he's endeared by her

An important distinction

List of people who call Yennefer of Vengerberg “Yen”:

  • Geralt
    • Only Geralt 
    • aka the first and only person to ever call her Yen
    • nobody else 
    • it’s special and endearing and only he calls her that

List of people who call Yennefer of Vengerberg “Yennefer”:

  • literally everyone else
    • if they use a nickname it’s Yenna, never Yen
  • Not Geralt

I’d say they get along decently…they’re not extremely close or anything but they’re pals at the very least! If one were in trouble, the other would not hesitate to help them out ^_^

pros of 4x01
  • someone (Clarke!!!!) finally thanked Bellamy 
  • Indra is alive! Indra and Kane are bffs 
  •  "Princess" 
  • Raven got thanked for saving everyone 
  •  Bellamy losing his mind anytime Echo came near Clarke 
  • “I wasn’t done talking” IM WET 
  • anything Murphy said 
  • Octavia sneaking into Roan’s room was honestly badass 
  • “Princess!!!!!" 
  • Roan is so fucking hot goddamn 
  • Monty and Harper were lil cuties 
  • Bellarke working together and caring about each other yesss my shit 
  • Clarke recognizing that the chip is a cultural icon and not hers to claim so she finally gives it up thank u 
  • Roan coming thru my man 
  • Bellamy not taking any of Echo’s shit 
  • Bellarke Power Strut 

This little clip of Stiles is more important to me than the one when Deaton says “Lydia, you go with Stiles.” The camera cuts to Stiles so that we see this small moment. You can see that Stiles looked at Lydia on his own when Deaton began describing what the person who will hold them under must mean to them. Stiles thought of Lydia immediately, and I think the timid way he looks in her direction is endearing and so very precious. I love that Stiles’ love for the people in his life has been his constant. He is driven by the need to protect those he loves–to keep them by his side and in his life–to the extent that it’s almost selfish. It’s his most powerful trait. He loves, and he loves wholly. Despite his selfish need to not be alone, the nature of Stiles’ love is so pure and true and genuine. Stiles loves his dad on an almost incomprehensible level because they each carry the pain of the loss of his mother. They love each other more because they know of and share the same great loss. Stiles loves his best friend because he was given what he needed most in his life–a brother. Scott is his rock. Scott saved him from the loneliness it would’ve been so easy to fall into. Stiles loves Lydia because he sees the good in himself in her. They are two sides of the same coin. He saw what she hid. He saw what no one else did. He saw someone who could share in his abilities and make him feel more human–less alone. Stiles’ capacity for love in the face of all he has seen, all he has been through, all that he lets darken his heart and haunt his mind, is my favorite part of his character.

Steve + 21

prompt #21: “Stop looking at me like I’m your everything.”

[a/n] im crying, people are reblogging my list of attractive people wtf

Steve Rogers had one colossal truth on his mind as his eyes fell over [y/n] in her black cocktail dress, making sure to drink in every inch of her beauty. He did not deserve the woman in front of him. No matter how many times she claimed that she wasn’t good enough for him or that he deserved the world, the truth would always linger in the back of the captain’s mind. 

“What are you thinking about, babe?” her sweet voice poured into his thoughts. He sideways smile sat lopsided on his lips.

“You,” he answered truthfully, taking her hand and pressing a light kiss to the back of it. And the blush that dusted her cheeks was enough to make him willing to say a million more endearing things, if he could just keep that blush on her face.

“You should enjoy the party, old man, mix and mingle,” she encouraged, pulling him off of the bar stool he’d been occupying, “There’s tons of people that want to meet you.” She nodded her head in the direction of a group of men that were gathered around a pool table.

Steve glanced at the group, certainly not feeling a desire to join them. His gaze was drawn back to his girlfriend.

“Now, why would I go and do a thing like that when I’ve got you right here with me?” 

[y/n] rolled her eyes, but the sweet smile that she tried to hide gave her away.

Stop doing that,” she demanded, her whisper quiet and harsh.

“Doing what?”

You know, looking at me like that.” 

Steve scoffed. “Like what?”

“Stop look at me like I’m your everything,” she grumbled and clearly would rather have had him not force her to say the words.

A hearty chuckle erupted from Steve’s mouth as he snaked his arms around her torso and pressed a chaste kiss to her lips.

“Well get used to it, love.”

[a/n] idk am i supposed to do tags for drabbles??

[tags] @saniglesias @majorlymismanaged @thyotakukimkim @heismyhunter @captainstantastic @deafeningcatphilosopher

Want to be added or removed from the tag list?

Confessions - Kakasaku

“I love you.” The words tumble out of Kakashi’s mouth before he’s fully aware of what he’s saying.

There’s a moment of stunned silence, during which the battle noise around them dies abruptly. At least, it does for him, and somehow, that’s enough.

“I love you,” Kakashi repeats, voice firming on the words. “I’m in love with you,” he amends.

The shocked expression on Sakura’s face is almost enough to make him laugh. Almost. “Wh-what?” Her uncharacteristic stutter is endearing, and he chooses to focus on that. Part of Kakashi’s mind warns that they’re in the middle of a battle, this is neither the time nor the place. But they’re shinobi, hardly normal by any standard that could measure them. In the moment, battle-time confessions make perfect sense.

Kakashi doesn’t fight it. “I have for so long that I don’t even know when it began.” The words drive the air from his lungs, or maybe that’s the fight, but either way, he can’t breathe. The ground welcomes his collapsing knees.

There’s a soft chuckle rising in the back of Sakura’s throat. Her green eyes are impossibly brilliant against the drab grey and brown backdrop around them. Kakashi could lose himself in their emerald depths and not care to come back up for air. Her pale lips curl into a smile. “Oh?”

This time, Kakashi really does laugh and brushes a gloved hand over her dirty, scuffed, perfect cheek. “Yes,” he answers, working his fingers through the tangles in her vivid hair. “You’re the hum of combat, the calm of a rainy day, the fire that pushes me. You’re everything.”

“I love you too,” Sakura breathes, eyes fluttering shut. Her words tighten the knot forming in Kakashi’s chest, rather than loosening it. They throw the world into color around him. The blue of the sky has never been quite that bright before. Sakura’s pink hair catches the breeze and twists around her forehead. The blood on her chest is achingly crimson as it pulses between the rip in her armor.

“Sakura?” Kakashi shakes her gently and gets no response. He had known it was coming from the moment he saw her wound. There was so much blood.

Uncaring, Kakashi scoops her body into his arms and presses a kiss to her cheek. It’s tender and uncertain, two things Kakashi would have never imagined in himself. “You have to hold on,” he whispers, voice on the edge of breaking. “You can’t tell me that you love me, then leave me alone.”

Sakura doesn’t reply, and Kakashi forces himself to look away. If he can get her to Tsunade, there might be a chance, but it’s a slim one. Cradling the woman he loves against his chest, Kakashi turns north, the last place he saw the medic. Enemy and war torn land stand between them, how much, he isn’t certain. But, Kakashi knows the price is worth hearing Sakura say she loves him again. If he can make it time.

Can I just gush about this for a moment? Because it’s so important and it could have become a conventional shitty love triangle so easily but it didn’t and it’s so, so much better this way. Like, this is not a conventional declaration of love, this is a guy who starts off saying “Look, I know wasn’t your first choice and that doesn’t bother me.” And the reason is that he understands her strengths and her weaknesses and gets that sometimes a strength is also a weakness, and he  says, “Don’t be too proud for my pity, because I can’t help being saddened by it when someone I value so highly and has so much to live for wants to die for unrequited love of a man she’s idealized and only actually talked to once or twice. That’s foolish, and I love you enough to call you on it, even though that might not endear you to me.” He doesn’t idealize her or even pretend to. He sees her exactly as she is, with all her flaws, and loves her for all of it, unconditionally. YES. THIS. MORE OF THIS KIND OF LOVE STORY. Faramir may have given me totally unrealistic expectations for men when I first read LOTR at like age ten but we need more of this shit in fiction and real life. Don’t pretend people are perfect, because it means a lot more to love them if you acknowledge that they’re not.


Eric ‘I take cues on the appropriate levels of affection to display to Nell from Nell’ Beale


In which Furiosa accidentally rips her only pair of pants on their road trip (like seriously when did that happen?!) and Max is secretly an excellent seamstress.

A Soul’s Desire

read on ff.net and ao3

commission for @sanguine-fairy :) Hope you enjoy it!

pairing: jerza with mentions of nalu

characters: jellal, erza. natsu, lucy, gray, and juvia make small appearances

summary: sometimes love stories give courage to those that they didn’t even know they had it

rating: teen

word count: 1413

“I’m Erza Scarlet, and I’m your class president. If you have any questions, do not hesitate to ask,” she said with a smile that pierced through his heart. And at that moment, he knew he was doomed.

It was even harder when she sat right in front of him, her shiny red hair cascading over his desk when she would flick it behind her ear when she was concentrating. Erza would always stick out her tongue too which Jellal thought endearing. He was looking even when she thought he was not, and when she glanced back behind her he pretended to be extremely focused on his work.

He had harbored a crush on her ever since the third grade when she beat up someone that was bullying one of her friends. Jellal watched from behind a tree, amazed at this pretty girl whose hair was the most gorgeous color he had ever seen in his life. It was fitting that her last name was Scarlet, and the more he learned about her he became more entranced.

She was the star on the fencing team at her school, and she got all straight A’s despite the adversity. Erza was smart, talented, and beautiful. All three of those things made him fall more in love with her every day. Even when she didn’t notice him throughout all of the nine years afterward that they went to school together, he didn’t give it a single care. When Jellal ended up in her history class this year, he thought it a stroke of luck.

But there was only one problem.

He was good at history, really. He had gotten all A’s in it all the years up to his senior year. But now that Erza was sitting in front of him, raising her hand and flicking her perfumed hair behind her ear, it was near impossible to concentrate. That meant dropping grades, and dropping grades meant feeling more like a failure than he already was. He had to find a solution to this, and fast.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Hello, I am looking for fics that have Draco always saying Granger instead of Hermione, even when they are in a relationship. After they fall in love, he keeps calling her Granger, and it is more like an endearing term to him. I would prefer long stories which incorporate that to the plot, preferably slow burn, where it takes a bit time for them to fall in love. War time are my favorites :) Thank you!! and I love this page

Offhand, I can think of this:

Clean by olivieblake - M, 31 chapters-  
Malfoy’s handsome face was contoured into a condescending smirk. “No faith in that giant brain of yours, Granger?” She looked up at him defiantly. “Maybe I don’t have faith in you!” she said, raising her voice. Malfoy only looked at her. “You’ll find I’m very surprising.” Dramione AU, Year 6 with a slow burn and a killer twist. Book I of “This World or Any Other” series. COMPLETE.

This is its sequel:

Marked by olivieblake - M, 39 chapters-
Two dead. Three missing. The Order is down a leader and another innocent takes the Mark. Where is the Chosen One, and who killed Draco Malfoy? Dramione, sequel to “Clean,” book II in “This World or Any Other” series. COMPLETE.

Can anyone else suggest any?




Summary: Dante calls Ari “Angel” and Ari doesn’t entirely dislike it.

A/N: I was sad and sick today, so I just needed to indulge myself in some fluff between these two. I hope you enjoy it!

Words: 804

It took Ari approximately a week before he realized that Dante called him “Angel” more often than not. In fact, he hadn’t been called Angel this frequently since he was a kid and his mother used his first name as a term of endearment before he made her cut it out. Dante said it with an American pronunciation, and he wasn’t sure what he thought about it.

The first time Dante had used it Ari had been so surprised that he’d let it pass. Dante had been hovering above him with his lips barely grazing his earlobe when he’d breathed the word out, and Ari was sure every word he would try to choke out would fail to properly carry whatever he would want to say, so he kept his mouth shut until Dante’s lips forced it open.

The second time he’d commented on it, but the conversation never ended up going anywhere since Dante had yet again been hovering above him, though this time it had been because his fingers were doing ticklish things to his body. Of course Ari had only been able to cry, “Angel?!” before laughter had taken over. Dante was way too skilled with his hands.

Keep reading


“Aren’t you just a ray of sunshine?” Sarcasm laced his words.

Coal eyes took in the bright opal ones of the girl in front of him. Despite his best efforts, his prickly attitude and cold shoulder, she wouldn’t leave him alone to sulk. She was a burr, persistent in attempting to befriend him.

She simply laughed, a bubbly sound. “Actually, my name is Hinata.”

He couldn’t help the small quirk of his lips. “Of course it is.”


Adrien is actively studying Chinese… Just imagine all the precious moments between him and Sabine…! AUGHHHH 好痛啊哈哈哈哈哈haha 

“Mom, what do you think?”

“Adrien… It’s so beautiful… Please take good care of her.”

“I will.”

EXTRA: “Mom, thank you so, so much.”


Season 2. Aubrey. MSR

January 1995

The case, though gruesome and more than bizarre, had brought about their familiar banter and renewed the easygoing nature of their partnership. She felt more like herself again, and he didn’t look at her with worried eyes today. On the contrary, he threw all his theories at her without a single concern that she wouldn’t be able to return them with a scientific pitch of her own. He seemed impressed with her women’s intuition on what was going on with Detective Morrow, though he figured out that she was the perpetrator of the recent crimes in Aubrey, Missouri.

As they made their way to the Columbia Regional Airport, she gazed over at him in the driver’s seat. She couldn’t help feel a little flushed as he undressed another sunflower seed in between his teeth.

“Penny for your thoughts, Scully?” he offered with a quick but endearing glance in her direction. His right hand gripped the steering wheel while the other cradled his favorite snack. She stared at the salty seeds in his hand and his eyes tracked her gaze. “Oh, I’m sorry, Scully. You want some?”

“No, I’m fine,” she replied quickly. As much as she enjoyed having his full attention while discussing a case, Fox Mulder’s intelligent eyes and raspy baritone also made her feel flustered. “Thank you.”

“What?” he inquired with eyes back on the road.

“Do you really believe you eat those because you’re genetically predisposed?”

He smirked and she felt a warmth spread throughout her belly. These were the effects that he had on her body that she tried to control but couldn’t. Sometimes she felt so smitten with him that her need to remind herself that she was a professional, a medical doctor to boot, was starting to become part of her daily routine.

“Why else?” He looked over at her with a hint of ‘prove me wrong’ on his face. “Wasn’t my hunch about Detective Morrow correct?”

“I thought you didn’t have those?” she countered jokingly with a raised eyebrow.

She was graced with a full-fledged smile this time. It’s a sight she enjoyed more than she cared to admit. His eyes slightly squinted when he smiled and the imagery of a younger version of himself before he lost his sister and got exiled to the basement office filled her psyche to make her heart ache a little.

“Honestly, Scully, even with all that we saw back there, you don’t think genetic memory was a factor?”

“Well, at first it was very hard to believe Cokely’s memories could be passed down genetically to his granddaughter, especially since they had no way of knowing of their connection prior to this,” she admitted reluctantly. “You were right, Mulder, but I still can’t really explain it.”

He hummed his satisfaction at hearing her words and his pouty lips formed into a smug smile. “So tell me about my affinity for these.”

He popped another seed in his mouth, the little crunch it gave provided her with a sense of tranquility.

“Well, you just like the taste and they may also remind you of your father which in turn provide a comforting memory,” she stated matter of fact. “They’re more of an oral fixation than a predisposition.”

The rise of his eyebrows gave away his genuine interest and surprise.

“Wow, Scully, please tell me more,” he teased with a tone laden with innuendo.

A slight warmth in her cheeks became apparent due to the direction that their conversation was taking.

“Well, I’m certain you’re aware of Freud’s theory about the oral receptive personality. There’s a need to reduce tension through oral activity such as, uh, eating, drinking, smoking, and nail biting, just to name a few,” she recited with textbook accuracy. “They are generally needy and sensitive to rejection, and they will easily believe other people’s ideas.”

A small laugh escaped his lips and his face cringed slightly when he spoke, “Oh.”

“Oh no, Mulder, I didn’t mean for that to come off like that,” she voiced quickly. Her heart dropped at the feeling she crossed a line. The last thing she wants is for him to think she disapproves of him in any way. It’s not very clear why that matters so much to her. She had some idea but not one she wanted to admit. “I wasn’t trying to-”

“No, no, Scully,” he reassured her. With no more sunflower seeds to hold, his left hand took control of the car while his right hand came to rest over hers. He lightly squeezed her hand where it rested on her left thigh. “You’ll have to do a lot more than that to offend me.”

The soft humming of the car engine added to the ambiance of the moment. She looked down to take in the sight of his hand resting on hers. It was warm, soft, and fully encompassed her smaller one. She licked her bottom lip slowly as if doing so would also make the seconds go by at such a pace. It’s been a long time since a man had touched her in this way. Though it wasn’t sexual, there was something so intimate about it that it made her stomach flip flop with nervous energy.

“That’s not what I think about you, Mulder.”

His hand still covered hers and it didn’t surprise her that she didn’t mind it. It’s something she was accustomed to since Mulder is a tactile person. She ascertained that his fervent search for the truth and it’s elusiveness, logically and naturally, inclined him to reach out and touch everything as a form of proof. That was a definite predisposition of his.

“You should think far worse of me,” he murmured under his breath.

Her hand shifted under his and their fingers instinctively clasped together like Ying and Yang. She squeezed his hand gently, reveling in their closeness. The horror and contradictions to reality that they witnessed through their work on the X-Files justified these kind of exchanges between them. It may not have been covered during their training as agents or encouraged but they were human after all and needed reassurance. Also knowing Mulder’s history and lack of contact with others, even his family, made her feel special. She was the only one allowed into his exclusive club of the FBI’s most unwanted and she cherished that.

“It’s my choice to be here, Mulder. We have work to do.”

He looked over at her, providing another enchanting smile before retracting his hand and returning it to the steering wheel. She felt proud for being able to reassure him with such minimal communication. In the short time they had been working together, their names, looks, and touches have become their own special brand of Morse Code. It was another unique aspect of their relationship that she had never experienced with anyone else, platonic or romantic.

“Freud was never my favorite theorist anyway,” he concluded with a shrug of his shoulders. “Contrary to his beliefs, never have I wanted or do I want to sleep with women who resemble my mother.”

“Yes, and I certainly have never or will I experience penis envy,” she confirmed with a shake of her head.

He parked the car upon their arrival to the airport. They shared a knowing look and burst out laughing.

“I really couldn’t do this without you, Scully.”

He gave her a little wink before stepping out of the SUV. She watched his agile form put on his suit jacket before going towards the back of the car to retrieve their bags.

Despite not agreeing with his theories, she trusted him undoubtedly and she knew she would follow him pretty much anywhere he called her. That’s what partners do but her subconscious liked to point out that there was more to her feelings towards him.

Interoffice relationships can be complicated.

Her own words came back to her. It’s a predisposition of hers that she could recognize. Involvement with co-workers in the past resulted in nothing but an awkward and complicated mess. She didn’t want what her and Mulder have to end up like that. It was best to simply enjoy their connection through the spirit of professionalism and friendship while searching for fulfillment in their work.

She stepped out of the car and met him on the sidewalk. His hand gently pressed on her lower back as they gathered their things and walked through the airport doors.

partners in everything

With long, strong strokes, he pushed his fingers deep into her dark hair; her scalp was hot and moist with perspiration. Raking her hair away from her face, soothing her with hushed words, he attempted to ease her pain. Ironic that touch and endearments, long taboo in their relationship, were the best he could offer her at the moment. With an arm around her shoulder, Sherlock felt another wave of pain go through her; muscles tightened, lifting her body slightly away and her face clenched.

“Breathe, Watson … breathe.”

Joan wanted to remind him she was a doctor, they’d been to classes, she knew what to do … but instead she produced a low guttural sound, followed by rhythmic puffs of air to get through the contraction.

He helped ease her body down onto the bed as the pain lessened and her body relaxed. She took his offered hand and closed her eyes. Sherlock also took the opportunity to breath. Bringing a child into the world was most certainly something he never thought he would be part of.

He was not the child’s biological father.  Watson had asked and he’d refused. He would not burden any other being with his genetic material, even for her. After weeks, days and hours of research and discussion, she decided on an anonymous sperm donor.  

Upon Joan being pronounced pregnant, Sherlock became the father presumptive - at her side at every exam, test, procedure, and class. He took great care with her and the child, monitoring and nourishing both to the point of exasperating Joan on more than one occasion. Biology could not have made the commitment they shared for the child and to each other any stronger.

With a loud sharp cry, Mary May Holmes-Watson introduced herself to the world. The doctor placed the swaddled child in the arms of her beaming mother. Mary was greeted with tears of joy and was given the honor of being present at her parents’ first kiss.

yep, it’s official, whenever a katy perry song comes on the radio, i now immediately imagine ginny badly humming to it and how mike is the one that not only sticks around and listens to off key, befuddled noise she’s making, but closely enough that he can discern exactly what she is humming.

and get this, actually finds it so endearing that he’s unconsciously filed it as a fact about her that he now uses as an example of information you’d know if you were actually in love with her.

thus, admitting to everyone he tells that MIKE LAWSON IS IN LOVE WITH GINNY BAKER.

and that is just about the cutest thing ever.

prairiepirate  asked:

Ok you. How about this: Lucy discovers some totally adorable and endearing quirk or fact about Flynn, and he makes her swear to tell no one (aka Wyatt and Rufus) on pain of death. Which, in Lucy's case, is more like having to endure the death glare from Flynn 24/7. Like she's scared of those repercussions. Heh.

(tagging @sweetestinthegale for reasons. ahem.)

Lucy has noticed that at times – usually when he thinks there’s absolutely no one listening – Garcia Flynn has a tendency to hum.

Not just any songs either, but ABBA songs. As in cheesy Swedish seventies pop, until you have to wonder if this hardened, dangerous, dark general disaster of a man secretly sings “Gimme Gimme Gimme a Man After Midnight” to himself in the shower. It doesn’t happen often, he always catches himself if anyone walks anywhere nearby, and he doesn’t even sound that happy to be doing it; he’s not humming because he enjoys the music or he’s in a good mood (heaven forbid Flynn be in a good mood), but almost because he’s forgotten to be quite as angry for a moment. It’s… she doesn’t know. Wistful, almost. Some small bit of the man he used to be.

Lucy doesn’t say anything to him, as she feels he’d probably stop if he knew he was being overheard. They have enough on their plate trying to gel as a team of four anyway, so remarking on his song choices seems oddly too personal. But one day, hoping to get the message across without being too obvious, she puts on the “Classic Pop” station on their Spotify. And sure enough, a few moments later, “Dancing Queen” comes on.

She’d almost thought this might make Flynn crack a smile, even inadvertently, but in fact it has the exact opposite reaction. He freezes up like a deer in the headlights, stares at it, then bolts. Lucy and Rufus look at each other in confusion and consternation, and Rufus says, “What? I know he hates everything, but really, ABBA? That much?”

“No,” Wyatt says quietly. “Hang on.”

Lucy and Rufus are puzzled, but Wyatt heads out, following Flynn across the warehouse to where he’s leaning on the wall behind a stack of crates, breathing deeply and pressing his hands to his face as if he’s barely gotten away from a swarm of killer bees. He doesn’t appear to notice Wyatt is there, and when he does, shoots a stare at him inviting him to remove himself post-haste. “Go back to the others, why don’t you?”

“Hey.” Wyatt remains where he is. “That song.”

Flynn flinches, almost imperceptibly. Rubs his face again, voice rough. “What about it?”

“Jess – Jessica’s favorite song.” Wyatt’s own voice wavers slightly, but he catches it. “It was – I always teased her about it – it was The Scientist by Coldplay. Nobody ever said it was easy, nobody ever said it would be this hard. Cheesy, whatever. She loved it. It was – it was the last thing we played at her funeral. It…” He pauses. “The first time I heard it in public after that, I did the exact same thing you just did. So. Was that it?”

Flynn’s eyes smoke holes through him, as if he doesn’t want to answer, wants to reproach Wyatt for this presumption, but also can’t deny it. After a moment he says, “I used to dance with my dau – with Iris. Around our living room, to that. Put her on my feet and hold her hands. And yes. The last time I heard it was after I’d just put her coffin in the ground.” He stops. “The word is pallbearers. That means there should be more than one. More than one person to carry it. I didn’t need any other help. I carried it by myself. It was small enough that I could.”

Wyatt flinches. “I…” He knows Flynn doesn’t want to hear it, but he says it anyway. “I’m sorry.”

Flynn shrugs, clearly regretting his momentary lapse in composure. “I just wasn’t expecting it. That’s all.”

“Hey,” Wyatt says. “I’ll go tell them to turn it off.”

“No.” It surprises both of them and Flynn bites his lip, but can’t take it back. “No,” he says again. “Leave it on.”