from the man that you’d quickly formed a bond with. 

You fancied your pride over desperation, however, so you responded to his radio silence with that of your own. You’d done so with a frown on your face and a yearning in your chest that begged you to search for him. Especially so after his most recent text, one that he’d sent you the night he took you out for a ride; it had been an oddly comforting text message. But then he never responded to your morning text. And then your afternoon text. And then one more after that.

And then you’d surmised that maybe he’d gotten bored with you.

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Sleepy

Requested: “Could you do an imagine where Shawn comes home in the early hours of the morning and he’s super tired and all he wants to do is cuddle with his girlfriend but when he finally gets upstairs to their bedroom he sees that she spread herself out on the bed like a starfish and he has to figure out how to move her? I would love it if you could do this and maybe tag me too!”

Also requested: “Could you please write a fluff about sleepy shawn kissing yoy in bed and how we would cuddle with y/n”

Authors note: I thought I would combine these two since they’re pretty similar. Also, I don’t know how to tag people or anything, so I apologize!

The sky was as clear as ever, the air a little cold leaving goosebumps on his skin. It was much too early to be awake, and he felt awful for coming home at such an awkward time. The last thing he remembered of his girlfriend was texting her and telling her that he’d be home soon, and she never responded. He figured she had fallen asleep considering how late it was when he sent that text. The drive home was all radio talk shows playing quietly, and running through red lights, to get home quicker. It’s only been a whole day without her, but he missed her terribly. Shawn loved his job, and he sometimes he loved working overtime, but lately he’s been tired, and very stressed about life in general. All he really wanted was to be with his girlfriend and have her calm him. She was always so good at that. Her voice resembled a stream, moving through the wind during the spring time. The way she touched him, drove him crazy. She was soft, in all ways, physically and emotionally. He was crazy stupid in love with her and he knew he always would be.

After driving for maybe 20 minutes or so, Shawn pulled into the driveway of the little apartment he shared with Y/N. He stumbled through the door, more tired than usual. There was a small noise coming from the kitchen when he opened the door. He walked through the kitchen to reach the bedroom and saw the cat sitting on the counter. The cat that Y/N picked, since they couldn’t have a dog. Shawn was too drained of energy to try and shoo the cat off the counter, so instead he just scrunched up his nose, hoping the cat would just stop making so much noise. He finally made it to the bedroom, desperately reaching for the bed, only to find Y/N spread across the entire bed. Her arms were propped up over the pillows, and her legs were tangled in the sheets. Her cheeks were rosy, and her hair was sticking to the sides of her face. She was stunning, even while she was asleep. Shawn sat at the edge of the bed, staring at her, wondering how he’d move her over so he wouldn’t wake her. Shawn thought it out a bit as he undressed from his jeans, to put on a comfortable t-shirt and shorts. He hovered above his girlfriend, and carefully placed her arms and legs around his waist, and he slowly moved himself onto the bed. A small noise escaped her lips, and Shawn’s heart melted at the sight. He kissed her forehead, before placing his head on her chest, so he could hear her heartbeat. This is how Shawn fell asleep every night. Even when he was gone on tour, he called her and fell asleep to her breathing over the phone. He just couldn’t sleep without her breaths or her heartbeat. Knowing that she was there was what calmed him the most.

Suddenly, he could feel her arm move up, and to his head and she started playing with his hair.

“I didn’t mean to wake you, I’m sorry baby.” Shawn said sweetly and kissed her collarbone.

“Shh.” Was all she said, and she continued to run her fingers through his hair. Life was crazy, for the both of them, so these were the times Shawn felt the happiest. Being on stage was thrilling, and some of the best days of his life were on stage. But, peacefully laying with someone you love with your whole being, and knowing that they love you just as much, is an indescribable feeling, that will never get old.

Imagine seeing Steve again after faking your death

Prompt: “Sorry I died.”

Originally posted by imaginesofeveryfandom

“I can’t believe you did that” Steve whispers into her ear as he holds her tightly. “It was the safest, babe. I thought you’d understand. You do right?” Y/N responds, pulling back and looking him in his eyes. “Of course I do” he answers, pulling her close to him again. He places a small kiss on her forehead, before stepping away. “Sorry I died” she says.”Well, fake-died” she adds with a sh’tty grin. His arm is draped over her shoulders, carefully, like he never wants to let her go again. “How was it without me?” she asks, slightly looking up to meet his eyes. “Horrible, I thought I lost it. I lost you, after all” he responds. “You’ll never lose me,” she says, softer and endearing. She brings up her left hand and tapping on the small crystal. “Until death does us apart” she repeats, like on their wedding day. Steve just looks at her. His body is taken over by endless love and absolute adoration for the woman before him. “You’re wonderful” he says softly. “And you never want to be without her again, you love her bla bla bla,” Tony interrupts. “Can we just get back to the mission please?” he sighs. “Leave those lovebirds” Bucky says, giving Tony a playful push. Tony sighs deeply and signs for the rest of the team to follow him out of the room. “I can never be without you again” Steve says softly as he pulls her against his chest again. “That can be arranged” Y/N responds, kissing him softly. Steve hoped this was the first and last time she faked her own death for him.


Just a random 250 word imagine I found in my files. Yeah this was pretty f’cking bad. Requests are still bloody open, I promise I’ll make it into something better than this piece of junk. 

for @antcommander


Hawke’s hands are so much larger than his own. He presses fingertip against fingertip, softly moving to his palm. Tracing the lines which web, all the little cracks in skin, circling every bump and bone. A smile quirks on his lips when he sees Hawke’s fingers twitch with the feeling, even as he sleeps. His breathing even and calm, eyes closed and peaceful in dreaming. Fenris lies beside him, hand drifting over hand, as the fire begins to ebb down low.

Soft warm light, flickering over the both of them. Fenris traces the line of Hawke’s nose, the worrisome line of his mouth. A thumb drifting over lips, a feel he knows too well and not well enough. He moves through his beard, follows his jaw to the shell of his ears. Through coal colored hair, and back down again. Over shoulder to collarbone, to the well in the middle, broad chest and sturdy ribs, the heart that beats underneath.

He feels it underneath his palm, that steady rhythm, a peaceful song. He closes his eyes, feels the heat that radiates from Hawke. His eyes open again when a hand slips over his own. “What are you doing?” He asks, voice hoarse from sleep, his eyes barely able to remain open. Fenris shakes his head, pulls at the hair on Hawke’s chest. Hawke swats his hand away with a yelp. Fenris falls back into the bed, long white hair splaying out over the pillow.

“You are like a big, hairy bear,” Fenris says.

“And you are a small, handsome elf,” Hawke tells him with a smile. Fenris lets out a huff, crossing his arms, turning his face away from Hawke. It hides the slight shade of red that blossoms on his cheeks. Hawke tells him often - how handsome, how kind, how sweet… He never knows how to respond.

“I am of average size for an elf.” Hawke laughs, rolling over to drape an arm over Fenris’s chest, burying his head into the crook of his neck.

“Tell what you were doing,” Hawke murmurs, pressing a kiss to his neck.

“I was,” Fenris pauses, mulling it over, “memorizing.” Hawke shifts, raising himself up, hands pressing into the mattress. He leans over Fenris, until he finds the eyes that will not meet his own. Even without seeing it properly in the low light, he knows the blush that troubles Fenris’s cheeks.

“Does that mean I get to do the same?” Hawke leans back, moving to kneel at the end of the bed. Fenris doesn’t protest as Hawke pulls down the blanket, simply moving to lean against the headboard, watching as Hawke moves. The first touch is light against his ankle. Fingertips that come to rest against skin, feeling the heat of Hawke’s palm. His thumb moves in slow, affectionate, circles. Hawke smiles up at Fenris as he begins to move.

He keeps his thumb on the line of bone, drifting upwards. He takes care not to trace markings, lyrium chains, and shows his appreciation for all that Fenris is. Hawke glances up from his work often, to see the yes in Fenris’s expression, the way he bites at his bottom lip. He circles around Fenris’s knee, and ever upwards. A hand kneads against his thigh, teasing touches that never quite go where Fenris wants him to. Hawke smiles at Fenris’s intake of breath when his touch get near, then shifts to his hips.

He trails a finger over hipbones, and splays a hand over Fenris’s belly. He appreciates the hard muscle he feels, satisfaction in knowing that it’s not just muscle now – Hawke’s cooking has seen to that. Strong hands over ribs, a squeezing that isn’t tight, until Hawke cups his face in his hands.

Hawke leans forward, brushes lips over Fenris’s. A light kiss but deepening still, Fenris is lost when Hawke pulls away. Eyes half-lidded, a hand on Hawke’s arm. More than his human heat, more than the fire, there’s a burning of warmth in Hawke’s eyes - a fondness that Fenris melts underneath. “I know all of you,” Hawke says as he tucks a lock of hair behind pointed ears, “I love every inch.”

My creation of what I hope tomorrow’s clip will be.

Wednesday 14th

Sana gets in her house after a long day at school, she takes off her shoes and leaves them at the entrance, as always. As she goes to her room she passes by Elias’s.

Elias: “Hi sis. How are you doing?” 

Sana, after hearing her brother’s voice, steps back and stands by the door as she finds Elias sitting on his bed.

Sana: “Hello. All good. You?”

Elias: “All good” he smiles as he quotes her. 

Sana: “Okay. I’m going to lie down for a bit.” she says pointing her bedroom with her finger.

Elias: “Okay” he whispers and waves goodbye at Sana.

She shows a little smile and goes straight to her bedroom leaving her bag next to the door. She lets herself fall on the bed and sighs. 

She sighs so much that she feels lighter, as if a big ball of emptiness got released from her chest. Does emptiness weight? It sure as hell feels like it does. Sana keeps looking at the ceiling looking for any imperfection on the paint until her eyes get a major mark of dirt a little to her right. She smiles to herself as she remembers that time she got so angry that she bounced a ball so hard it hit the ceiling and stained it with the dirty ball. 

She reaches her phone form her pocket and opens the Facebook chat. That empty chat, a miserable message “Do you want to hang out with me?” and a little “seen” right below it. She reads it over and over again. 

He never responded. 

And there it is again. That ball of emptiness is growing slowly in her throat. She leaves her phone by her side and closes her eyes. Darkness. That’s better.


Like a kick in the head an awful loud music messes up with her sleep. Still not 100% awake a low “Ugh Elias…” leaves her lips. As she begins to wake up she opens her eyes and closes them hard cursing her brother. “Elias!” this time louder. “ELIAS!” and louder. As she gets out of bed and goes to his brother’s room she yells at the door that was ajar: “Elias turn down the music!” No response. Taking the handle she goes inside “Elias I swear to God turn down th…” she stops talking as she realizes there is no one there. She goes straight to the radio and turns the volume down. 

Elias: “Sana!” she hears before crossing the door.

Sana: “What?!”

Suddenly Elias appears down the hallway and coming to her.

Elias: “Why did you turn down the music?” he says as Yousef appears right behind him. Sana looks fast at him and turns around to go to her bedroom again. 

Sana: “It was very loud. It woke me up” she goes inside her room and slams the door behind her. 

After a while scrolling through Insatgram, Facebook and Twitter for a long time she hears voices, laughs and footsteps coming from the entrance. It’s not that hard to know that those noises are coming from Elias’s friends. 

She goes to the little balcony she had in her room and looks at the sky. As she watches the clouds fly through, the boys were laughing and sitting on the little yard below. She gets inside quickly to avoid any kind of contact with the boys. Specially Yousef. 

Mutta: “Ask your sister!” 

“Damn Mutta, I can hear you” she thought smiling. 

Elias: “She won’t want to anyway.”

Michael: “Have you asked her?”

Elias: “No but…”

Adam: “Sana!”

Sana: “Adam!” she heard the boys laughing.

Elias: “Come out Sana!”

She goes downstairs and before she opens the door to the backyard she hears the boys screaming “Sana!” she smiles at herself. They were great guys, yelling together was completely unnecessary, but funny.

Sana: “What do you want?” she said opening the door fast.

Michael: “Damn! I did not expect her to appear there.” he said laughing for getting startled. 

Elias: “The boys were wondering if you wanted to hang out with us this Friday, you know… as a goodbye to Yousef”

Sana: “Mmm… I am busy on Friday” she says making eye contact with Yousef. No she isn’t. 

She was happy seeing the boys acting like children, except Yousef who was not very amused, but remembering that he was going to leave and the fact that he didn’t answer her text was not something she was happy about, so her smile instantly fell.

Mutta: “You okay Sana?” 

Sana: “Huh? Yeah, yeah. All good.”

An awkward silence sets in. Elias looks at Sana with a questioning look. Sana nods and mutters “All good” to let him know there is nothing he should worry about. Although it is not true.

“Well, guys thank you for inviting me. I’m gonna go upstairs, I’ve got things to do.”

Adam: “Bye.”

Yousef: “I’ll go grab some water” he said while Sana heads to the door.

Once inside Sana tries to ignore Yousef’s presence behind her. 

Yousef: “Sana” 

She goes into the kitchen, she grabs a glass and fills it with water. 

Sana: “You wanted water right?.” handing him the glass.

Yousef: “I’d love to.” he says taking it “Thank you” he mutters leaving it on the countertop. Sana frowns, isn’t he going to drink it? “Yes.”

Sana: “Huh?” could the read her mind now or what?

Yousef: “Yes, I’d love to hang out with you.”

Sana just stood there, eyes wide open. She was not expecting that.

Sana: “You could’ve said that before, instead of leaving me hanging.”

Yousef: “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to answer.”

Sana: “Yes or no. Is not that difficult Yousef.” she smiles.

Yousef: “I kinda freaked out” he lets out a little laugh.

Sana: “As long as you don’t throw water at my face.” she laughs.

Yousef: “Yeah… about that…” he takes the glass of water and immediately Sana holds it with the left hand on Yousef’s and the right on the glass resisting Yousef’s strength. 

Sana: “Don’t you dare.” 

Yousef stops pushing to avoid spilling the water everywhere. They laugh for a moment and they leave the glass at the countertop again.

Sana: “How about Thursday afternoon?”

Yousef: “Sounds good to me.”

Sana: “Okay” they smile at each other for what seems like forever “Aren’t you gonna drink the water?”

Yousef: “Oh, I wasn’t thirsty.”

Sana: “Oh, yeah?” as fast as she can she soaks her fingers on the water and splashes the water at Yousef’s face, as she calmly leaves the kitchen to go the her room. 

Yousef: “Hey!” he says drying his face with his T-shirt.

Sana: “Now we are even.”


I was a bit inspired to write Yousana, so here it is! It is a bit shitty but I had fun writing it so… Since Yousef is not answering his damn phone… here I am making my pain go away. LOL.

The Fate of Black Cats

So I found myself reading some soulmate AU’s and I had this idea for one that nobody asked for. Well here it is anyway. For your reading pleasure.


Soulmate AU where whatever they write on their arms, appears on their soulmate’s. What happens when Marinette becomes convinced that her soulmate is gone for good? Part ½ Rating: G+? Idk, it’s kinda angsty


When Marinette was four years old, drawings started appearing on her arms. At first they frightened her, but her mamma assured her that they were only drawings from her soulmate. Whatever he wrote or drew on his arms would appear on hers and vice versa. After that, she always carried around a marker and would tell her soul mate stories on her arms. She drew him flowers, cakes from her parent’s bakery, the funny dog she saw outside her window, anything she could think of to show him. He wrote back in music notes and cats and silly stick figures. She insisted she learn to read and write so that she could really talk to him. Together they practiced their ABC’s and eventually held conversations. They couldn’t tell each other their names on their arms, but that was ok. He was her boy, and she was his girl. Their arms were never without ink for years to come.

When Marinette turned six, she decided she wanted to really talk to her boy. So she asked her mom if she could call him. She looked a little surprised, but said that if his mamma would give him the phone number she would call him for her. It wasn’t long after that, that neat and unfamiliar handwriting appeared on her arm. She showed it to her mamma and she dialed the phone for her and let her have it. When a lady picked up, she cleared her throat and spoke in her most adult voice.

“Hello, I need to talk to my boy.”

“Alright, here he is.” Marinette waited impatiently while the phone was handed off.

“Girl?”

“Boy!”

They talked for hours. They could finally say whatever they wanted, and it was much faster than writing it down. While they talked they drew each other pictures. It was only the first of many conversations.

They were eight before they told each other their names.

“Marinette is a princess name! It’s pretty and magical just like you!”

“If Marinette is a princess name then you have to be my knight. Knight Adrien.”

“Together we save all of France from an evil sorcerer who enslaves people to make them fight us and try and capture our magic! Knight Adrien and Princess Marinette to the rescue!”

“I think you mean Princess Marinette and Knight Adrien. I, obviously, am the more powerful one.”

“Well duh! You’re not royalty for nothing! I am but your humble sidekick.”

“Nonsense, we’re partners. What’s a princess without her knight?”

“And what’s a knight without his princess?”

“I love you, my princess.”

“I love you too, my knight.”

For years, these daily phone calls were enough for them. They told each other everything. They made up stories of their adventures together. Marinette and Adrien, best friends, storytellers, soulmates.

When they were eleven, Adrien’s mom started getting sick. He wouldn’t tell her much about it, but she knew he was worried. She got worse and worse, until one day Marinette called, and an unfamiliar voice answered the phone.

“I need to talk to my boy.”

“He isn’t here,” the man responded, and hung up.

When she tried calling back no one answered. She tried writing messages on her arms, but he never responded. Marinette grew desperate. She called multiple times a day and covered her arms in flowers and words, anything to try and get him to respond. But he never did. Finally, after a week, whenever she called the number she had long sense memorized, the line was disconnected. She cried for a week and refused to come out of her room. She wrote on her arms hoping for a reply, but none ever came. Finally she wrote just one sentence.

Just tell me if you’re alive.

No reply came, and Marinette promised never to write on her arms again.

The next morning, she came down stairs with her arms scrubbed clean, and for the first time since she was small, there was no trace of ink anywhere.

“Hey, princess, what happened to your drawings?” her papa asked.

“I’m not a princess anymore. I can’t be a princess when my knight is dead.”

Her parents never brought it up again.

Every year on Adrien’s birthday, Marinette broke her promise. She would draw only one thing. It was a black cat cuddling a ladybug, his favorite animal and hers, with the words a Princess and her Knight surrounding it. She never expected a response, and she never got one, but it was her way of remembering the soulmate she never met.

School was harder after that. All her classmates had soulmates who drew them pictures, and eventually some of them met them. She watched her classmates fall in love with their soulmates and send them messages, and ached at the loss of hers. She took to wearing long sleeves, even when it was warm. She never told them what happened to hers. She let them assume what they wanted. Some thought they were fighting. Some thought she was one of the rare few born without one. Chloe was a member of the latter group. It all came to a head when she was fourteen.

“Poor little Marinette. I guess even fate is choosey when it comes doling out soulmates.” Most days, Marinette was good at drowning her out. But that day was his birthday. Her traditional drawing already marred her wrist. “Who would want to be your soulmate? Even if you had one I would bet he would be the scummiest, the most disgusting-“

“He was wonderful!” Marinette screamed. She marched over to Chloe, poking her in the chest. “He was kind, and creative, and funny! He played piano, and he liked cats. He had blonde hair and green eyes, and he loved me!” She could feel tears threatening to overflow as she screamed at Chloe. “And now he’s dead! He died Chloe! I will never meet him!” She could see the horror growing in Chloe’s face, but she had put up with her for too long to stop now. “He died, and now I have to sit here and listen to you disgrace him. I have to listen to you try and sully what few memories I have of him with your lies. I have had enough! Don’t you think I have suffered enough?” At this, Marinette seemed to collapse in on herself. For the first time, she noticed that the entire school was watching. They were dead silent, hanging on her every word. She felt heavy as her tears finally dripped down her cheeks. She looked back up at Chloe, hugging her arms. Chloe was looking on with horror frozen on her face. It would seem even she had a since of decency. Finally, she whispered to Chloe, “Haven’t I suffered enough?” and fled the school. Tears blurred her eyes as she ran. On her way down out, she bumped into a blonde boy she could barely see through her tears.

“Are you ok? Can I-“

“Please don’t touch me.” Marinette choked out and continued on her way out. Once home she locked herself into her room. She refused to come out the rest of the day.

The next day at school, four things happened. First, Chloe avoided her. She wouldn’t look at her or sit near her or talk to her. This suited Marinette just fine.

Second, two new kids were introduced to the class. Marinette was studiously avoiding looking at anyone and was doodling in her sketchbook, so she missed their names. It wasn’t until the girl sat down next to her, that she looked up.

“Hi, I’m Alya, what’s your name?”

“Marinette.”

“Well, Marinette, we’re going to be best friends.” Marinette could feel a smile tugging at her lips as class began.

Third, Ivan turned into a rock monster. Like literally made of rocks. The crazy new girl went running after him yelling about super heroes, and Marinette ran home.

Fourth, Marinette became Ladybug. When she got home, she found a weird box with earrings inside, and a magic talking bug that turned her into a spandex wearing superhero named Ladybug. It’s safe to say the Marinette’s life was never same.

She gradually grew accustomed to her new role and her partner, Chat Noir. They learned to work together and managed to do a decent job of keeping the city safe. She enjoyed having a purpose, even if her partner was a little ridiculous.

Marinette was not very involved in school after her fight with Chloe. Chloe no longer bullied her, but much of her class looked at her with pity. She couldn’t stand it. She eventually discovered that the other new kid’s name was Adrien. Looking at him was a like a punch in the gut. Blonde hair, green eyes, named Adrien. If it weren’t for his subdued and reserved attitude, he could have been her Adrien. She tended to avoid him if only to save herself the pain of digging up old memories. Someone must have clued him in as to why, because he left her alone. She caught him looking at her sometimes, but he never forced a conversation with her.

A year later found her at fifteen celebrating Adrien’s birthday alone. Alya caught her drawing on her wrist before class started.

“What are you doing? I never see you writing on your arms.” She couldn’t see Adrien perk up in front of her and decided to answer truthfully.

“It’s my soulmate’s birthday,” she explained, “if he were alive, he would be fifteen today.” Marinette didn’t notice Adrien slowly turning around in his seat to look at her, she was too busy drawing, but Alya did. “Every year on his birthday I draw the same thing here on my wrist it’s my way of remembering him. See he loved black cats, I and I like ladybugs. We used to tell each other stories where I was the princess and he was my knight. This is how I remember him.” She showed the completed drawing to Alya, then rolled her sleeve back down and got her books ready for class.

Alya stared at Adrien’s wrist as the same drawing took shape there. He was staring at Marinette completely dumbfounded, before he turned to meet Alya’s eyes. In them he learned a new definition of fear. Alya was looking at him with murder in her eyes.