he touches her so he know it real

No, Wait, You Got it All Wrong

You know what there’s not enough of? Canon compliant future fic where Stiles is a cop and he runs into Derek again. What’s that you say? There’s a ton of that?? Yes, true, but NOT ENOUGH.

“…. so then he says, ‘No, Officer, I swear to God this is the first time I’ve ever smoked up! I’ve never been in trouble with the law in my life! And I say, Billy, my man, you’ve been in trouble with me personally twice this month.” Stiles snorts at the memory. “Kid was so fucking high.”

Amanda must be halfway past tipsy, because she laughs uproariously into her beer at the mediocre punchline.

Stiles smiles. He’s satisfied with her reaction, with the warm murmur of the bar, with the buzz he’s got going… with just about everything, actually. After tonight, he’s looking at two full days off before he’s back on the beat, and the night’s still young. He leans back in his chair and takes a pull of his beer, savoring it.

Amanda glances towards the bar, probably considering a fourth round, and then visibly perks up as something near the front catches her eye.

“Oooh, Stiles,” she croons. “Look over at the door, like, just glance over.” She’s adjusted her gaze down at the table now, faking casual disinterest. Badly.

Stiles raises his eyebrows at her.

“This dude just walked in, he’s so your type,” she hisses. “C’mon, look! I’m telling you, six feet two inches of ‘yes, please, give it to me’ muscles, with some salt-and-pepper scruff icing. Unff.”

“Eh,” Stiles says, tipping his weight forward to hunch over the table. It’s not that he isn’t interested, exactly, but this is a cop bar and he doesn’t want to shit where he eats. Metaphorically.

“No, really,” Amanda insists. “He's… oh my God, he’s looking over here. He’s looking at you. Oh my God, Stiles, he’s coming over here!”

“No, he isn’t,” Stiles scoffs. He’s filled out a bit from high school and he’s finally competent at styling his hair, but he’s not that hot. Only Amanda’s sitting straight like a rod, eyes fixed on a point behind him that’s about where a six foot two man’s eyes would be.

“Stiles?”

He turns then, shooting to his feet before his brain’s quite caught up, because that voice is familiar like the back of his own hand.

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xaldinlance  asked:

Are you fucking insane?! Ladynoir

This one gets a LITTLE sinn-ish… nothing serious or explicit but I figure I will still put some of it under a cut ^_~


“Give me one good reason why we shouldn’t,” Chat said crossing his arms and leveling her with his most determined stare.

“Oh, I don’t know, how about because I don’t even know your actual name?”

“So we tell each other, it’s been long enough.”

“Are you fucking insane?” Ladybug hissed. “We can’t just-”

“Can’t just what?” Chat interrupted, “can’t just be honest with each other? It’s been three years Ladybug, and I for one am tired of putting my life on hold for some maniac and his color changing butterflies.”

“But the risks,” she tried weakly, even as her blood began to race when her partner stalked towards her.

“The risks will always be there. Why can’t we face them together?” he said softly, his hands reaching out to gently stroke up and down her arms.

“We already do,” Ladybug said stubbornly, “we have a great partnership just the way we are, why should be change that now?”

She knew why, of course she knew. It was her own fault after all. She had been the one to start this whole mess in the first place.

He leaned forward, ducking his head so that their eyes were level. She could see the conflicted feelings dancing in his eyes- frustration, hope, amusement, and pure unadulterated want.

She swallowed heavily.

“I am a pretty patient cat,” he said with a slight smirk, “but there are only so many times we can make out in back alleys and on darkened rooftops before we have to admit that this isn’t some mistake.”

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9

Honestly, it really shows how far their relationship has come that Franziska is willing to give Miles a chance here.

I mean, when you take a second to think about everything with Miles for the last few years from Fran’s perspective- REALLY think of it- it’s just heartbreaking and it shows a strong bond between them that she’s trusting him enough to even hear him out after all of it.

She’s already stated that it hurt her and she felt abandoned when Miles just sort of left to be prosecutor at his home country and presumably didn’t even keep in touch with her. She was in another country and after not hearing from him or her dad for what was probably quite a while. Then out of the blue she gets a call that like. “So yeah, your dad’s been found guilty of murder. Turns out he killed your adoptive brother’s dad. He actually only adopted your brother in the first place so he could frame him for murder, apparently. And he nearly succeeded, your brother went on trial and everything and nearly got the death penalty, but then your brother’s defense attorney friend exposed your dad as the real killer”. 

And you KNOW Miles did not contact her about any of this. This is Miles. He would have been afraid of what her reaction would be to break the news to her. Heck, part of him was probably scared she’d take von Karma’s side and blame him for getting her father arrested. If she tried to call him after hearing this, he would have ignored her calls, being too afraid and overwhelmed to deal with it. So she gets this huge bombshell unloaded on her and isn’t even able to talk to her brother like that. (And in a reflection of Miles’ fears, I can totally see Fran wondering if HE blamed HER and felt she was somehow complicit in her father’s actions)

 Then would have also gotten a call that was like” Um, yeah, your brother is he’s missing right now. He left what appears to be a suicide note and we can’t find him.The note says “Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth chooses death” so I guess he feels like a failure as a prosecutor after everything? He lost quite a few trials to his defense attorney friend. Yeah, the same one that got your dad convicted.”

So here it is. Not only has she lost her dad, her brother has apparently completely fallen apart in response to everything, given up on his career he worked so hard to and vanished without bothering to talk to her. He didn’t talk to her about anything that happened, he didn’t tell her he was going to do this, even after all they’ve been through and how they studied together to become prosecutors, he didn’t feel she was important enough to talk to about any of this.

So she directs all her anger at the defense attorney who beat him, blaming him for driving Miles to do this, vowing her “revenge”. She refuses to accept he’s dead, he clearly just ran away (I wonder if Miles ever ran away and left weird notes behind when they were kids? I could see that.) Once she beats him, Miles will have to come back and acknowledge her.

When Miles DOES come back, she is angry at him for leaving without saying anything the same way Phoenix is and even expresses it the same way, telling him she never wants to see him again even though that’s specifically what she came here for. She couches it in him being a “disgrace” but the later admits she feels abandoned. And she finds once again Miles has moved on and decided something without her- he doesn’t care about winning anymore, he’s given up on being a “prosecutor” the way they’re supposed to be, once again, leaving her behind. So she gives up. She feels like a failure for not winning, for losing her father and its clear to her she’s lost Miles too, that he doesn’t care about her or how hard she’s trying to prove herself, that he’s left everything that tied them together behind. 

But then he comes after her for once.He tells her that he’s not actually giving up on being a prosecutor, that he’s just doing it his way, that he’s continuing down this path he has chosen and he’ll never give up on it again. So if she wants to continue being a prosecutor too, he’ll be there, walking the same path. That’s still something that still binds them. He’s not giving up on all they’ve worked for and he’s not running away again. 

And that’s enough reassurance to Franziska for her to keep going. He isn’t abandoning their childhood goal, their dream. And he knows she’s following that path too. She still has that piece of her childhood, that reassurance. She can compete against him and work with him and know she still has a family, that there’s someone else carrying the burden her father had left. As long as he doesn’t give up, she can’t let herself give up either- partly out of spite, partly out of that childhood competitiveness and partly of that desire to keep having a connection to her family as she pursues her goal.

They start to rebuild their relationship after this. They solve cases together, he even backs her up when she’s accused of murder and she starts to trust him again. That he really won’t leave her this time, that they’re actually starting to communicate. 

Then Miles just quits being a prosecutor, like it’s nothing, directly going against what he’s promised her. That must feel like such a huge betrayal. She even says it feels like he’s abandoning her again.

But this time, her reaction is different.  Franziska decides just because he gives up doesn’t mean she’s going to.She’s accomplished a lot on her own while working for Interpol, without him or her dad. She doesn’t need him to continue forward on her path, she’s going to continue to be a prosecutor for herself.

And then Miles reassures that he actually HASN’T given up, that he is going to keep doing what he did as a prosecutor even without the badge. He’s not running away and he’s still pursuing the truth. They’ve still got that same goal. 

it says a LOT that Franziska trusts him enough now to accept this explanation and gives him the chance to prove it to her, even after all that. It says a lot about the bond between them and how much they’ve both grown. She takes him at his word that he’s not going back on the convictions that bind them together and thinks highly enough of him to accept the possibility he can accomplish things even without his badge. And she’s secure enough in their relationship and in herself now to accept this decision if that’s the case, even if she can’t help but feel angry or hurt.

I just…love Franziska. She’s come so far and it makes me proud. And even though it can be hard to tell, she and Miles really have come a long way and trust and believe in each other a lot at this point, in their own way. so I’m also just proud of these loser siblings and love that their relationship has been able to survive all this despite what huge disasters they both are and all the shit that’s happened to them.

anonymous asked:

RFA + V & Saeran head-canons with a super ticklish MC? Have a good night!

lololol yas!! love me some tickles ^-^


Yoosung:

  • rule number 1: never tickle Yoosung
  • rule number 2: never let Yoosung tickle you back
  • because
  • hE’S A BEAST WHEN IT COMES TO IT 
  • he knows all the good spots that just make ticklish people go c r a z y
  • how does he know?
  • well, he’s a ticklish baby himself so obviously he’d know his stuff
  • sometimes he’d be the little demon he was and while MC and him were gaming or whatever and he wanted her to lose, he’d do that knee tickle thing 
    • u know that really light tickle that happens when someone drags their fingers across your knee DO YOU UNDERSTAND WAHT I’M SAYING
  • MC literally loses the game immediately after that because it’s too hard to bare!!!!!!!!
  • “YOOSUNG STOP DOING THAT!”

Zen:

  • ho boy
  • he wasn’t the “average tickler” because heheehheehehhehehe
  • dirty Zenny likes to tickle under the shirt 
  • woeowwowoeowoow
  • “MC, come here!”
  • a seemingly un-harmful, happy invite for her to sit on his lap am i right?
  • WRONG
  • the fuckin moment she sits down he shoves his hands up her shirt not that high okay only on her tummy pls get. it. together. 
  • and just TICKLES HER MERCILESSLY 
  • THERE’S NO END TO IT BECAUSE HE LOVES HER GIGGLES AND HER TEARS OF JOY
  • it’s just so adorable and the way MC becomes flushed and red afterwards makes just makes him bsrgneozrusbvnw;orudbjvne;udifbkjl 
  • ya feel?

Jaehee:

  • Baehee has never tickled anyone else other than her neice ok
  • so she was real shook when she found out that MC was ticklish like
  • “I thought those feelings left as you got older? I’m not ticklish myself so..”
  • MC’s left eye starts twitching because she just had the most devious idea
  • *cue tickle attack*
  • too bad because it’s true lmao
  • Jaehee just stood there expressionless like “mc wat r u doin pls staph touching me”
  • but.. but..
  • NO “BUTS” MC BECAUSE NOW JAEHEE IS COMING TO GET U DO U HEAR ME AND DID U KNOW THAT SHE HAS THE BEST TICKLING SKILLZ EVER (she’s one hell of an aunt that’s for sure)
  • “MUHAAHAHAHAAHA MC YOU WON’T BE GETTING OFF THE HOOK UNTIL I TICKLE YOU FOR 5 MINUTES STRAIGHT”
  • omg jaehee so scary what happened to you

Jumin:

  • he found out by accident because
  • they were getting ready for a ~fancy~ night out right
  • and MC was having trouble with those tiny ass buckles on her heels
    • gurls u know whatt i’m talkin about
  • k so Mr. Han being the gentlemanly man he was went about to help her and the moment he touched her ankle
  • LIKE THE LITERALLY 1 SECOND AFTER HIS FINGER BRUSHED THE SIDE OF HER FOOT SHE LET OUT THIS BLOOD CURDLING- 
  • um i mean she chuckled real softly and like super feminine and shit
  • and Jumin just raises his eyebrows and gives her The Look™ of confusion
  • and she’s like “hehe I’m quite ticklish”
  • i’m sorry, what?
  • he’s never heard of that word before so he asks MC to demonstrate (lol) so she tries to tickle him and u would not believe this but
  • he’s SUCH A BIG BABY THIS MAN CAN’T HOLD BACK HIS LAUGHTER YAS

707:

  • bro lbr you SAW IT COMING OK
  • like ph-lease
  • it’s 707, memelord, literal god of the internet and pranks so he obviously thought to tickle MC the very moment he met her
  • and once he found out that she was the most precious and ticklish her person on the planet… he had no mercy 
  • tickles left and right, in the morning, right before bed, even during her beauty sleep??? most definitely. you don’t want tickles while you’re reading? well too bad you’re getting them. tickles in the car are dangerous but does that stop him? no it doesn’t because he lives on edge do u hear me he’s a hacker, a secret agent-
  • right so back on topic:
  •  because he was such a bully and would not let MC go a day without tickles he woke up one day with his hands tied together
  • “Seven, you’re gonna get a taste of your own medicine today.”
  • uh-oh

Saeran:

  • oh mY GOD THIS CHILD
  • he was so lost when MC started laughing because he was poking her sides
  • he thought he was hurting her??? or something because well 
  • i mean she had tears forming in the corner of her eyes
  • and he already stopped poking but she wouldn’t stop laughing just what kind of sorcery
  • “MC, are you okay?”
  • after she finally calmed the f down she let this little puppy know that she was alright aand asked him if he wanted to try being tickled
  • cinnamon bun has never been tickled before (maybe by Saeyoung back in the bad good ol’ days but it’s been too long)
  • OMG u wish u were there because he was bursting out with laughter belly filled to the brim with joy 
  • his eyes were squeezed shut because it tickled so much it hurt he couldn’t even breathe lmao
  • it was just great

V:

  • guyssssssssss
  • IT’S V IT’S LITERALLY JIHYUN FRICKIN KIM.
  • WHAT DO U TIHNK HE WOULD DO
  • the minute MC starts laughing because he was being devious and tickled her for ~experimental purposes~ he ripped out his camera
  • it literally came with the speed of light and out of some magic portal found around his neck
  • it’s just camera snaps all around and he isn’t just taking pictures
  • nononono that isn’t how famous photographer v does his job
  • he’s literally those people who take pictures of models like
  • “Work it, MC, work the camera, that’s right, perfect, more, give me more smile. Keep those giggles going, yes! exactement!”
  • oh my god hoW EMBARRASSING
  • he also never lets MC live it down
  • and he shows the entire RFA the laughing mess MC becomes whenever he tickles her even the tiniest bit
  • new secret weapon? totally.

i used to be SO TICKLISH it wasn’t even funny 

~Cherry L.


Masterpost: click here

Askbox/Requests: click here

Future

The song of the ocean breeze fills the air around you and Shawn as you lazily swing back and forth in that old hammock on the front porch of the house you’re renting, the one with ropes that looked about ready to snap. Shawn spent the day yesterday repairing it while you watched him, iced tea in hand, sunglasses perched on your nose and encouragements falling from your lips. (“Babe, your back looks so good like that”; “Stop wiggling your ass at me dipshit”; “Can you take your pants off too?”)

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Secret is Out: Part 5

AN: I decided to spend a bit of time away from the Batfamily to see how the rest of our favorite heroes are coping. So have some Barry Allen.

Prompt: What happens when secret identities are taken away from every DC superhero?

Words: 899

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4


“They’re still out there.”

    “Yep.”

    “My boss has sent me twenty emails.”

    “Probably wants to know why you’re not at work.”

    You smile at your husband, “No, she wants to know if you’ll come to her daughter’s birthday party.”

    When Barry bursts out laughing, you can’t help but smile for real. He’s been so quiet since the secret identities have been leaked. It scares you. Your Barry is always smiling, and talking. He’s always holding you or trying to touch you in some way; from wrapping an arm around your waist to holding your hand. In the past several days he had barely left his lab.

    Walking away from the window and to your husband, you crawl into his lap. “So what’s the plan Flash?”

    He pulls you in close, and kisses the top of your head. “I don’t know Y/N, we could always go live on the station. You’d be safe up there.”

    You turn in Barry’s arms, so that you’re straddling his hips. You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him. It’s a long and slow kiss. When you pull away you’re both breathless. You lean your forehead against his and say, “Barry we can’t live in fear.”

    His hold on you tightens, “Y/N every single enemy I have ever made knows who I am now. Knows who you are, and what you mean to me. If they go after you, if they hurt you …”

    You kiss his nose, “Barry Allen, I love you with everything I have, but we can’t live in fear.”

    Barry slumps back into the seat, “Are you sure about that? I’m fairly sure we can come up with some sort of business we can run from space.” You shake your head, and he sort of just groans. “What do you suggest?”

    You smile, and take his hand, “Let’s go out.”

    His eyes go wide, “Where the sharks are?”

    You kiss his nose, and say, “Superspeed, remember.”

    He just smiles, and the next moment you’re outside in Central City’s main park. Just as quickly you realize that your hair is now up, a ball cap is on your head, and sunglasses are tinting the sun.

    You glance over at your husband, “Wow, no fake nose or mustache?”

Barry just smiles and wiggles his eyebrows at you, before he sticks out his hand. You take it without hesitation. You get two wonderful, uninterrupted hours before Barry’s cellphone goes off.

“It’s CCPD.”

The phone rings again, and you smile, “We have to live Barry.”

He smiles before answering the phone and saying, “Allen.”

He listens for just a moment before hanging up. “They need me at a crime scene.”

You hold out your arms, and he raises an eyebrow in question. You smile and say, “Don’t you know, it’s take your wife to work day.”

Barry just laughs and then he’s running. It takes all of five seconds for the two of you to arrive. All eyes are immediately on you. You squeeze Barry’s hand once for support. He gives you a small smile before disappearing and then reappearing with his CSI kit. You watch with interest as he sets to work, and after a few minutes you realize everyone else is as well. All the cops are watching him as well.

As the news cameras show up, you feel an arm wrap around your shoulders. You smile at Joe, as he tosses head to the side, and leads you away from the crowds. The two of you slide into his car, and wait for Barry.

There’s a moment of silence before your father-in-law asks, “How’s our boy doing?”

You watch your husband through the windshield, “He’s worrying. You know Barry, he likes to worry. He was talking about living up on the station.”

“That surprises you? He called me, and begged me to not leave the house, begged me to convince Wally to take online classes.”

You bite your lip, “He’s terrified to lose someone else Joe. To be honest, I can’t really blame him.”

The back door of the car opens, and Barry slides in before you can say anything else. “Captain radioed in, he wants everyone … especially me, back at the station.”

Joe just nods, and flips the sirens on before pulling into traffic. When you reach the station, there are tons of paparazzi waiting. You turn to look at Barry, and he gives you a small smile, “I guess I can’t keep running.”

“Not from this.”

With a deep breath he opens the door and steps out. The flashes are nearly blinding, but they don’t seem to affect Barry. He shields you the best he can, as he helps you out of the car. He stays to one side while Joe stays to the other.

It reminds you of a mob scene as reporters reach out and try to grab Barry. He shrugs them off, but his arm tightens around you. Then there are more bodies between you and them, as cops swarm from the building. They create a path, and Barry rushes you forward.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding as the door closes behind you. Then you realize all eyes are on you and Barry. As the captain steps forward, you feel Barry tense, and then he says, “Allen you’re the freaking Flash, how the hell are you always late?”

Sherlock x Reader

|| Requested by: Anon :: Reader is very affectionate and Sherlock likes it but is very embarrassed. ||


It was something he’d never wanted to happen because he’d always been so double- minded about the concept of this particular thing that when it had actually occurred​, he’d freaked out.

The Sherlock Holmes had freaked out.

“Listen, honey, I’ve got to get these papers signed, I’ll be back in half an hour,” Y/N said, as she reached for her boyfriend’s cheek. Only, he backed away, much to her dismay.

“What’s wrong?” Y/N asked, her forehead scrunching up in confusion.

“Nothing, dear.”

Y/N put on her coat and then quickly pecked Sherlock’s cheek before he could back away again.

The sleuth cast her a small smile and bid her goodbye through gritted teeth.
As soon as Y/N left through the door, Sherlock plopped onto his armchair, sighing loudly.

Relationships. They freaked him out. He didn’t understand at first that he was, in fact, in love with Y/N. When John confronted him and made him understand that this was the case he felt afraid. He spent a few weeks researching about this and found that the symptoms matched - yes he’d fallen for her. He’d gone and asked her out when John insisted and he was internally happy that John made him do so.

She was so very sweet, always so understanding of him and giving him his space when needed. There was only one thing- and it wasn’t even a problem- but Y/N loved to show how much she liked him. She was very affectionate, almost constantly cuddling up to him, kissing him or caressing his cheeks. This was very new to him and for some reason, embarrassed him.
He felt his cheeks flush everytime she touched him, especially in public. The knowing glances that people threw at him made him feel uncomfortable.
And that wasn’t the problem. The real issue here was that he loved the way she made him feel by just her touch and yet he was so embarrassed because of it. That she could do this to him by just being so close to him. He loved it and hated it.

“Hey,” Y/N said softly, as she entered the apartment.

Sherlock blinked himself out of his thoughts and asked, “Didn't​ you leave five minutes ago?”

Y/N took off her coat and sat down next to him. “So happy to see me? But no, babe, I left 30 minutes ago.”

“Huh.”

Y/N moved closer to him, leaning in to kiss him but he scooted to a side.

“Okay, what is the matter, Sherlock?” Y/N asked, obviously extremely furious at his behavior.

“What?” the detective asked, but he knew she’d settle for nothing but the truth.

“Why are you so uncomfortable around me? If … you don’t like me, just say it. There’s no point trying to avoid me like this,” she breathed.

Sherlock’s eyes widened.

“Oh no. Y/N. It isn’t that.”

“Then what is it? I’m not very intriguing anymore?”

Silence.
“Sherlock? Are you not comfortable when I touch you?”

Sherlock looked up at Y/N. She was so upset. He didn’t like what he saw.

“No. I- I do like that you’re affectionate..it’s just-”

“Just what?”

And so he told her. Everything he’d been thinking while she was gone. He knew he was ranting stupidly but she was so upset-

“You’re so stupid for a detective,” Y/N said, patting his dark curls.

“What?”

“You don’t have to be embarrassed, love. I like you and I like to show it and it’s okay that it makes you feel good. There isn’t anything to be ashamed of. Do you want me to stop all together?”

“No. Not quite so. The way you put it..it is a trivial matter.”

“Exactly. Don’t overthink. Just be, Sherlock,” Y/N said, putting an arm around him and settling her head into the nape of his neck.

He flushed again but didn’t flinch much this time and kissed the top of her head, pulling her closer. She was right, if he liked it..why was he ashamed?

She looked at him and kissed him softly, caressing his cheek, before settling against his chest as he moved to lay down on the sofa.

“See? It feels good.” “Yes.”

Just like that they fell asleep, pressed against each other.

**

“And so the lovers are slumbering,” John muttered, glancing at Y/N and Sherlock who lay curled up against each other.

“Shh John. You’ll wake them up,” Mrs. Hudson whispered as she took John’s phone out of his hand.

“..What..are you doing?”

Mrs. Hudson giggled, as she pointed the phone at the couple and clicked away. “Who’s to think I’d see Sherlock like this one day? I mean I’ve seen him covered in blood but this is just bizarre!”


A/N: I felt so good, writing this. Hope you liked it! It’s good to be back.

I’m posting this, unbeta’d and surely full of mistakes, before I back down. I was having a bad day and decided to treat myself to comfort!Bughead, we need more of those.

Jughead Jones precariously balances the bags from the supermarket in his hand while using the other to open the door to his apartment, almost throwing them when he crosses the doorstep. His eyes instantly survey the living room looking for a glimpse of blonde hair but finding it empty.

Leaving the bags on the counter, he gets his phone out of his back pocket.

4.30pm

Betty should be home by now, he thinks, frowning a little but he sets to put everything in place. He absentmindedly smiles at the photo of them on the fridge. It’s from their last day of high school, both sitting in a booth at Pop’s, smiling to each other. Veronica had taking that picture, cooing at them as she leaned on Archie’s chest.

“Aren’t they cute?” she asked Archie, bringing their attention back to her.

“We’re cuter.” Archie said nonchalantly, looking down at her.

“Well, duh, but they’re a close second.” Veronica agreed, making them all laugh.

Shaking himself out of his reverie, he finishes putting the food away and moves to the couch. There, lying on the coffee table that Betty had begged to get, was her phone. Jughead frowns, distantly remembering texting her in the morning so she must be somewhere around the apartment.

He’s on his way to the bedroom to see if she decided to take a quick nap when he sees the light coming from the bathroom, the door ajar.

Jughead’s heart does a funny flip when he sees her. Closed eyes, leaning her head back on the border of the bath as she breathes deeply, her body visible thought the bubbles on the surface.

“Betts?” He calls her softly. Green eyes look back at him now, a little startled at first as if she’s just waking up before softening.

“Hey, Jug.” Her voice is a bit hoarse and small, like it gets after she’s been crying which makes him immediately step into the room.

“Hey you…” he says, now kneeling next to the bathtub. At eye level and this close to her, he can see her eyes are a little red-rimmed. “Are you alright?”

“I’m okay… just a rough day.” A single tear escapes and Jughead immediately reaches to wipe it off, frowning.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” he asks, cupping her cheek as she leans onto his touch.

“Not really…” She says, softly and never taking her eyes off him. He nods, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. He moves to stand up a little reluctantly at leaving her like this but Betty loves to take long baths after a long day.

“I’ll leave you to your bath, then. I’ll be in the living room.” he says.

A hand reaches for his as soon as he’s on his feet.

“No, don’t leave.” Her voice above a whisper, begging him with her eyes. He feels a tug at his chest as he kneels again, a magnetic force pulling him to her. “You know why I love this tub?” she asks, throwing him a bit out of the loop.

“Why?” he complies.

“Because it’s big enough for two.” She replies, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips, making him smirk in answer.

This time when he stands up she lets him go, leaning forward and hugging her knees, watching him expectantly.

Jughead sheds his clothes with an ease found only after being in a loving relationship with Betty, knowing he was safe with or without layers between them.

Leaving his clothes carelessly on the floor, he steps into the bathtub, sitting behind her and sighing contently when Betty leans against him. His body is suddenly both cool and on fire, the contact with her skin delicious.

Betty hums as he hugs her from behind, bringing her even closer to him. Her eyes are closed as he turns to the side, nosing at the crook of her neck before making a path of kisses from her throat to her cheek and back down again.

“I could get used to all my bad days ending like this.” She says drowsily, suddenly intoxicated by him as he is with her.

“I would agree but I don’t like you having bad days.” He mumbles against her skin, sighing happily, feeling her muscles relax further, melting.

Betty looks back at him, leaning her head on his shoulder and kisses his jaw lightly. “We all have bad days, but I know I’ll get home to you after them so really… they’re not that bad.” A real smile blooms on both their faces. Jughead leans forward and kisses her, his hand cradling her neck.

“I love you” he says, their lips touching. “I’d say I’ll kick whoever gave you a hard time, really, but you’re much scarier.”

Betty purses her lips in a jest, eyes shining with mirth. “True. You’re just a big softy underneath the badass exterior.” She chuckles at Jughead’s scoff.

“Jesus… Our kids will find that weakness and exploit it. They’re totally going to take advantage and gang up on me.” He says, looking over her shoulder at nowhere in particular before his own words catch up with him and he looks down at her with his eyes a bit panicked. Betty is simply looking at him in wonder, her eyes filled with love and a smile on her face. Jughead lets out a breath, relaxing under her gaze.

They haven’t touched the subject of kids more than the “Do you want kids?” question and he knows they’re too young. On their final year of college, not even engaged yet. But Jughead knows she is it. There is no one who could ever come close to what she means to him, no one he’d rather spend his life and go thought all those stages with. The future is no longer full of uncertainty for him, knowing she’ll be by his side. It makes him feel like he could handle anything as long as Betty’s hand was holding his.

Betty moves slowly, coming to straddle him, her hands on both sides of his neck. Jughead’s eyes dip low for a second focusing on her bare breasts before returning to her face.

“You will make a great dad someday, Juggie.” She says. His feels a powerful tug in his chest, warm all over. “And I’ll be there to stop you from giving them burgers and milkshakes at too young an age.”

Jughead gapes in fake outrage. “Two is a perfectly good age to start educating them on the culinary delicacies that are a burger and a milkshake.” He leans forward, gently biting her collarbone. “Prepare to be the bad cop, Cooper.” Betty laughs, making him smile at her.

“As long as I’m with you, Jug… I’m sure it’ll be okay.” She says, closing the distance between their lips in a hungry kiss. “I wouldn’t mind playing the bad cop with you, either.” Betty bites her lips, her eyes going a little dark as her words linger in the air making him more aware of the closeness of their bodies.

“Oh, yeah?” he asks into her mouth, their lips touching enough she can feel him talking. “What are you gonna do, Cooper? Start giving me suggestions like you do with my writing?” he smirks and Betty snorts, her head falling back as she laughs, the hunger being replaced by happiness in her eyes.

“Here’s a suggestion for you, Jones… shup up and kiss me.”

And well… He’d take her up on that one.

Always.

Real Bullets

Pairing: Jensen x Reader
Words:   1211
Requested by Anonymous:  How about being an actress on the show and someone swapping out the fake bullets for real ones and one of the J’s accidentally shooting you like angst then fluff

Warning: injured reader



        You were sitting on Jensen’s lap in his trailer while the two of you waited to be called onto set to film.

          “I really don’t want to do that scene,” Jensen sighed.

          “Why?” you asked, running your fingers through his short hair, “It’s just acting. Not like you’re really shooting me.”

          “Still. I don’t like it. I don’t like that I’ll be pointing a gun at you,” he said, “It doesn’t feel right.”

          “Just get your lines right and it’ll be over before you know it,” you teased him, “No worries.”

          He pulled you closer, “If you say so.”

          You kissed him softly, “I say so. I love you.”

          “I love you too.”

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Nurse Parker

Pairing: Peter x Reader

Warnings: Cheesy AF, plot makes no sense?, Aunt May’s cooking isn’t that bad guys, a lil’ kiss, okay a bunch of kisses.

Words: 1,987

A/n: I got sick and started having Peter Parker feels and this was born P.s. By “sick” I mean mother nature decided to intervene my life that was going okay for once.

Summary: An accident at work lands you at the Parker’s residence.


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Let Me Show You How It’s Done

Request: Could you do a fic where buck catches the reader masturbating and it makes him really jealous, so he shows her what real pleasure feels like??

Summary: Bucky catches you while you’re touching yourself, when he hears you moan his name he loses it. 

Warnings: smutty smutt + more smut

A/N: Don’t hesitate to message or send me an ask if you want to be added to the tag list!

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Post-Rescue J’onn and Alex

He waits.

He waits, because his children come first.

Kara comes first, her bursting need to touch her sister, to make sure she’s real, to make sure she’s really breathing, to make sure she knows that Kara is sorry, sorry, sorry, because she knows she blames herself for the water, and he knows that Alex will comfort her, and Kara will comfort Alex, and they need it so, so badly. They need each other so, so badly.

Maggie comes first, her skills at getting into a person’s head nearly as impressive as his own, and hell, he’s psychic, her ability to keep her cool, to keep her conviction, to keep her temper, when J'onn had been having trouble with his own, balancing perfectly with Kara, with Supergirl – just like Maggie balances perfectly with their other Danvers girl – and he knows, he knows, because it’s radiating off of them both, that they have things to tell each other. Important things. Things that can’t wait, because they’ve already waited too long.

Winn comes first, his tears held back for so long, his tears lost in his fingers, flying across keyboard after keyboard, running cross-check after cross-check, algorithm after algorithm, and Winn helped them save her, helped them more than any other techie would even know how to begin, but he knows – because it’s radiating off of Winn, too – that he wants to apologize, too, because he should have done more, he should have been more creative, because he loves her, god, he loves her, because she’s his sister and she’s his world and he’s sorry, too, that he stole her from hidden stash of Reese’s Pieces the other day, and he knows they joke all the time, but god, he loves her like she’s never thought he could love anyone. Family.

James comes first, his fists clenched for hours, running interference between Kara and Maggie while his own heart threatened to burst, because Alex saves him, and he saves Alex, and he understands Alex, and Alex understands him, because when Kara was under the Black Mercy he knew, and she knew he would know, that she would rather die than let go of Kara, and that’s what she just almost did again, and he hated being able to do nothing, but they’d had nothing to go on, and he’d run all the searches that Winn asked him to with his CatCo contacts but nothing, nothing, nothing, and he couldn’t save her this time, but she had to live so they could keep saving each other, keep taunting each other at game night, keep taking photoshoots of her for Maggie, because he’s never had a sister, but god, he’s always wanted one, and that’s Alex, Alex, Alex.

His children had come first.

Alex’s siblings, and Alex’s girlfriend, had come first.

J'onn had waited.

And he was a patient man.

But this was one of the longest waits of his long, long life.

He knows he should be angry when he sees her stumbling out of the med bay, supported by Maggie, announcing resignedly that she refused to stay in bed.

He knows he should reprimand her and send her right back.

He knows, but he can’t, he can’t, he can’t.

Because his girl is alive.

His girl is standing.

His girl is… breathing.

His daughter.

She falls effortlessly from Maggie’s arms into his when he strides over, strides over and envelops her in his arms, in his hands.

Envelops her like his arms alone can protect her, can keep her safe, can prevent this from ever happening again, can turn back time and prevent it from happening to her in the first place.

“I love you, Alex,” he whispers to her, and he feels her chest rack with a sob in his arms. His own threatens to do the same.

“I love you too,” she chokes back, and it’s been so long since he’s cried like this, but by the gods he doesn’t care who sees, because he’s already lost everything.

He couldn’t stand to lose everything again.

And here everything was – is, is, is – in his arms. Safe.

A little shaky. A little unsteady. More than a little traumatized.

But safe. Safe. Safe.

Alive.

He pulls back so he can look her in the eyes, and he stares for longer than he ever has. She lets him, because she needs to see his eyes, too.

“I’m so sorry it took us so long,” he says, because his children weren’t the only ones with apologies.

But she shakes her head and she kisses his cheek and she frames his face with her lethal, fragile hands.

“I’m home now. I’m home,” she tells him, and he hates that she’s the one comforting him, but she wouldn’t be his Alex Danvers if she weren’t.

“You need to let your girl take care of you,” he tells her as she sways a little in his arms, and her ears redden, and Maggie beams behind him.

“She’s a stubborn one,” she chimes, and he laughs.

“That she is.” He strokes her face with the backs of his fingers. Just once.

She melts into her father’s touch.

“You are the bravest woman I have ever met, Alex Danvers.” He pauses and grins. “And I’m surrounded by you all every day.”

Maggie and Kara laugh wetly, and J'onn knows they’ll be writing M'gann about his comment, and he knows she’ll tease him about it, and he knows it will make him proud.

To have this family to joke with.

To have this family alive, alive.

Alive.

@katicings

drabble; nc-17; msr; smut; season two-esque; prompt - “I did not mean for that to happen.”

They’re in a storage closet of all places, and it’s a tight fit, and it’s hot as hell, and it’s all her fault because she wasn’t supposed to go after him. But of course she did, and there’s nothing to do now that there are twenty other agents on the chase and he doesn’t even have enough room to reach for his gun.

The fact that she smells so good just makes him angrier. Dove soap and a hint of gunmetal. It’s a sexy kind of dangerous he isn’t accustomed to associating with her, mostly because he tries very hard to not associate her with anything sexy. But when he looks down at the top of her hair and notices how healthy and shiny it looks and how bad he wants to pull it till it hurts, he realizes he’s screwed. One and a half years without touching her or even really thinking about it – he’s a pretty brilliant guy, no matter what others might tell you, and he knows better than to bite the hand that feeds, or the pretty redhead who validates (validated) his work. He’s already seen her mostly naked, but she hadn’t had her red hair, she’d been smaller and less… god, busty, she’d put on some weight and he loves it. His imagination is a strong, fine thing, and he’s able to fill in the spaces, so to speak, so well that he forgets the real thing is pressed right against him, her little body wiggling for some modicum of comfort in cramped quarters.

He’s got her in his lap on their little bench, it’s late at night and he’s told her something particularly devastating, something about leaving the Bureau or D.C. or the country altogether. And suddenly she’s pulling down her skirt and shit, her innocent cotton panties, with a wet spot in the middle, and climbing on top of him and telling him he can’t leave. Sorry Mulder that’s the way it works. Ya can’t leave now. It’s cold so he wraps his trench coat around her and tries not to come immediately as she pulls his sticky cock out of his pants and sinks down around him. It’s a little scary how he wants to strangle her most of the time, but in this he imagines them at their most tender, and god, he’s so screwed.

Okay, they’re in her little Quantico office, he’s not supposed to be there but whatever, and she’s making fun of him for believing in… whatever, the Mongolian Death Worm, shit, that doesn’t matter, but they both end up kind of yelling. Perhaps very uncharacteristically Scully finds his refusal to let something go very arousing, and she’s shoving him against her door and unbuttoning his pants. People are looking in through the glass windows, staring, and he loves it because yes, she is fucking Mrs. Spooky, she’s as weird and persistent as me, and he feels proud even as she’s she’s choking him and rubbing him roughly through his underwear…

And then she moans, it sounds very confused for a woman who initiated everything… his eyes snap open and he remembers himself, remembers where they are, realizes he’s been grinding his steely hard cock into her stomach for the better part of ten minutes.

He is going to die. His soul withers with his erection as he ponders all the terrible directions this is about to go, like straight to HR, and her walking her cute little ass right out of his life for good. No more secret spy rendezvous at Watergate. No more of this, her following him into dangerous hostage situations because he’d gone in without backup and gotten lost in a hallway…

“Lift me up,” she orders suddenly. Oh, fuck. Okay. It’s barely manageable in this stupid closet but he gets her wrapped around him, shoved into the corner with his dick pressed tight against the juncture between her legs. She’s so hot there, he swears he can feel it. Wishes there was enough room to open up her slacks and take inventory, take a taste, drag his fingers through her wet heat and bring them to his mouth.

He fucks her though their clothes, all the name brands and the kevlar, and tries with all his might to make it good for her. The situation just isn’t conducive to making a woman come. He does what he can, presses kisses into her hair, her forehead, the tip of her nose. Can’t reach her mouth like this, she’s too short. His fingers follow the edge of her vest, if he can slip them under maybe he can toy with her nipples… a dusky pink in his mind, like a freshly healed scar. He can’t get them in. He settles for getting the angle right and listens to hear when he does. When she cries out and arches against him he thinks he’s found it, her sweet little clit, and he thinks about holding it between his fingers and making her cry.

Watching her face, he comes like that in their little closet. It’s such an unexpected rush of heat and torture and… affection, for her, for them, that the intensity makes him tear up a little and fear for his fucking sanity. And his prowess, because he’s not sure she followed him. Shit.

When he catches his breath he’s made aware of her hands stroking his back and neck. He can’t feel all of it, not through the vest. He regrets vehemently they hadn’t taken them off.

Instead of letting her slide to the floor, he tugs her up closer and she wraps her legs around his back. “I hadn’t meant for that to happen,” he says into her neck. Waiting for her response is like waiting for the sky to fall. It’s going to be beautiful or it’s going to end his life. Or both.

She laughs, or does the closest thing she knows how. Tension leaves his body that should’ve been drained during his monstrous orgasm.

“Well,” she says in the dark. The pounding of boots and a storm of yelling just outside almost drowns her out, but he listens closely. “I’m excited to see what happens when you plan something.”

RFA+SV - sensitive MC cries because of a book


I’ll be a little flexible with this, because I wanted to tie in actual books with different MCs.  And the sad part isn’t always at the end.

SPOILER ALERT because I’m referencing books!  I’ll mention the title with the person…but yeah.  You’ll know that something tragic happens.  So.

snAPE KI-

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anonymous asked:

Dom McCree, sub Hanners. Gun play. Bonus points if it's with peacemaker. Double bonus if Hanzo is also tied up ;)))

“Careful now, darlin’. This gunslinger’s loaded.”

Jesse’s voice was low, deep like molasses laced with adoration as he held Hanzo’s chin in his metal hand. He was such a beautiful sight like this; on his knees between Jesse’s legs with his hands bound behind his back as Jesse sat in a chair in the center of the room. His hair was let loose down his shoulders, and Jesse’s belt was wrapped just tight enough around his throat to strain the skin, ‘BAMF’ pressed into it roughly. His eyes were turned up to look in Jesse’s, tears in the corners threatening to slip out onto the sharp contours of his cheeks. Jesse held him there, grip tight on his chin, index finger pushing down on his lower lip to hold his mouth open. And in his right hand, Peacekeeper glittered in the low light, barrel resting on Hanzo’s lower lip next to Jesse’s finger.

“Yer a real professional, and we both know how good you are with that mouth a yours,” he cooed, tapping the weapon on his lip. “So you treat her nice and good for me, and maybe I’ll give you a little somethin’ afterwards. That sound good?”

Hanzo nodded softly before his tongue extended out to touch the cold metal between his lips, shaking with trepidation. It tasted of metal and gunpowder, smelled of ash and Jesse’s aftershave. He could feel little nicks and chips in the body as he slowly worked his tongue around the end of the barrel, letting it dip into the tip of the chamber. He shifted his head and ran his tongue down the entire length of the weapon, saliva shining brightly as he worked. This was dangerous, ridiculous, embarrassing, yet Hanzo couldn’t get enough. He felt powerless, as though he was completely showing submission to the man who sat with his legs spread and a look of pure hunger on his face, and Hanzo was completely okay with that. The thought had his hard erection weeping precum in a pool between his legs. He wanted to show how skilled he was, wanted to get lost in the recklessness and danger that was Jesse McCree.

Above him, Jesse watched his lover bob and lick along Peacekeeper, and could feel his own hardness throbbing against his thigh through his jeans. There was nothing else in the world like the rush he got from watching Hanzo take his weapon in his mouth, to show his unyielding trust for Jesse in such an intimate and sexual way. It was too much; McCree knew he could enjoy the show for a few more minutes before his need overpowered him, and he took what belonged to him.

Fic: The Night that was Dreamed of.

Latest installment of the Heartlines AU story. The rest can be found here 

Hope you enjoy it and I am happy to take prompts for further chapters of this story.

I listened to Mexico by the Staves on repeat whilst I was writing this so this might be the closest i’m come to writing a song fic since about 2002.

————————————————————————————

Originally posted by struruso


Jamie lay on his back. He could see light creeping through the cracks where the breeze from the open window blew the curtains gently. The light was pale and watery, telling him that it was still very early. He turned his head and looked at Claire. He could make out the cascade of her hair as it spilled across the pillow in a riot of curls. She was laid on her side, her back to him, the sheets ruched around her waist. Rolling onto his side he gently drew a finger down her back, her skin was smooth and he traced down the curve of her waist where it met her high round buttock. She stirred slightly under his touch, but did not wake. Jamie could hardly believe she was real. Had he really only met her on Saturday? He felt like he had known her forever. Like she knew everything there was to know about him. He rolled back onto his back thinking about the previous night. He’d been so frightened. When Geneva turned up, yes he’d been angry, but more than that he had been afraid. Afraid that Claire would run, that she would not want to involve herself in such messy complications. And yet she had stayed. And she was still here. Sleeping peacefully in his bed, the soft sounds of her breathing like a balm, soothing his soul with each gently breath.

He had taken her by the hand and led her to his bedroom. He had kissed her in the doorway.

“Are you sure Mo Nighean Donn?” Jamie asked her again “Is this what you truly want?”

Claire had answered him in actions, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him close. She had kissed him long and hard before taking a step backwards into the room, pulling him with her. She had stood in front of him then.

“Take off your clothes. I want to look at you” Her gaze did not leave his as he began by unbuttoning his shirt and dropping it to the ground. He kicked off shoes and socks before slowly moving his hands to the buckle of his belt. She bit her lip slightly and he felt it in his groin. Slowly, he unbuttoned his jeans and slid both them and his boxer shorts down to the ground where he stepped out of them. She moved towards him then, and around him. Using only the very tips of her fingers she ran them along his chest and down to his stomach and then moved around, running them across his hims and very gently skirting his butt. His breath hitched and he felt light headed. She stepped back and met his gaze once more.

“Well, fair’s fair.” He spoke with a slight smile. “Now you take of yours”

With a defiant tilt of her chin she shed the blue dress letting it fall at her feet revealing a navy blue bra and pants. She reached behind her and slowly unhooked the bra, inching the straps down her arms. He held his breath. Running her hands down her own stomach she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her pants. She paused, looking up at him, eyes slightly cloudy with desire. He swallowed audibly. She inched the pants down and stood up straight in front of him. He reached out to touch her, but found her could not. Claire took another step closer to him and took him by the hand.

“Touch me Jamie.”

She lifted his hand to her breast. The feel of it so full and firm in his hand made him feel as though he had been hit by lightning. He pulled her close and kissed her hard, lifting her as he did so and turning towards the bed. He lay her down on the bed, his weight on top of her, enjoying the feeling of them touching along their entire bodies. Her hands were in his hair as they kissed and she brought one leg up and around him. He shifted slightly so that they were on their sides facing each other. Her ran a hand along the leg that was hooked over him, enjoying the way it broke into goosebumps as his hand moved. He dipped his hand and ran it over her bottom and she gasped slightly and rocked her hips towards him. Her moan was met with a growl from the back of Jamie’s throat as her hips created friction between them. He ran his hand further down, find the hot wetness of her. She gasped again, her head falling back. Shifting slightly he moved his fingers against her, finding the spot that had her panting. She reached towards him but he pushed her back, kissing her and murmuring “Not yet, Mo Nighean Donn, I want to watch you”. She dropped her head back on the bed her hips rising to meet his hands, her breath coming faster. Her fingers gripped his arms as her body began to to tense and she cried out rising up and biting his shoulder as she did so.  She lay panting in his arms and he gently laid her back down, kissing her temple where the sweat ran down her face.

“Jamie” she whispered, her eyes fluttering open though her breath still came in gasps. “Jamie” She said his name again, more urgently this time. She rolled over until she was straddling him. She leaned forward to kiss him, her dark hair coming down around them, shielding them from the world. He ran his hands down her body, wanting to feel and memorise every inch of her. She lifted her hips slightly and slowly sank down on him. She didn’t move for a moment. They both were still, trying to deal with the intensity of the feeling. And then she began to move. She had ridden him slowly at first, with deep, long thrusts. His hands were on her hips and hers against his chest as they moved together. He pulled her down to him for a kiss, tongues dancing in time with their hips. He moved so that she was on her back now and she wrapped both legs around his hips as she arched towards him. Her hips rocked harder against him as their movements sped up, both of them breathing erratically. Jamie was vaguely aware of a stream of gaelic he spoke into her ear, completely unable to stop himself telling her all the things he felt for her. In that moment he had no english with which to tell her those things, only the feel of her beneath, her hands on his back and in his hair, her lips against his neck, the feel of her hair tickling his face as he whispered his secrets into her ear. Their breathing came heavy and their movements more erratic as both neared completion. He gathered her in his arms, pulling her closer, thrusting hard as his orgasm ripped through him. She in turn, clawed at his back and pulled hard at his hair as she cried out his name.

They lay like that for a long time. Arms wrapped around each other, bodies slick with sweat, just breathing each other in. As Jamie’s heart slowed he realised his face was wet not only with sweat but with tears as well. “Claire, oh my Claire” he whispered into her hair. She pulled him nearer and he could feel that her face was wet with tears too. He rolled them both onto their sides and they lay together touching each other gently and looking at each other. He felt a peace in that moment that he had not thought it possible to have, a profound sense of well being and wholeness that he had not felt since he was a child. The feeling of being wholly and unconditionally loved and understood. They had made love several more times, each time as world changing as the last, until at last they had drifted off to sleep, legs entwined, each secure in the knowledge of feelings that could not yet be said out loud.

He turned and stroked her hair. She turned and faced him, not quite emerging from the depths of her slumber. She reached her arms out for him and he moved close to her so that they were resting in each other’s arms. And with that he slowly sank back into sleep, the breeze from the open window dancing across his back.

Ishida Akira (Yakumo/Kikuhiko) x Hayashibara Megumi (Miyokichi)

Source: https://www.google.com/amp/s/karice.wordpress.com/2017/01/07/p554/amp/


Interview and text: Maeda Hisashi

—The two of you have acted together on many different shows, beginning with Slayers where to you played Lina and Xellos, and Neon Genesis Evangelion where you were Ayanami Rei and Nagisa Kaworu. How did you feel when you found out that you would be acting together in this show?

Ishida: When I found out that Hayashibara-san would be my counterpart, I was like “Oh boy, what a frightening partner…” In a variety of ways.

Hayashibara: What’s this? Where? And how come? …like this, you mean? (chuckles)

Ishida: Oh, no no (chuckles). As everyone is well aware, you’re an incredible actor, right? Such a person is probably strict with themselves, and also with those acting beside them. At least, that’s what I figured.

Hayashibara: “That’s what I figured”…could you make sure that’s in large, bold font? (chuckles)

Ishida: Like, should I try to fake it, with my level of ability, you’d see right through me. You’d see through me no matter what I did, so I put myself on guard right from the start.

Hayashibara: Say what?!

Ishida: It’s especially true for this anime, but even for the other shows we’ve worked on together, I’ve always thought that you’re someone who makes the people you are acting with rather tense, no matter what the atmosphere of the studio seems like on the surface.

Hayashibara: Is that so…how interesting!

Ishida: “There’s so much pressure just in the fact that I have to do rakugo…and on top of that, I’ll be working with Yamadera (Kouichi)-san and Hayashibara-san, huh? Good heavens…” That’s pretty much what it felt like (chuckles).

Hayashibara: As for me, I was offered the part only after Yamadera-san, Ishida-san and Seki (Tomokazu)-kun had all been confirmed. So somewhere in the back of my mind, I feel that, if it hadn’t been you and Yamadera-san in those roles, then it probably wouldn’t have been me either. I’m not sure what it is, perhaps the balance of our voices, or our mentalities, or perhaps the wavelength we’re on, or our bonds in our previous lives (chuckles), but we just match, somehow. It was the same when I did Cowboy Bebop. Ishizuka (Unshō)-san and Yamadera-san were chosen first, and then I came in as the voice between them.

—After you started recording, could you tell us about what you sensed and took from each other’s acting?

Ishida: It was like Miyokichi was moving the story along at my pace, in a good way. Or perhaps, I felt that it was good that they met when the story was moving along. And just as I was becoming comfortable with the atmosphere of the studio where we were recording Rakugo Shinjuu, Kikuhiko was becoming comfortable with Miyokichi—this is probably something that men tend to do, but it felt a bit like a part of me was standing somewhat above her, looking down on her. I’m really glad that there was such an overlap, where the way that my character became familiar with his partner reflected my own experience in the studio.

Hayashibara: As for me, rather than being able to ‘take from’ Ishida-san’s acting, it was all I could do to try and grasp who Miyokichi was. I’m sure that Ishida-san and Yamadera-san both struggled with and spent a lot of time thinking about their own characters as well, but from my perspective, they were already Kiku-san and Sukeroku through and through. Just how could I slip into the space between them as Miyokichi? I wasted a lot of time during the recordings for the first half of the series trying to figure that out.

____Was Miyokichi a difficult character to play?

Hayashibara: Just the other day, I saw the latest episode on TV, and even then I found myself reflecting a little, like “Oh dear, was this correct…?” Which is really unusual for me (chuckles). There’s a line where Miyokichi says “I’m stupid, so…” but what I took from it was “This girl is no idiot, is she?” How much of that is just her acting out the part, and how much of it is real idiocy? It was pretty difficult treading the fine line between the two. And Kiku-san probably loves that idiocy in the way that a man loves “a woman who is just a little more broken than he is.” Whatever he says, he sees through the way she acts and what he finds on the other side, he loves even more. Or something like that. In playing Miyokichi, I was caught between the two (acting vs. real idiocy). It was in that episode 9 scene with Sukeroku that she finally settled on one side. That line of “Did something happen? I’ll hear you out…”—at first, I was directed to play it more listlessly, as if I’d lost everything. But Kubota Haruko-sensei, the mangaka, was actually at the studio when we recording that episode, and she said: “That line actually represents the point where she starts taking her revenge.” With that, the direction changed again, and I thought to myself “She really is no idiot.” It was then that I finally felt I’d grasped Miyokichi, just a little. Nevertheless, I honestly believe that there are points where her actions are motivated purely because she’s in love, and it’s precisely because she’s a woman who’s almost impossible to grasp that Kiku-san, too, is captivated by her. That’s right, a woman that Kiku-san would really fall in love with—just what kind of woman is that? In pondering that very question, I definitely used parts of my brain that I’d never used before. …hey Kiku-san, what exactly do you love about Miyokichi? (chuckles)

Ishida: (chuckles) Well, if I pick up the thread from what Hayashibara-san has just said, then Kiku has probably never thought that Miyokichi was an idiot. He knows that she’s someone who has used a range of wiles to survive, to get to where she is now. And because he sees her in this way, what he feels for her for her isn’t the kind of romantic love held by the average, modern high schooler who’s in love with his or her classmate. But when she’s there beside him, he finds himself responding to her allure. He’s a pitiful guy, after all. In that way, he lets himself be influenced by her, but at the same time, he’s cooly looking at himself, saying “This isn’t romantic love.” And he probably thinks of himself, of this person looking on so cooly, as “a real slime-ball,” too. But he is simply unable to throw away that feeling of comfort that he gets by being by her side. He’s a weak guy…or rather, an unfair one. In episode 8, he gets angry when he comes back from the regional tour and sees Sukeroku and Miyokichi in an embrace, doesn’t he? Personally, I don’t think he was that angry, not really (chuckles), but I also kind of understand why he was upset. Even though he didn’t regard himself as being in love, he gets irritated at the thought of parting with her. So, I also have to reflect on my performance, just like Hayashibara-san. That scene where Kiku says “I am (being a man). This is the greatest lie of my life”—when we recorded it, I went into the scene taking those words quite literally. But now that I think about it, it’s not like Kikuhiko was prepared to keep their relationship going—that kind of thought was probably in the back of his head, too. Hence, I’m sure that those words that he said to Sukeroku were, at some level, a lie aimed at deceiving himself as well.

Hayashibara: There are so many emotions on the other side of “I love you” that we no longer know which of them are right and which of them are wrong. In particular, in the middle part of the show, I felt like I was waiting for the directors’ guidance with regards to what was coming out of me naturally at that time. But if we think about it, that’s what real romantic love is like. It’s not like you’re reading out a love letter that expresses everything clearly in a set number of words. The attitude your partner takes at any particular point also changes the words you use, and it’s not as if it will play out the way you have planned. In that sense, even those elements of my performance that I thought may have been incorrect, may have been right as far as results go—I’ve been trying to think about it along those lines without trying to justify myself. Beyond that, all that remains is to leave it up to the viewers to decide how they feel about it.

—How do the two of you perceive Sukeroku?

Ishida: He’s someone who is real to the bone, with no artifice.

Hayashibara: Yup, I’m with you there. And that’s why he gets messed up (chuckles). Miyokichi envied him, just because he and Kiku-san got along too well. Something may have happened in Manchuria as well, but she simply has no interest in a guy who foolishly tries to woo her, so openly, too, despite knowing that she’s his master’s mistress (chuckles). In the end, a man like Kiku-san is more appealing to her—someone who fights to restrain himself, thinking “I can’t touch her because she’s my master’s,” but who gradually loses that fight and lays his hands on her. Hence, if Kiku-san hadn’t gotten involved with her, I don’t think she would have taken any interest in Sukeroku.

—And that did not change even after she took him back to her hometown?

Hayashibara: Because this was her revenge. But since Sukeroku just has so much warmth about him, I think that being with him may have felt comfortable to her. In that sense, she may have felt at times that he was causing her to forget (what she wanted). With Kiku-san, he’s so cold that she feels that she has to warm him up, but Sukeroku is just warm, unconditionally warm. Like the stomach of a golden retriever (chuckles). That kind of warm, comfortable feeling.

Ishida: I think that Kikuhiko has always been frustrated and envious of how Sukeroku found success with his completely different way of living, but if you ask me whether he felt something particular when he saw Sukeroku and Miyokichi’s together, then I suspect that he probably didn’t. In fact, given that he was, at that time, thinking that it wouldn’t be a good idea to keep dragging things out with Miyokichi in that way, it was like a godsend to him. Not that he’d say it, but I suspect that he probably felt something along the lines of “Thank you for creating the opportunity for me to break up with her.”

—As for Kikuhiko and Sukeroku, it was like they had a shared fate through rakugo, but it was ripped apart because of Miyokichi. How have you interpreted that aspect of the story?

Ishida: Kiku probably wouldn’t have ever imagined that, as a result of him dumping Miyokichi, that she would move to the countryside with Sukeroku. And there’s no way he would ever have wanted such an outcome.

Hayashibara: But if I look at it not from Miyokichi’s perspective but simply as a viewer, whether Miyokichi had been there or not, I feel that it would have been difficult for Sukeroku to continue doing rakugo in Tokyo. He would probably have distanced himself from Kiku-san, don’t you think?

Ishida: I suspect that Kikuhiko probably didn’t think of such a possibility. Sukeroku was getting a lot of backlash because of what he was doing, what he was aiming for, and a lot of problems were arising as a result. But fans were also full of praise for for his amazing performances. Hence, whilst it would have been best if Sukeroku did not cause any problems, but if he did, then Kikuhiko intended to continue backing him up. And I think there still was quite a way to go before he ran out of patience.

Hayashibara: I see…then Miyo-chan did indeed take Sukeroku away… That girl really is no idiot. The “revenge” that Kumota-sensei spoke about was that very act.

————–

A/N: Inspired by this post. Bellarke Modern AU.

your eyes look like coming home

I.

Summer always comes when you least expect it.

One day you’re fighting the cold of winter, wool sweaters warming freezing skin. The cold blends seamlessly into spring. Days are longer, the sun bright and cheerful in the sky during the day before settling to sleep in the cool nights.

But summer comes with no warning. The sun bakes down, scorching sidewalks and skin alike. Sunglass tan lines and red noses cover smiling faces. Summer comes with no warning but it’s always welcome.

On days like today, when the temperate hits the rare and dreaded three digits, Clarke heads to the beach. One of the upsides of living in a sleepy ocean town. She stops for an iced coffee on the way, pays for the car behind her because she believes in paying it forward when she can, and presses the Bluetooth button on her dash.

“Call Octavia,” she says out loud as she makes a left hand turn out of the parking lot. It takes five rings before her best friend picks up.

“You better be in or on your way to the hospital for calling me this early,” comes her sleepy voice on the line.

Clarke laughs and takes a sip of her coffee. “Want to meet me at the beach?”

Octavia sighs heavily and Clarke can hear the rustling of blankets. “It’s like nine in the morning. Why are you going now?”

“Because it’s going to be hot as hell today and I want to beat the crowds. I have everything we need, just bring your sweet ass and some drinks.”

She can practically hear the evil grin when Octavia responds with, “Alcholic?”

“Bring your flask,” she laughs. “I’ll be near the surfboard rental shop. Your brother working today?”

Clarke and Octavia’s older brother Bellamy have had an ongoing flirtation for awhile, something neither of them have had the nerve to actually do anything about yet. She digs her teeth into her bottom lip, hoping that he’ll be around today so they can finally change that.

“Yeah, but not until noon.”

She pumps a fist in the air silently and then forces herself to chill out. “Okay, cool.”

Octavia snorts. “Okay, cool? Who are you trying to kid here, Griffin? I know you have the hots for my brother.”

“O, we’ve talked about this. You need to stay out of my love life. And your brother’s because it’s creepy.”

Octavia calls her a rude name and Clarke laughs as she ends the call.

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Why I'm still afraid to hold my girlfriend's hand.

In 2017, we still can’t just be us. And things are only getting worse.

By Kirsten King

Mar 28, 2017


I sat in a small photo booth watching a smile spread across my face as my girlfriend, Jane, pressed her lips firmly onto my cheek. It was one month after the election and we were at Dave & Busters, distracting ourselves with arcade games and oversize beers. The countdown for the last photo came onto the screen in front of us, “5 … 4 … 3…”

Suddenly, a man stumbled into the booth and purposefully jumped in between us.

I tensed immediately. On the “fight or flight” scale of dealing with crisis, I usually fall somewhere in between “flight” and “melt into the ground and hide.” Jane usually chooses to fight. She pushed the stranger out, looked back at me, and then back at the screen. We both smiled in a way that didn’t reach our eyes as the camera flashed.

“What a fucking jerk,” Jane spat as she walked out, grabbing our photo absentmindedly. “If we were a man and a woman — he never would have walked in,” she said.

“I know,” I said, the depth of her anger just dawning on me.

“We should say something,” she said. “We should tell him he can’t just do that.”

I wanted to advise against it but it was too late. She spotted him.

“Hey. You’re a real piece of shit, you know that?” she said, pressing her index finger into his chest. My stomach flipped — I knew how these confrontations usually ended for LGBTQ people. He flashed an unaffected grin and laughed.

“Relax,” he said and walked away.

His response, though brief, turned inside me. “Relax.” I realized now why she was so mad. She was mad because we couldn’t relax. We couldn’t kiss and touch and be us, and not be watched by other people. That was a privilege that we had not yet been afforded as a same-sex couple. Not even in a photo booth. Not even behind a curtain. Especially not in 2017.

Maybe in the past, we would have brushed it off. We would have taken the photo and hung it up on the fridge, ignoring the context which it was taken in. But we were exhausted. We were tired of small moments being taken away from us; we wanted things to be easier. But under an administration with a hugely questionable LGBTQ track record, that end didn’t feel like it was in sight.

I remember the first time a man made me and another woman feel unsafe. It was at the Baseball Tavern in Boston, a bar known for heavy pours when the Red Sox lost. Her name was Angela, and she would end up with a good Boston boy a few years down the road, but not that night.

She touched my wrist softly, pulling at a bracelet an ex-boyfriend had given me. Electricity pulsed through me.

“Kiss her, already!” 

We turned to see a group of guys ogling us. Angela dropped her hand.

“Maybe buy us a drink first,” she said, smiling at them.

She wasn’t sick of it yet — the attention we got while out. She didn’t realize that accepting a Whiskey Sour from a guy hoping for some sort of group sex scenario meant that guys would keep asking. She didn’t realize the more we played into a game with rules we didn’t make, the more we’d never be allowed to make our own.

The guys smiled. Angela turned back to me.

“Don’t worry. I’m just kidding,” she said. “But hey, if the drinks are free,” she laughed.

Her words cut through me, despite the protective layer of cheap tequila. I was upset because their ogling and her acceptance made me feel like there wasn’t an “us.” It made me feel like our relationship, as minor as it may have been, only existed to the outside world as a performance, even if it was the most real thing to me.

Being a feminine bisexual woman, I have the privilege of passing as straight. I can walk down the street and any Tom, Sue, or Larry will assume I’m your average hetero gal. I’ll be read as “normal.”

But when I’m dating a woman or a person of color, that story changes. That makes Tom, Sue, and Larry all stop. 

During Barack Obama’s presidency, various legislation protecting the LGBTQ community was passed, including the legalization of same-sex marriage in all 50 states. Stationary goosebumps sat on my arms as our former president stood at a podium and declared the Supreme Court ruling a victory not just for the community, but for the country.

I felt like maybe people were starting to get it, like maybe the days of leering at two women in a bar or giggling as two men held hands were over.

The night it passed, I went to a bar with two male friends who were dating. I remember how they looked at each other like the whole world was laid out in front of them. As they exchanged whiskey-soaked kisses, I couldn’t help but feel like we were finally getting somewhere, like the community had been handed a little Monopoly card that said we could all pass Go.

Then Donald Trump came into office and things got even harder. Because even if we had the card to pass, it didn’t mean it would be easy.

What was scarier than any of his potential legislation were the people who marched proudly for him. Suddenly, people felt safe in theirhate again. Suddenly, holding my girlfriend’s hand brought first glances that led to second glances, and second glances that led to stares. Even in Los Angeles, a city bursting with people from all walks of life, people were watching us again. My relationship wasn’t just my relationship anymore; it was a political statement.

At least it sure as hell felt like it.

The news cycle brought rumors of anti-adoption LGBTQ bills, but outside, the news was scarier. A friend was spit on walking down the street with her girlfriend. Hateful graffiti was painted on the Los Angeles LGBTQ center. Trolls starting finding me on YouTube and Twitter.

“Two girls kissing? Nice.” one comment read. “Why is everyone turning gay?” said another. “You’re going to hell,” said another. “Die,” said countless others.

It was clear the floodgates that had been struggling to hold back hate for so long had been perforated in a big way. Jane and I were whistled at walking down the street more and jeers flew more easily from car windows. And it wasn’t just happening to LGBTQ people. A Muslim friend rode the train five stops past her apartment to avoid a group of leering white men. A Mexican-American friend pretended not to see graffiti that read, “Go back home,” as we walked to our favorite lunch spot.

And none of us feel home, not really. Because people who maybe hated us all along aren’t just silently steaming anymore: They’re knocking at our doors.

I realize that the love that exists between me and the person I’m with won’t be understood by everyone; not completely, and not right now. Men will continue to leer and mothers will continue to avert their children’s gazes. The highest form of government may even say someday that I don’t deserve the same inalienable rights unless the future I choose is with a man.

And knowing that does make it hard to “relax.”

But I must remind myself to enjoy the small moments that are just for us; the moments that no other person, group, or legal system could ever call into question.

I’ll enjoy the way the nerves in my stomach bubble over with a mixture of excitement and terror every time I realize how much I care for the person I’m with. I’ll enjoy the way electricity moves through me when we touch and the way our laughs sound when we know we’re laughing for no other reason than feeling completely understood.

And most of all, I’ll enjoy the way my girlfriend’s hand is the only thing that can make me feel safe, even when I know I am not.

Source: http://www.cosmopolitan.com/sex-love/a9195838/afraid-to-hold-hands-lgbtq-couples-essay/

anonymous asked:

Fic prompt because I LOVE your work!!! Fitz with Ophelia "I'll never stop fighting you!" I

You’re so sweet, thank you! I should have spent longer on this (I’m gonna reread it and cringe later), but I wanted to get it in under the wire before canon blows it to shreds haha! [tw: obv ophelia features in this, dealing with feelings because of non-con, but they don’t have a ‘relationship’]

Read below or at AO3!

——

He doesn’t fight. When she lands them in a desert and lets go, he barely has the strength to lean over before throwing up.

“Oh, Leopold,” she says, concern etched into her features. “I’m so sorry. You’ll get used to the teleportation.”

As if an unexpected dematerializing is even on the radar of things to churn his stomach. He has been split wide open, the core of him exposed for everyone to see. He has flaws, so many of them, and before he might have listed them dispassionately: temper, loyalty to the point of blindness, jealousy, arrogance, a false bravado when he secretly feels like a coward. Years ago, he remembers thinking: Jemma knows my flaws and she loves me anyway. I’m not a bad person.

But now the protective film has been stripped away and he’s seeing clearly for the first time; this darkness has always been there. He is a bad person. He’s an evil person, and he has hurt people. His brain spins with images of his friends and his victims. In another reality, he had yelled at Mace for sending Jemma away without warning, but the punishment for that was not supposed to be death.

“You mean nothing to me,” he had told the woman he’d wanted to marry, and he would have killed her. His hand shakes, as if still straining with the weight of the gun. Fitz falls to the ground, rocks biting into his knees. He can’t remember how to breathe.

“It gets easier with time,” Ophelia says, attempting to run a comforting hand along his arm. He turns his face from her and retches again.

++

He doesn’t fight because he doesn’t have the strength and deep down he knows he deserves this punishment anyway. Perhaps he is doomed to wander through the desert with her for forty years; he hopes they both die before reaching her promised land.

“I understand what you’re going through,” she tells him. “And I’m going to help you, because you were the only one to treat me with compassion when I was a slave.”

“Don’t you regret anything you’ve done?” he asks. It’s the only thing he’s said in hours. For a moment, he’s not sure he’s even spoken aloud.

Ophelia gazes at him searchingly and then frowns, as if working through her own emotions. “No,” she finally replies. “I have learned so much, Leopold. I fixed a single regret for each of you, to make you happy. And everyone simply created new regrets.”

He wants to tell her that she rewrote his entire life. He wants to tell her that she took away all of his choices, that he loves his mother and would never have traded her for a lifetime with an abusive father. I wanted a father who loved me and supported me and stayed, he thinks, surely you knew this isn’t what I meant.

But he doesn’t argue with her because this, like everything, is his fault. You don’t put wishes out into the universe without carefully considering the consequences—he of all people should have known that.

“Humans don’t understand what’s best for them,” she says. “This is what I’ve learned. All this capacity for feeling, for free will, and they waste it. We’re going to create something better. We’re going to help people, and we’re going to be so happy.”

He marvels at how genuinely delighted she appears. Maybe she stole his soul to become a real person because he can’t even remember what happiness feels like. He thinks of Jemma, but all of his good memories are tainted by the acrid smell of gunpowder and the words he’ll never be able to take back.

“It’s time to go,” Ophelia says, grabbing his arm to disappear him again. He shudders at her touch, but he doesn’t fight. He doesn’t know how.

++

He sits in an abandoned house, head in his hands, and breathes through another panic attack. Ophelia, it seems, is growing impatient with his weakness.

“I need your help,” she says. “For our plan. And if you’d just let me, I can make all this pain go away.”

But he needs the pain, because it’s there to remind him that this world is real. He cries when he thinks of Jemma, but he needs to replay her words over and over so that he never forgets what he’s done and why he’s here. He has lost faith in everything, but he offers up silent prayers anyway: keep her safe. Keep them all safe, and I will stay here with Ophelia and I will not fight. No one could accuse him of not accepting his prison sentence.

Ophelia’s plan doesn’t make much sense to him, although perhaps that is because nothing makes sense to him at the moment. Or perhaps she doesn’t fully trust him so she’s only letting him in on part of it.

He has so little strength, but he holds her back in small ways. He sabotages where he can. Sometimes he hears Jemma’s voice in his head, guiding his actions. Sometimes he even sees her, but she never lays a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“It’s okay,” he tells this imaginary Jemma. “I understand.”

“Is this how you felt?” Ophelia asks, kneeling next to him. She has procured a bed for them to share, but he spends every night curled up in the corner of the living room, the stiff wood of the floor burning his joints. “Is this how it felt when she chose someone else? Do you know how much you’re hurting me?”

No, he thinks, of course this is not how it felt. With Jemma, his heart had shattered into a fine dust. With Jemma, he had seen her videos and known she loved him, maybe even loved him the most, and that made it hurt more. But with Jemma, he had thought her happiness could be enough to save them both.

Now, he and Ophelia are locked in a sick dance and when he falls, he will pull her down with him. He will sacrifice himself to stop her, and his anger and disgust and self-hatred will be enough to save the world.

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