heavy knits

Snowstorm

This was supposed to be posted earlier in the week but I just now managed to finish it. Special thanks to @permanentcross for yelling at me to write it (and for not being mad at me for calling it Snowstorm - she’s cool with it). Let me know if you guys enjoy it! Much love, B xx

***

Originally posted by trairicordielaschiena

Being stuck at the hotel during a snowstorm, having nothing to do except looking at each other’s faces, Harry’s bored out of his mind. So, while you watch some stupid tv show, he’s lying on his tummy, scrolling through his phone and you’re lying on him, cheek smushed against his bum, cause it’s why not? Even though the heating is on, the view of the city covered in white fluffy snow on your window is giving you chills and you yearn to be close to him but he’s too focused on his damn phone to pay attention to you. 

Tired of the silly TV show and of being ignored in order for him to scroll aimlessly through social media, even though he’s never posting anything, you sigh, moving your head to look up at him, your cheek smushed to his bum as you look at the back of his head. His hair is messy, curling at the ends and with no sunglasses to hold it back, you can truly appreciate just how long his hair has become over the past few months, his sweats are clinging to his long legs and the long sleeved t-shirt make his broad shoulders look even wider with the white fabric straining against them.

He looks good and warm and so cozy that all you want is to snuggle up to him and be close, share languid kisses that make your tummy flutter with butterflies and your toes curl when he presses closer. But he’s on his phone. And, even though your hand is pressing to his back, scratching lightly over his shirt and you’re very much resting against him, he shows no signs of letting go of the small piece of technology he holds so dearly in his hands any time soon.

You’ve tried everything already - calling his name, to which he only gave you a mumbled “hum?” and when you continued to speak, you were left with no response from him; you’ve tried pinching his sides but the boy has a brain of steel and when he’s invested in something like he is on his phone, it’s hard to break him away from it. You’ve tried turning up the volume on the TV to see if the movie playing in it would catch his attention and make him move you up to him for a cuddle while you both watch it but not even then had you managed to catch his eye and you were sick of it.

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Forelsket - Part Six

Characters - Steve Rogers x Reader, Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes

Word Count - 1408

AU - Soulmates

Warnings - Language, Cliffhanger, Implied depression

A/N - I’m bringing this back and I’m taking it easy so it won’t be on a daily schedule. I still don’t know how it’s going to end tbh.

Forelsket Masterlist

Nat found herself in her usual spot, leaned against the kitchen counter with a hot mug of coffee in her hand. Blowing at the steam, she peered over the rim of her cup as Steve slipped out of your room. He squeezed the door closed behind him, being sure not to make too much noise for fear of waking you up. His hair was shaggy, his beard was lush and in need of a touch-up, and there were bags living beneath his eyes.

“How’s she doing?” Natasha asked in a hushed whisper as if the sound of her voice would disturb the stillness of the apartment. “I see you go in and out but feel like I haven’t seen her in days.”

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meganthehand  asked:

Hey, you wouldn't happen to have any recs for really warm kitted shawl patterns would you? I really want to make one for my friend but I'm just not sure where to look for a pattern!!!

Hello!!!:)  For me shawls warm me up so fast but here are four different (FREE) patterns I have done! 

The first shawl pattern is the: 

“Arlequin Shawl” by Peggy Maxhiem

      This pattern is a beautiful knit, very fast however it is a bit repetitive and can get a little boring. So for my shawl, I used several (sock) scrap yarn to keep my mind busy. This pattern was created using a gradient skein so I do recommend using more than one color to complete it! 

http://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/arlequin-shawl


The next pattern is the:

“Reyna” by Noora Laivola

      I have made two shawls out of this pattern and I just have to say, the eyelets and the garter are stunning! This is a simple pattern but…..pay attention!! I made the mistake of dropping a stitch in the middle of my eyelet and ended up having to take out the entire section…. It is not as intimidating as it looks & It is actually a super fun knit! In my shawl I did a Picot bind off to give it that beautiful finish!

http://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/reyna


This next one is my absolute favorite shawl I have ever knit!!!

“Magic Spring Shawl” by Katerina Bobkova

        This pattern is amazing. The colors Katerina picked for her shawl were gorgeous. There are two versions, the magic spring shawl and the magic spring shawl mini. So you have the option of making a larger shawl or a smaller one! I knitted the smaller version for myself because I was not looking for a heavy/warmer knit but if you want something cozy, definitely knit the larger version to wrap around the neck more! I 100% recommend this pattern to anyone, you can pick three skeins of your choice and just have a lot of fun knitting this. 

http://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/magic-spring-shawl


For a super super warm shawl:

“Knit Triangle Shawl” by Caron Design Team

        I was given the Caron Cake yarn skeins as a gift and loved the picture of the shawl on the side of the label and knew I had to make one. Oh gosh. I did not anticipate this shawl to be as large/cozy as it was. The completed shawl is the biggest I have ever done and is the warmest and stretchiest shawl I own. I used 2 skeins and it was perfect. This pattern is easy, fun and so fast its crazy. The best thing about this pattern is that the Caron cakes are sold at Michael’s craft store and they always have coupons!! This shawl can be wrapped around your shoulders like a blanket or a beautiful shawl. Here is a picture of mine: 

http://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/knit-triangle-shawl-2


I really hope this helped!! Happy Knitting <3<3

First Christmas

CUTE CHRISTMAS BUCKY ONE SHOT ALERT

(not my gif)

Characters: Bucky x reader

Summary: It’s Christmastime, and Bucky wakes up from a nap to find you baking cookies and singing along to Christmas carols. A glorious amount of cuteness ensues.

Warnings: So much fucking fluff holy lawd sweetness galore also bad edit (it’s a given sorry)

Words: 1848

A/N: Because why not have a cozy!bucky christmas fic in summer? ALSO FCKN REQUEST THINGS WOULD YA I NEED INSPO SLIDE INTO MY DMS



Bucky woke up from a nap on the living room couch, a spot he seemed to frequent whenever he was feeling sleepy. He yawned, blinking a few times to let what was left of the sunlight of the day filter through his eyelashes as he sat himself upright and stretched. He straightened out his warm jumper and smiled at the coziness of the room he was now looking at. 

It must’ve been sunset outside, he could tell that much from the fading light coming in from the partially closed blinds. Soft Christmas music played on the Victrola across the room, causing a hint of nostalgia to prickle under his skin. A bare tree sat in the farthest corner, boxes of decorations just waiting to be hung at its feet. Fairy lights were strung along the staircase leading up to his bedroom, and the smell of gingerbread and fresh pine hung deliciously in the air.

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anonymous asked:

Ooh!! For your drunk drabble..Member: D.O, Phrase: "I can't let you get off that easy"

Criminal

Pairing: Kyungsoo x you

BAD DRUNK DRABBLE REQUESTS


The weight of the heavy knit sweater you clutched between your thighs pulled against your knees, making your walking stiff and funny and you adjusted the long skirt you wore, pushing the garment back up in between your legs when it started to slip down. You had exactly two more aisles to go before you would be out of this store and you could meet up with your two idiot friends who had dared you to steal the stupid thing in the first place.

Why did you pick the heaviest, most useless item of clothing to steal from this store? Well it was on the clearance rack and didn’t have a security tag that would surely give you away when you walked in between those terrifying looking black detectors positioned just before the exit door and if you happened to get caught, which wasn’t likely in this deserted store. There was not a single employee to be seen near the exit and the last you saw of the young kids working here, they seemed to be preoccupied with watching some sort of vine video compilation behind the registers as they ignored the very idea that they had a job and responsibilities to uphold.

It was the perfect situation to get away with this and once you completed this dare you would finally win this stupid game that had been going on for months now.

You eyed your surroundings once more, your nerves suddenly flaring up hot in your belly as you felt a sudden warmth at your back. Something that hadn’t been there an aisle back that left you with rattled nerves and a sinking feeling that you could not ignore.

The feeling was nagging and intrusive and you tried to remain as casual as you could as you looked around the store once more.

Eyes.

A pair of dark eyes watched you from the other side of the store, in between aisles of men’s clothing, directly below a large sign that read Men’s Khakis on sale two for one and you quickly looked away from the eye contact that felt too knowing for your liking.

Had he seen you? Did he know what you were doing? Was he calling the police secretly in his pocket as he perused last season’s knacki pants in all shades of ugly?

You took another step, closing the gap of the final aisle before the exit of the store and the warmth at your back grew hotter with those eyes watching you.

You had nearly made it when your curiosity had piqued to unignorable levels and you risked a look.

The man was gone but the feeling remained…even intensified as your eyes searched the surrounding aisles of the store for where he could have possibly gone to.

The pounding in your chest felt too noisy to ignore and you took another clumsy step toward the door, quickly pushing the clunky knit up further between your legs before it could slip out at the last minute and give you away.

The man was gone, his dark, intimidating, knowing eyes nowhere to be found and the exit was in your sights. All you had to do was make it those few final steps through the security detectors and you would be free. You could slip around the corner down the hallway that lead to the family style bathrooms where crying toddlers who were frightened of the automatic flushing toilets made enough racket to cover whatever noisy pounding your heart wanted to make, or chattering shivering your teeth caused as your jaw clenched together again and again.

Why couldn’t you be the calm, cool, collected criminal that you always envisioned in your dreams? Why did your anxiety and moral compass have to make you into a trembling chihuahua every time you did anything even remotely risky?

Two more steps and you found yourself inside the entrance. Directly in between the sensors and your feet moved quickly into the open hallway that sat directly outside of this store as half of your mind waited for shouting, sirens, bells, whistles, anything that would tell you that you had been caught and you were on your way to the big house.

The silence that filled your ears might have actually been worse for your nerves because nothing happened. The sweater between your legs was a bit itchy as the cheap wool scratched against your two-days-ago shaved thighs, and a soft laughter from behind the registers where the two employees laughed at the videos they watched made you jump as if laughter itself was the sound of your impending doom.

You forced your legs to move and you had made it around that corner, into that long hallway when you spotted a vending machine promising ice cold refreshments with drawn on droplets of water along it’s cover. This would have to do.

And you had nearly made it behind it when you felt the solid warm grip of a hand on your forearm. The warm kind of grip of the strong arm of the law coming down hard, striking the judge’s gavel against the block, the kind of strong grip that held onto the handle of an axe that cut the rope, sending the weighted guillotine blade crushing down to chop off your head.

You inhaled a deep breath and closed your eyes. The breath somehow sent your legs into a wobble and the itchy knit sweater slipped with a soft fwump down to the red carpeted floor.

“Excuse me,” a low voice spoke up from behind you and you winced as you slowly turned yourself around to face your captor. Would it be mall security? Was he riding a Segway and carrying a flashlight? Did he have a mustache maybe? And a habit of popping his spearmint gum when he was bored?

When you turned you saw eyes. Familiar. Dark. Knowing.

Aside from his eyes, your own vision drifted to the rest of him. Plump lips, tanned skin, too handsome and too put together to be an employee of a discount mall store that only seemed to hire high school kids with short attention spans and a penchant for not giving a shit. In fact the longer you looked at him, the wider his eyes grew, the softer his expression became and you saw a nervous swallowing in his throat as he cleared it to speak again.

“I–I ummm..” he struggled and you closed your open mouth and pulled your shoulders back a touch. Inhaling a breath to provide your brain with a litttle more oxygen so that maybe, just maybe you could deal with this guy who very clearly wasnt an employee of the store, or even of the mall.

“You what?”

“I saw you.” He said quietly and you crossed your arms over your chest as you lifted your chin.

“What did you see?” His eyes widened even further and he looked away from your focus suddenly, looking up at the ceiling, to the left and to the right.

He clearly hadn’t thought this through beyond this point and you figured the guy was probably an ex Boy Scout who had gone camping a few times in the woods, made a couple of fires and decided that he was an expert on a vast many of the laws of this country.

“I, uhh…saw you take the sweater. It was only $5, i mean if you wanted it that badly you should have just paid for it….stealing is…wrong” you narrowed your eyes and took a step forward, leaning into him now. Although he had those big intimidating eyes, the more you got to look at him the more you saw what he really was. Slight bones, thin frame, sure he had an impressive face, and a strength in his forearms that peaked below the rolled up sleeves of his plaid button up, but the man was wearing khakis and loafers and argyle socks. He’d even rolled the damn pants up about four times so everyone could definitely see the argyle.

“So what are you going to do about it?” You did your best impression of a badass and you saw the edges of his lips tremble and turn up a tiny bit. He closed his eyes and bit down on the inside of his lips, seeming to hide a smile from his face. Perhaps you weren’t really that much of a badass. He must have found your attempts funny.

“Are you going to report me?” You offered when he didn’t answer but just stood there suppressing his stupid grin and you could see the slump of his shoulders as he seemed to shift his posture and lean against the vending machine that now trapped you on one side.

“Can’t you just pretend like you didn’t see anything? You said so yourself it was only $5.” Something in his eyes made you want to change your approach. The man didn’t seem like the type to be bullied, despite his outward appearance and perhaps you could appeal to his softer nature and he would simply let this go. “I mean I’m not…I’m not a shoplifter or anything, this was a stupid dare. I never do this and I’m not going to do it again, I swear.”

The softness you had seen in his eyes changed with the smile that broke free for a few seconds on his lips. He was quiet and he watched your face for what felt like ages before he pulled his own arms up and crossed them over his chest. You could see the struggle in his face and your heart leapt up at the possibility that he might just let this all go.

“What’s your name?” You said suddenly. He was watching you too closely, probably memorizing your face for the police sketch later and you felt the need to keep him talking out loud instead of thinking whatever dangerous thoughts he had going on inside his head.

“Kyungsoo,” he said softly and he blinked too slowly for a tense criminal interrogation. “What’s yours?” His eyebrow ticked up once, a light bounce on his forehand that drew your attention and you sighed and considered an alias.

But he was too…tempting for that, and there was something soft and charming about those rolled up khaki pants that made you want to be honest. So you were. You gave him your real name and his lips pulled into a small smile as he repeated it once in that deep voice that did something strange at the back of your brain. He was cute. And he didnt seem to be in any great hurry to haul you off to prison so you reached down to pick up the stolen sweater without breaking the careful eye contact you kept with him. His eyes stayed on yours as you moved and you wondered what in the world he was still doing watching you with those eyes, making you feel stupid things inside the back of your brain about his deep voice.

“Well…Kyungsoo, if you aren't’ going to call the police on me…I guess I’ll be going–”

“Wait…I can’t let you get off that easy” he suddenly said the second you began to take a step around where he blocked your way to the exit.

You knew it. It must have been too good to be true. Maybe he was the police. An undercover cop staked out in the mall ready to catch drug dealers, petty criminals, shoplifters, and scam artists and lock them away forever.

Perhaps he was part of a ring of cops who would work out a deal with those they caught, you know…catch the bigger fish using the small fries?

That had to be it. The man was here to bargain.

“What’s it gonna take for you to let me go?” You sighed and gripped the sweater tighter, ready to just throw in the towel and bolt if you had to. Or throw in the sweater to be more exact. He was chewing on the inside of his lip again and his big eyes were looking over your face as he went silent for a moment and you got ready to throw the knit in his face and make a run for the doors. Your heels were dug in and everything and you were sure that your cell phone was secure inside your back pocket so it wouldnt be lost in the scuffle. You lifted the sweater, ready to make it fly.

“Your number?” He finally said with a slight wince on his face and you froze with the sweater in front of your chest held tightly in both hands, yet somehow not quite ready to throw it in his face because he just…

“My number?” He nodded and his cheeks looked somehow pinker than before. “That’s it?” It was too good to be true.

“And a date.” He said, his head still nodding lightly before he shrugged and stuffed his hands into his front pockets. “You’re pretty cute for a criminal.”

Prompt for @lovelyluthor, ‘I’m always a hoe for “turtlenecks in the summer to cover up hickeys”’


If anyone asked her, Kim would stand by her words that it was all Trini’s fault. That is to say, she didn’t regret anything that had happened up until then, but the fact remained that the consequences were inconvenient, uncomfortable and altogether undesirable.

Kim was hot. Like, really hot. The fact that it was summer and Angel Grove was one day into the projected heatwave was only exacerbated by the fact that she was currently wearing a heavy, black knit turtleneck. In June.

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Someone to Stay - AU

Previous chapters

Chapter 2

Coffee felt anticlimactic, after the noise and pound of the club. The fluorescents highlighted the bright orange vinyl booths, making every spilled sugar grain on the table glow.

Claire sipped slowly, enjoying the scalding of her tongue. The whiskey buzz had been on the verge of turning into tipsiness, but before that could happen Claire had dragged Geillis out of the club and into the closest open diner she could see. 24 hour caffeine purveyors.

“Do you regret it?” Geillis watched Claire over the rim of her cup. “Not going backstage I mean.”

“No. You were very clear on what their true intentions were. Why?” Claire raised an eyebrow. “Do you?”

“Not anymore.” G tilted her head towards the diner door behind Claire. The faint tinkle of a bell preceded the entrance and exit of customers.

The lounging server at the counter had her feet up on a stool, reading a magazine, but stood and grabbed a bunch of menus at the sound of the door. She dropped them just as fast and gasped.

Claire turned, and who should come through the door but James Fraser and the rest of The Clan. She couldn’t for the life of her remember all their names just then – her eyes were helplessly riveted on the tall man who smiled gently at the dumbfounded server and stooped to retrieve the fallen menus.

“Here you go.” James Fraser held them out to her – Laoghaire, read her tag. Claire and Geillis watched this encounter silently, while the men with James Fraser (could she stop thinking of his name like that?) waited patiently for the girl to react. She hadn’t, thus far. Her hands went to her flaming cheeks and her mouth fell open.

“You’re—they’re… you’re— “ Laoghaire stammered.

“Jamie. Pleased to meet ye.” Jamie put the menus on the counter once it seemed clear Laoghaire wasn’t quite up to the job at the moment. He extended a hand that was quickly taken in a death grip. Claire and Geillis exchanged amused glances.

“Oh my God, oh my God! It’s you! Here!” Laoghaire jumped up and down, still holding Jamie’s hand. He smiled good-naturedly and slowly extricated himself from her grip. “Could I have a picture?”

“Of course. Here, lads.” The men quickly surrounded them, subtly stepping in between Jamie and the girl. She pulled her mobile from her apron pocket and looked around wildly for someone to oblige.

“Would you mind?” Laoghaire finally shoved the phone at Geillis, who stood from the booth and held it up and snapped 3-4 pictures for good measure. As the flash went off, Claire caught Jamie’s eye, smiling at her and not for the picture. She allowed him a small smile in return, remembering certain invitations and talk of groupies.

“Thank you so much!” Laoghaire squealed. “Let me find you a table or do you prefer— “

“A table will be just fine,” Jamie interrupted. “Perhaps this one?” He pointed at the booth Claire and G were occupying.

Claire began to fume. The whole empty diner and he was seriously asking to have them booted? Rock star or no—

“May we join you ladies?” Jamie smiled disarmingly, running a hand through his hair. Behind the apparent nonchalance Claire detected a hint of nerves. “These are my mates, Rupert, William, Ian.” Each nodded and smiled in return.

“Sure!” Geillis grinned and moved down the seat. Claire followed suit more hesitantly, looking daggers at her friend. Jamie squeezed in next to her. Six to a booth was a slightly tight fit, but they managed somehow. “I’m Geillis, and this is Claire.”

The men (more boyish up close, including Jamie, Claire noted) turned to Laoghaire, still standing by breathlessly. Rupert, the drummer, winked at the girl. “Let’s have a keek at those menus then, shall we?”

Quarters were a bit cramped for flipping the laminated pages. Jamie couldn’t seem to help brushing Claire’s hands every time he ran a finger down the proffered items. Claire picked up her coffee cup only to discover it was empty.

“Can we get another?” Jamie gestured at the server, who scampered away for the pot.

“Thanks.” Claire smiled as her cup was topped off. Laoghaire ignored her, eyes only for Jamie.

The rest of the men ordered burgers, fry-ups, and more coffee. Laoghaire balanced the tray full of food and lingered eagerly by the side of the table.

“Could ye maybe leave the pot?” Jamie gave her a dazzling smile and she grinned back, setting the coffee down and backing away slowly, her eyes never leaving his.

“So.” Jamie forked some chips over to his plate, while Geillis flirted with the rest of the men—Claire focused on her cup like her life depended on it.

“So?”

“We asked you backstage at the pub.”

We?” Claire raised her eyebrow at him, and sipped. Two could play this game.

“Och, weel.” He ducked his head and the red strands tickled his forehead. “Not we, then. I asked ye backstage. Ye looked… intriguing.”

Claire glanced at Geillis. She was laughing raucously at something Rupert had said – no doubt something lecherous. The men’s conversation had faded into the background as Claire focused her attention on Jamie.

“I’m not a local. I’m visiting with my friend. I had…” She took a deep breath. “A bad experience in London. I needed to get away.” She didn’t understand the need to pour her troubles out for this stranger.

“What kind of bad experience?” Jamie’s heavy eyebrows knit together.

Claire shrugged, despondency settling briefly on her features. “Romantic, you could say.” She waved her hand dismissively, not willing to go into details at the moment. “How about you?”

“Nothing as bad as that,” Jamie smiled, making the corners of her own mouth lift ever so slightly. “We’re on tour, heading south. We’ve done Edinburgh, tomorrow’s Glasgow, then Newcastle and Leeds . Then Manchester, Liverpool, and Cambridge, and ending in London.”

“Sounds exhausting.” Claire sipped again. “And where’s home?”

“Scotland, obviously. Place called Lallybroch. Family farm, for generations and all that. Can’t wait to get back. You?”

“Based in London. I’m a nurse.”

She spoke of the hospital and her cozy flat. Of her childhood with wandering Uncle Lambert and her favorite bookshop. Of her longing for mornings when she could sleep in and her dislike for high heels. Of the way she drank her coffee and the most difficult medical case to ever cross her path.

He filled her in with the details of his large family – his sister Jenny, married to Ian their keyboard player and his nieces and nephews. How he had taught himself to play guitar in between farm chores. How his parents had encouraged him to pursue his dream of music and crowds who clapped and cheered. How he had found his band – his clan – in Ian the pianist, William the bassist, Rupert the drummer, and his uncle Murtagh as manager.

Two hours later, as Claire happened to glance at her watch, and still going strong at 3 AM. The food was gone and the whole coffee pot practically empty. One of the other men—Ian, Claire recalled—raised his hand for the check, glancing briefly at Jamie, who nodded. Laoghaire bounded over, paper slip in hand.

“No charge for you. On the house.” She smiled ingratiatingly at Jamie and thrust the check into Claire’s hand. “Two coffees, £2.40.”

“Och, I insist.” Jamie pulled a £50 out of his pocket and set it on the table.

“But that’s too much!” The girl’s eyes almost popped out of her head. She reached out for the bill and drew her hand back, afraid to touch it for fear it wasn’t real.

“Nae bother. Thank you, lass.” He nudged Willie, who had been sitting to his left all along unobtrusively, and they all slid out of the booth. Geillis flushed and laughing still, her hand on Rupert’s shoulder.

Well, well, Claire thought, what have we here. She caught G’s eye and winked, which only caused Geillis to giggle unabashedly.

Jamie placed his hand on Claire’s back, guiding her towards the door. She couldn’t resist a dig at Laoghaire as she turned her head back and called out, “Thanks so much!” while the girl just stood there, agape and overwhelmed by what had transpired.

The burst of cold air on her face was most unwelcome, after the secluded warmth of the diner. Instinctively her shoulders hunched against the chilled wind, and she drew her coat about her. The rest of the band was still talking animatedly with Geillis, and Claire managed to catch her slip a napkin with her number to Rupert the drummer; he tucked it in safely into his jacket pocket.

She turned to face Jamie as much as she could, still shielding herself from the freezing gusts. “Thank you for the coffee Jamie. It was nice to meet you.” She stuck out her hand a bit idiotically and was surprised to feel the enveloping warmth of his own.

“Claire. It was lovely to meet ye. I hope… perhaps… we can meet again.” Jamie gave a most convincing bow, which would not have been amiss in an earlier century. He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss into her skin.

Her heart stuttered, against her will.

Against her will, images of Frank flooded her mind. When they went out on dinner dates, when she sat through his endless lectures, when he supported her decision to apply for medical school, when they spent time together in the morning reading the paper, when they had kissed and touched and loved. When she had been betrayed.

And she thought, Never again.

Claire pulled her hand out of Jamie’s grasp as gently as she could, hoping her face would not betray the anguish his simple gesture had triggered. “I wish you good luck Jamie, with the rest of your tour.” No word on meeting again, no number exchanged, no last name given.

She turned to the William, Rupert, and Ian; shook hands with each of them quickly, nodding goodbye. She took Geillis by the elbow and pulled her away, down the street, and managed to glance back only once.

Jamie stood there, fiery hair glowing in the street light, smiling after them. A smile that said, Soon.

anonymous asked:

Everlark for number 29? Your fics are great, keep on writing!

So, um…this prompt is two years old. Yikes. But anyways, the requested dialogue phrase is “I thought you were dead,” and it will be a miracle if the Anon who sent this even remembers sending it (*crazed laughter*). Anyhow, this prompt along with a few reviews shook something loose in my head and the below 4K+ word vomit happened. Not beta’d, so forgive my mistakes, also the end feels rushed but short of completely rewriting Catching Fire this is what you get. It is a continuation of something that is a year old, which you can read on:

tumblr

AO3

or FF

your choice. You’re gonna want to read that part first. And before you ask…yes there’s a third part in the works. So now I have to figure out how to post this part to the other sites when I said I wouldn’t expand it. Why do I do this to myself? I should be working on ms2sl or It’s All a Lie. Enough whining! Rated M for sexy times. Enjoy.


It takes a good two minutes for what they’re suggesting to sink into my brain. As soon as it does, I shake my head vigorously. “I’m not saying that.”

“Come on, Katniss. Your mother will know it’s a lie.” As if that would be my only real objection.

“No!” I shout at Gale but my eyes are drawn to Peeta, sitting in one of the bright chartreuse armchairs, hands clenched with his forearms resting on his thighs. There’s a strange tick in his jaw and a gaping chasm between us that I don’t know how to breach. My next words are directed at him. “This was your idea, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” he whispers. My eyes burn and bile rises in my throat as I run from the room.

“Catnip,” Gale pleads. He hasn’t called me that unless there’s a camera around since before the last Games.

“Let him talk to her and explain,” I hear Haymitch say and I know that Peeta’s following me. I run to the only place I can think of that might allow me to talk freely, so long as the wind is howling like it was last night. A cold blast of wind hits me when I reach the roof, bringing me to an abrupt halt. Peeta’s warmth crashes into my back. I didn’t think he’d be able to catch up that quickly.

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Michael Clifford - Homesick

Pairing: Michael and Y/N

Word Count: 6.1k+

Rating: Smut

Requested: Yes, by anon

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CONTENT WARNING: CAT CALLING/MINOR HARASSMENT

Prompt: I love both cat-calling headcanons! The same thing with Kirishima, Todoroki, Shinsou and Midoriya please?             

Requester: Eloquent Anon is that u? Do I see u there?


Originally posted by miyukei

Kirishima:

○ Immediately protective his arm is going to wrap around s/o’s waist or shoulders to let both them and the cat-caller know that he’s right there

○ The glare he gives the cat-caller is downright scary and Kirishima probably hardens his face to make himself look more intimidating, hoping to scare the person off

○ If the person doesn’t back off and continues what they’d been doing Kirishima’s next option is words. He more scolds the person and tells them to back off than yells at them

○ Kirishima really doesn’t want to get in a fight here, especially in front of s/o. But if the person just won’t back off and s/o is clearly really upset he just might get into a bit of a shoving match. He wouldn’t use his quirk or anything though

○ If it does come down to that Kirishima feels super bad and apologizes profusely to his s/o for not being manly enough to protect them without fighting.

○ Probably wraps his sweater around s/o’s shoulders if he’s wearing one to make them feel a little safer, and deter any other potential bothers

○ No matter how things go down Kirishima’s priority the second the threat is gone is to cheer s/o up. Whether by jokes and distractions or hugs and comfort Kirishima is determined to make s/o smile again

Originally posted by lacuna-matata

Todoroki:

○ Angry. He’s immediately angry. He takes any disrespect towards his s/o as a personal offense and he isn’t going to stand for it for even a second.

○ He actually lets s/o go and stands in front of them protectively, as if daring the person to confront them

○ Might use his quirk a little, just manifesting it, to intimidate the person and show them who they’re messing with - wouldn’t use it on them, however

○ If the person is crazy enough not to back down s/o would be best to tug Todoroki forward and leave the person behind. It’s not worth getting into a fight over, but best believe that if Todoroki thought he needed to to defend his s/o he would

○ S/o will actually be the one reassuring Todoroki at first - he’s pretty visably upset for a while

○ Once he realizes that that’s sort of backwards, though, Todoroki is quick to apologize and offer his comforts to s/o telling them that they’re free to rely on him for whatever they need to feel better

○ Chances are the date will move to one of their homes after that where they can spend a little time away from any other possible issues

Originally posted by tetsuruo

Shinsou:

○ He’s frustrated - he’s never been able to stand those kinds of people and s/o can see his feelings in the heavy knit of his brow and tight set of his jaw

○ His reaction is very dependent on s/o however. If s/o isn’t that bothered and seems to want to just move along he’ll hold their hand a little tighter and keep moving forward

○ If, however, s/o is clearly really upset by this or looking for his protection he’ll oblige that too. Shinsou’s not shy when he’s set his mind to something so he has no problems telling the cat-caller that their advances aren’t wanted and they’re being a pest

○ If things get harry Shinsou might be willing to use his quirk. He’d only ever get the person to leave them alone though - he doesn’t want to hurt anyone, or get either himself or his s/o in trouble

○ Whatever happens he’s a little tenser and a little closer to s/o for a fair while after that

○ If s/o is visibly upset he’ll offer to take them for tea, either somewhere nice or back at home to calm them down

○ No matter what though it really bothers him that s/o has to put up with that kind of thing. He wants them to know that they can lean on him for support if this kind of thing happens often - whether he expresses that or not depends on how close they are

Originally posted by animebigworld

Midoriya:

○ His priority is immediately s/o. The cat-caller upsets him but he doesn’t really care about them, so he’s faster to look to s/o to see what he can do for them than he is to try to do anything about the harasser

○ Knows he can’t fight the cat-caller and isn’t one to raise his voice in normal situations so he’s immediately thinking of other ways to de-escalate the situation

○ Decides that getting s/o away from this creepy person as fast as possible is their best option and he’s quick to put an arm around s/o and lead them to the closest ‘escape route’

○ He’s probably advising s/o to just ignore the person, focus on him if they need to, to keep their mind away from the harassment

○ Once they get away Mdoriya realizes just how close he’d pulled s/o and jumps back a bit, apologizing for getting that close to them without permission

○ Also apologizes for not being strong enough to be able to do much else. He’s not tough and intimidating like some others and this was the best thing he could think of

○ He makes sure s/o is feeling ok, first and foremost, doing whatever he can to help them feel better if they’re still upset. He then offers to bring them out to do whatever they want - or take them home if they prefer. It’s his way of properly apologizing for not being able to stop the person and trying to take their mind off of the event at the same time

If I Could Fly | Louis Tomlinson

A/N: Track 6 out of 17.  From my Made In The A.M. (Deluxe Edition) Series! Find the rest of the songs on my Masterlist!

Originally posted by tmlnsn

Fat snowflakes float down to the already coated ground, building on the depth. I try to run to get to the perfect spot, but my boots keep getting stuck with each step I take, making me almost lose my balance a couple of times. A heavy knitted scarf is wrapped around my neck, and a beanie is placed snug on my head. I love the snow. I love the things you can make with it and the fun it brings the snowball fights, sledding, skiing, snow angels. I love being trapped in the warm house and watching it fall. I love how beautiful it looks. How it sparkles in the sunlight, making it look like billions of diamonds instead of frozen water coating the grass.

However, the snow can’t compare to the beautiful girl struggling to keep up with me. Her head is bowed low, trying to keep the flakes out of her eyes and her arms crossed to keep her turquoise pea coat closed. I look back at her and smile. She hates the snow, but she insisted that she would stick it out just for me. That’s one of the many things I love about her. Her heart is full of kindness, always so giving and cheery. She always wants to make people feel special even if it risks her own happiness. I’ve never met someone who cares so much for the human race.

That’s why I fell in love her, only she doesn’t know it yet. That’s why I’m going to tell her, on this lovely December afternoon, under my favorite maple tree, right next to the snowman we built yesterday.

“Why are you dragging me out here? Didn’t you have fun yesterday?”

This makes me chuckle. “I always have a good time with you, but just come on! It’s right over there.” She groans and keeps following me, stepping in my footprints like a little kid.

When we reach the tree, the branches are caked with snow. It almost looks like a Hallmark greeting card. Our snowman still stands, his top hat is dusted with white and his carrot nose is a little crooked, so I fix it. She leans against the tree, arms still crossed. “This scarf is a little off, too.” I twist it around, so the tied part hangs in the front.

I walk over and lean against the tree, too, looking out at the rest of the park. Not too many other people are out right now. Wouldn’t surprise me though, it’s almost five, and the weather isn’t exactly favorited by others. “What did you bring me out here for Lou?” She asks again, her teeth chattering together.

Looking over, I see her eyes on mine. Rogue flakes are stuck in her hair. I bite my lip nervously. “I brought you out here because I-I wanted to say that..” My sea green eyes avert to the ground.

“You okay?” She asks a hint of amusement in her voice.

I flick my head back up and say it with the utmost confidence. “I’m in love with you, (Y/N)… I have been for a while, and I really didn’t know how to tell you.” She stares at me, eyes wide. “I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving for another tour without telling you how I feel. There are so many things that made me fall for you. All the things that you do.” I smile, my eyes watering from overwhelming emotion. “I just love you, okay?”

“Okay,” She says softly with a huge smile then plants her feather-soft lips on mine. I’ve been waiting for that for so long. It’s everything I imagined it would be and more. My hands lace around the small of her back tugging her closer to me while her tiny hands rest at the base of my shoulders. I smile in the kiss and pull away, resting her forehead on mine.

“I love you, Louis.” She whispers, her breaths of air visible from the cold.

“And I you,” I say. “I have to ask, will you be mine, love? I’ll feel better knowing that when I leave for tour that I’m yours.” I gathered her in my arms in a tight bear hug, planting pecks all over her face as she laughed.

She said yes.

These past five years have been the best I’ve ever had besides the ones I’ve spent with the boys. Sure, we’ve had some rough patches like every couple, but we’ve worked through everything because that’s what strong relationships do. We talk out our problems instead of shoving them aside. I know it’s hard for her with me being away for such long periods of time. I call her when I can and Skype with her so I can see her beautiful face again. However, when you see her sitting on the bed you share, on the verge of tears when she says how much she misses you and there’s not a single thing you can do about it; it’s tearing me into a million pieces.

It doesn’t help that every single tabloid in the world wants nothing to do, but kill your career and your flourishing love life. Lies spread on every single magazine and website. I absolutely hate it. I tell her all the time not to believe them, but sometimes she gets a little paranoid about them. I am hers and only hers. I haven’t looked at another woman like that since she became mine all those years ago.

Today is our six year anniversary, and I have quite the evening planned for the two of us. Since we just wrapped up our latest tour, I managed to get home just in time for it. “You’ll sure she’ll like this?” Liam asks me as he adjusts his bow tie.

“I sure hope so, even though she is a girl of simplicity.” I always go all out for this special day. Whether it’s a thousand roses, a fancy dinner, I always want to impress my lady. This year, I decided to celebrate where I first asked her to be my girlfriend; the huge maple tree in the park. The boys helped me decorate it with Christmas lights, so it sparkles like it did in the winter. I also rented out the whole place and had a grand piano and three microphones delivered to sit right beside the old thing. Petals of red roses are sprinkled across the top of it and lead right to the spot where the boys and I are.

I look at my watch and check the time, almost six o’ clock. “Where’s your girlfriend Niall?”

He shrugs his shoulders and adjusts his Irish stripped mic on the stand. “She’ll be here. You know she’s fashionably late a lot.”

My leg starts bouncing as I wait impatiently, sitting at the piano. Anxious to just start playing those keys for her. A hand comes down on my shoulder, and I look up to see Harry giving me a half smile. “You look nervous, but she’ll love it mate. Trust me.” I give him a curious look. “Since it’s you, she’ll love it.” His green eyes flick up, and he pats my shoulder again. “She’s here.”

He walks back over to his mic stand, and I turn and see her standing with her best friend; she wears a wine colored dress that cascades down to the floor. Her brown hair is curled loosely around her shoulders.

Absolutely breathtaking.

She opens her mouth to speak, but I hold out a finger to stop her, eager to get started. “First, I’d like to say that I love you and happy anniversary. Just listen.”

My fingers start playing the keys gracefully, and the boys start to sing each of their parts.

“If I could fly, I’d be coming right back home to you.

I think I might give up everything just ask me to.”

“Pay attention, I hope that you’re listening cause I let my guard down, right now I’m completely defenseless.”

“For your eyes only, I show you my heart for when you’re lonely and forget who you are. I’m missing half of me when we’re apart; now you know me for your eyes only. For your eyes only.”

“I’ve got scars even though they always can’t be seen. Pain get hard, but now you’re here, and I don’t feel a thing.” I glance over at her and smile after my verse. Her eyes glisten like the lights above her. I love her.

“Pay attention, I hope that you’re listening cause I let my guard down. Right now I’m completely defenseless.”

“For your eyes only, I show you my heart for when you’re lonely and forget who you are. I’m missing half of me when we’re apart; now you know me for your eyes only.

"I can feel your heart inside of mine; I feel it, I feel it. I’ve been going out of my mind; I feel it, I feel it. Know that I’m just wasting time and I hope that you don’t run from me.”

“For your eyes only,”

“I show you my heart.”

“For when you’re lonely,”

“And forget who you are.”

“I’m missing half of me when we’re apart; now you know me for your eyes only. For your eyes only, I show you my heart for when you’re lonely and forget who you are. I’m missing half of me when we’re apart; now you know me for your eyes only. For your eyes only. For your eyes only.”

The last note rings on my fingers then I stand up. “Thank you, boys.” They nod in acknowledgment, and I walk over to her. Tears are falling down her cheeks, she quickly wipes them away with her hand. I kiss her forehead, then I drop to one knee, finally pulling out the velvety black box I had stored in my tuxedo jacket. She lets out a gasp, her hands fly to her mouth. “(Y/N), you know I love you more than anything and that I’d do absolutely anything for you. You’re probably the most amazing woman I’ve ever met, and I love everything about you. So I’m asking you to marry me, love. Will you?” I tip open the lid, revealing the ring.

I happily slide it on her finger and kiss her with as much passion as I can muster. I hear the boys and her friend cheering behind us.

She said yes, again.

A year later, and we are back at that same maple tree under the same lights with the same people plus a few. I’m currently face-to-face with my beautiful bride, smiling uncontrollably. We just finished saying our vows, and the preacher has asked the most important question, starting with myself. “Louis, will you take (Y/N) to be your lawfully wedded wife?” My eyes drift down her body, and my smile grows. She looked damn good in that wine colored dress, but she looks even better in white. “I do,”

“And do you, (Y/N), take Louis to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

I love her.

“I do,” She says and giggles.

“Then I now present to your ladies and gentlemen, Mr. and Mrs. Tomlinson!” Our attendees cheer at their loudest, and I give her a tender kiss or two or three, then take her hand in mine and walk down the aisle to the limo waiting on the curb.

Instead of yes, she’s said I do, and that’s the most precious thing she’s ever said to me.

sunflowers, marigolds, buttercups and you

it’s carry on countdown day threeeee and that means pastel/punk aus !! i’m sorry this is so late but just know that i’m actually dead from all the sports i did today and i swear i can barely walk rip- anyways! here y’all are.

i hope you guys like it! in which simon&davy have a tattoo shop and baz&fiona own a flower shop, because i love role reversals as well as pastel/punk aus


baz doesn’t honestly know what he’s doing here. it’s been a part of his life for so long, he rarely stops to question it but today aunt fiona was on his back even more, ranting on and on, that it sort of just hit him again. what is he doing? why does he bother to be here? what is this thing that they’re doing and why does it matter so much to him?

the alleyway is chilly, but baz is wearing a very heavy, very knit, very pale pink scarf that just so happens to match his nails and his boots that are shiny and supple and very warm. still, he can see his breath. it’s nothing like the heat of the furnace inside the flower shop, the alley is basically the polar opposite.

it doesn’t smell like geraniums, it smells horribly like rotting garbage and possibly like dead flowers if anything. the brick on either side of him is rough and dusty, nothing like the walls of the shop which are always pristine whites and soft blues offset by all the spectrums of color flaring out from the vases sitting all around.

baz’s favorites are the marigolds, the flowers that are perhaps the most opposite to the shades he usually prefers, but for some strange reason, he can’t get past how much he adores them. small petals that come in every shade of the sun, and they make any one of his bouquets a little bit more cheerful, like he’s just added a touch of light.

today, with the orders he had to fill, he found that there were quite a few instances that he could insert the flower, which was nice, even though the brash yellows and oranges really did clash with his outfit.

his mittens also match in part his scarf, a soft-toned pink and he hates that he has to wipe his nose on them because they are by far his favorite.

would he just hurry up?

his break will definitely be ending soon, and fiona really doesn’t take tardiness lightly, besides the fact that baz already hates being late.

isn’t he always late? baz doesn’t think he can remember a day where he wasn’t the first one to their spot, so in the winter he’s always been half frozen by the time the boy arrived.

it annoys him. but then again, what can he do about it?

he already doesn’t really know what he’s doing here yet again, why he comes here almost every day to wait in the cold, hiding from fiona who’d probably be reaching the conclusion to her third rant on ‘david snow and his goddamn tattoo parlor’ by now?

‘jesus christ, can he just not?’

‘basilton, are you seeing this’

‘he’s decided to put his sign a full inch over the line between our properties, the absolute audacity of that man!’

baz finds it almost humorous, the feud and everything. how the pitch florists ended up sharing a building with ‘that menacing scumbag of a person, how dare he demand we pay more of our share of rent, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me’

but he can see his aunt’s point of view, he supposes. the rivalry, the utter hatred between their families isn’t really anything new, he’s heard all the stories. how david snow came in with his million dollar smile to a deal that his aunt had practically already taken, and turned it into an all out battle over who would get the lease on 6th street, right across from ebb’s coffee shop.

it was prime property, and fiona had wanted it so bad.

baz knew that it had been her dream, and then she had been forced to come to an agreement with this ‘inked up old bastard’ (not that fiona didn’t have any tattoos, baz hadn’t tried to argue this point with her, it really wouldn’t have made a difference) to split the building in half.

now they were constantly fighting, and baz considered himself to be right in the middle of it. not that it was a real war, just practically one of sabotage.

it just was what it was, and he had to play his role. this included doing extra work at the shop, when he already carried so much of the workload, and fiona sending him on her missions, which really never amounted to much other than a lot of screaming and threats that david snow was going to sue her for being a ‘crazy hag obsessed with her geraniums’.

for another part, baz was not to be friends with anyone related to the snow family, and if he ended up being, it was merely an advantage for espionage and further attacks, nothing personal or emotionally attached about the matter.

the thought makes baz snort. the visible puff of his breath in the air reminds him just how chilly it is and he tries to pull his collar up further.

the single rose bud that he’s carrying in his pocket is burning a hole in it, and baz dislikes the feeling because he rather likes this jacket. it’s long, and soft and a shade of cream that could almost match the snow.

he’s noticing that it has started to snow now, because he can feel the flakes melting on his eyelashes and he can see them settling on the ends of his hair, white against the the faint lilac that he’s dyed it.

fiona loves it, says it makes him match the lavender, the catmint, possibly the canterbury bells.

he’s just thinking that the snow is pretty appropriate, when he hears the footsteps he’s been waiting for and he looks around quickly-

eager, he’s always so eager. he hates it.

but when he sees those eyes- it’s always the eyes that strike him first, like he’s plunged into the coldest water- he forgets about all of that. the snow is settling in the curls of simon snow’s goldy hair and looking at him, is like getting the sun in your eyes.

his shoes crunch in the snow on the pavement, and baz starts to notice everything about him, all at once.

he’s too much, everyday, it’s just too much.

how he’s wearing these destroyed sneakers like it’s not below minus ten degrees outside, with the darkest shade of coal jeans, the knees blown out, and baz’s favorite shirt, simon knows that it’s his favorite, the one the simon designed himself, a sketch in black and white of dying sunflowers that makes it look like the flowers themselves are simply dissolving into nothingness, withering into oblivion.

baz’s attention goes to the piercings next, simon’s nose, where his septum sits a dusty silver, and his ears, where the beads and metals travel in uneven intervals all the way along each.

baz’s eyes always finish with simon’s tattoos last.

he knows the placement of every one of them by heart, and they play back in his mind for hours before he can fall asleep. his hands, dotted with lines and symbols making constellations, to his arms, to his neck and behind both his ears.

at this point he’s standing across from baz, just close enough to touch and his lips are hanging open, a pink that is terribly over saturated.

you’re so much, baz wants to say, you’re too much.

instead, he lets simon blink once more after his eyes give baz a scalding once over and state the obvious.

“it’s snowing.”

“i’d hoped you’d noticed,” baz says, and he feels like his chest might explode.

“i’m sorry i’m late,” simon says, and his voice is husky. he fiddles with his earring, the rose gold ones that clash with his entire aesthetic. the ones that baz had lent him.

baz can feel his knees grow weaker.

“i’ve come to expect it.” baz had been about to say, but then he doesn’t because simon says,

“i brought you this.” and he opens up his ungloved hands to reveal a little piece of hectograph paper. baz takes it in his hands as if it were a snowflake.

the sketch on it is incredibly detailed, yet tiny, a miniature image of a violin and a bow, with a rose vine wrapped gracefully around the horsehair.

simon smiles, which also clashes terribly with his outfit, punk boys do not smile, but it’s so much that baz feels his breath catch in his throat.

he can feel something inside him completely shatter. the pleasure of it so intense it could be mistaken for pain.

this is what you do to me.

he takes his mitten off slowly, and he can feel simon’s azure eyes watch his every movement. he reaches into his pocket.

“put out your hand,” he says, and “close your eyes.”

simon just stares at him for a moment, and baz has to laugh.

“i’m serious!”

fianlly, simon’s head seems to snap out of the clouds and he laughs too. it sounds like music.

“sorry,” he says, smiling sheepishly. “i got distracted.”

baz resits the urge to roll his eyes and then simon snow is holding out his palm, and baz is gently taking his wrist, touching the mole in between his thumb and forefinger. his hand is freezing.

simon shivers and baz can’t tell if it’s from the cold or-

then baz places the rosebud on simon’s skin and simon’s eyes fly open. he stares. baz stares at him.

for a moment, he looks a bit helpless.

and baz is pretty sure he looks the exact same way.

then they’re surging together and it’s impossible to tell whose lips met whose first because simon has his hands around baz’s waist and baz’s hand is fisted in simon’s hair.

his mouth is so hot and it tastes like rebellion, it burns baz’s tongue, at the same it’s like sugar, too sweet and too gentle and too much like baz is a fragile object which proceeds to shatters baz’s heart even further because simon snow has never had to be gentle to anything in his life.

he is hard stone, hard rock, black, and as much of a klutz than baz has even seen- it’s really quite astonishing how he manages to tattoo people so beautifully when he can’t even stand up straight.

even now, he’s pinned baz to the brick wall and he kisses like it’s the air he needs to breathe while he leans like he doesn’t have the ability to hold himself up.

their tongues clash before baz can kiss a line down the tattoos on simon’s neck, leaving simon in the perfect position to breathe low, breathless words into baz’s ear like-

“your eye shadow is like pixie dust, i can’t stop staring at you.”

and “jesus.”

and “fuck, baz, my god.”

and baz kisses the mole under simon’s left eye saying

“you know this is my favorite tattoo you have”

and simon will laugh, before baz’s hand on his thigh makes it turn into a moan. and he tries to speak, but he stumbles on the words-

“-t’s not a-a tattoo, i’ve- told you this… s’many times”

and baz just smiles against simon’s skin because he knows, of course he knows, but he likes asking as his way to remind the boy beneath his fingers that even without his piercings, his tattoos, his clothes, he’s the most beautiful boy that baz has ever seen.

all at once it is too much, but now, it’s also not enough.

and baz murmurs

“i’m going to have to leave soon.”

again, not getting far into the sentence because simon’s lips are at his jaw and the last words come out as more of a loss of breath than actual sounds.

simon’s moved down his neck and he smells like the rosebud that he’s still got clenched in his fist and baz tries to forget that he’s got to go back to work in a few minutes and push away the fact that this had ever happened.

“stay just five more minutes.” simon pleads into baz’s collarbone and baz snorts.

“fiona is going to kill me.” he says, but simon’s hands are now in his hair and it just feels so good.

simon’s quickly back at his mouth, they’re so close, and he’s kissing with such an urgency that baz fears he actually might fall over.

“fine, five minutes” he mumbles, and he can feel simon’s smile.

the snow keeps drifting around them, hands attempting desperately to relearn every part of each other in the seconds that pass so quick, and baz knows that there’s nothing that will ever feel as good as this.

simon says, “i don’t want you to leave.”

and baz kisses him deeper, because for all that he knows, this could be the last time. simon’s just moaning and sighing, like he’s all at once so beautifully happy, but all at once so devastatingly sad. his eyes look even more helpless, and baz’s heart agrees.

they break.

simon’s taking his hand and swinging it in between them, and then baz’s pulse jumps as he does something so oddly right, he kisses the back of baz’s hand.

“i’ll see you tomorrow,” he says, a declarative sentence. but it sounds more like a question even though baz can tell he’s trying not to let it.

and then he’s gone. the alleyway is just an alleyway.

the drawing in baz’s pocket just turns into something a friend gave him, the footprints in the snow where simon stood become someone else’s. baz tries to wipe the happiness off of his features as he opens the door to the shop, but it’s like trying to erase permanent marker with a white board eraser.

when he’s inside, and he’s warm again, and fiona’s said ‘welcome back’ and shoved the next list of his duties at him, he takes the sketch out of his pocket.

he considers that it might be loveliest thing that anyone’s ever given him, he knows it is. and he turns it over, he hadn’t noticed that there was writing on the back-

it says,

can you sneak over sometime? i’d really like to make this permanent.

-s.s

in simon snow’s horrendous handwriting, (baz is serious, he has no idea how this boy is an artist), and fiona comes back into the room, just as baz’s lips are turning up into a smile that takes over his whole face, his whole body and he can’t stop it.

she gives him a funny look.

“what’s so pleasant, basilton? has david snow decided finally to close up shop?”

he just looks at her, because he can’t speak, because simon snow is too much.

simon snow, the only one boy in the world he’s not allowed to have.

how does he ever manage to leave him everyday, how does he ever manage to let go?

simon snow.

his rosebud boy.

So This is Contentment

With autumn rolling in quickly, James is forced to come in from his garden earlier each day. The leaves are shaking off the trees to leave barren branches behind, and even with his heavy fur coat and knitted sweater, Walther doesn’t like staying out when the winds pick up. James barely feels it until his ears and nose begin to burn, and then he comes in to thaw by the fire.

It’s been some hours since he last saw Simon, and James comes inside to take a hot shower before he does anything else. The cottage smells like autumn with a hearty stew in the crock pot and fresh baked potatoes for a side. Q has even managed to bake a pie, and James’s mouth waters as he strides through their house. A shower, some scotch, a heavy dinner, and then a chance to kick back and relax. But he’s slightly concerned now that he doesn’t see his husband anywhere.

Until he reaches the bedroom.

Q is fast asleep on top of the covers with Gadget on the pillow and Walther over his legs. There’s a book open on his chest, and his glasses are askew. He’s snoring softly (which he still denies despite that one time when James recorded him). James finds he’s smiling as he stops by the bed to press a kiss to Simon’s temple. Simon sniffles and shifts in his sleep but doesn’t wake.

James showers and brushes his teeth quickly and changes into a set of plaid flannel pyjamas that had been a Christmas gift the previous year. They’re cozy and snug, so when he lays down on the bed next to his husband, he brings his own natural warmth along with the added warmth of the flannel. He’s hungry, but it can wait. He rarely gets a chance to just hold Simon, to watch him sleep and see him so rested and unworried.

Ten years into his own retirement had James finally finding a rhythm. He still struggles with nightmares, but for the most part, he keeps busy which allays them. Q has only been retired for two years, and they’ve been married for almost three. James gently runs a finger over the wedding ring on Simon’s hand and smiles. His own ring is warm to his body, and his left hand rests on Simon’s.

Dinner will keep. There will be many meals over the coming years. But right now, it seems like the number of times he will get to just hold Simon and watch him sleep have a set number. And he would much rather have Simon in his arms.


For @timetospy

hoo boy friends the mental illness train never stops does just, hoo hoooooo boy howdy, gol’ dang. *slaps engineer cap over knee, heavy knit leather gloves stained by coal and smoke and burns* boy, doggy hoo howdy. i tell you hwhat.

anonymous asked:

Hello, may I request the chocobros and what their favorite seasons are? What would they do with their s/o during those seasons?

What a lovely prompt, nonny! Thank you for this!

Gladiolus:

If asked, Gladiolus would probably claim to love all of the seasons equally, but there’s a little part of him at his happiest during spring.

Training never lets up, come rain or shine, but after the brutal cold of the winter and after the inevitable feasting over the festival, it’s a relief once the days begin to warm up and he gets to go out jogging again. Sometimes he’ll take his significant other out too, but he’d much rather take them on a date to the park to see the flowers and trees in first bloom.

It’s still a little chilly in Insomnia in the spring, so he’ll quite happily offer his hoodie to his loved one, helping them slip it on and zipping it all the way up to their chin, before pressing an affectionate kiss to the tip of their nose.

His birthday is in April, and while he doesn’t like to make a big deal of it he’s glad at least that it’s during spring. Rather than have a big party, he’d much sooner take his significant other to feed the ducks (only oats and barley, of course — never bread!)

Prompto:

Prompto is, unsurprisingly, a summer child. He loves the freedom the weather gives him to wear his favourite clothes; he loves the way the sun brings out the freckles in a spray across his nose.

His favourite part of the summer, though, is getting to spend it with the person he loves. Whether it’s venturing off to the fairground together to wander hand-in-hand, admiring the sights and daring each other to go on increasingly scary rides, or just chilling out in the backyard with a jug of ice-cold lemonade, it doesn’t matter — he just loves the sun, the clear blue skies, and the balmy nights.

When his significant other bemoans the lack of beaches within the walls of Insomnia, he decides to bring the charm of Galdin Quay to them: a children’s play pit, filled with bagged sand from the gardening store; tacky fake palm plants; a paddling pool topped up with tap water. He knows it’s not the same, but he hopes his favourite person appreciates it nonetheless.

After all, that paddling pool took hours to fill.

Ignis:

Whether it’s the chill in the air or the smell of spiced coffee, Ignis is all about autumn. He loves those nights when it’s just cool enough to bundle up in heavy knitted sweaters; when Halloween swings around, he can be found scouring the seasonal market for the perfect pumpkin, searching near and far even as the cold turns his cheeks pink.

There’s no question of who he wants to carve pumpkins with, of course, and as he and his loved one etch silly faces into their jack-o-lanterns (his are immaculate, of course), he adores sharing stories of trick-or-treating as a child.

On those days when the rain keeps everyone shut indoors, he lights a fire and scatters candles around the room, and he and his partner spend the day sitting cosily side-by-side on the couch. He drapes them both in a knitted blanket as they sit in comfortable, affectionate silence, each reading their favourite novels.

Noctis:

In spite of the cold, in spite of the short days and long nights, Noctis loves winter.

He loves it when he leaves the Citadel and there’s a little crunch of frost underfoot; he loves it when the ice sparkles like glass on the branches of barren trees, reminding him so much of the crystals that accompany the Armiger when his father summons from it.

He loves having an excuse for a lie-in, too, when the sun hasn’t quite risen and the streetlights still warm the city with their glow; he loves cuddling up in bed with his partner and watching crappy TV until they finally have to drag themselves out from under the covers and start the day.

When he can, he brings his loved one to the local rink for ice skating — surprisingly, he’s really good! Part of his etiquette lessons as a child consisted of learning formal dance, and as a result he picked up skating very easily in his youth. He’ll take things slowly if he knows his partner isn’t confident, though; he’ll hold their hand and lead them across the ice, carefully teaching them little twirls until they get the hang of it.

After, he’ll buy two hot cocoas with extra cream and marshmallows, and they’ll sit watching the other skaters frolic across the ice.

“Oh, my sad sullen boy… My poor lonely son…”

I’ve been re-reading ASOIAF, and have been screaming about the One True King (Stannis) to all who will listen, and I’m still super raw about his and Cressen’s relationship, so I drew this in between commissions, and also wrote something that you’ll find under the cut.

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I’ve got you

Pairing : Rafa x Reader

Warning: Self harm, depression, descriptions of cutting, blood

Word Count: 1861

Tags: @musicalmoriarty @la-frenchiest-frite @parksxo

You never knew exactly when all this started. It was something that came and went. One day you’d be fine, not a problem, then you’d be sitting on your floor crying, ready to give up. Tonight was on of the latter. 

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