his pace

badwolf626  asked:

For the writing prompt 19. “Promise me” for Jaye & Cullen?

Pronunciation key for those who don’t know: Jaoghaire-Jeer-ee. Sorry I have difficult names for my characters xD Thank you for prompting me, dearie ^^

           Cullen was pacing through his office. It’d been four hours since he’d asked Jaoghaire to come meet him here so they could talk. They would all be trekking to Adamant soon, but he wanted to get what was on his mind out now before they were surrounded by everyone without a chance to be alone. He was admittedly a little grouchy, if only because a couple messengers had barged into his office with more paperwork from Leliana and Josephine. He thought it was her each time, and after each disturbance he was growing more and more irritated.

           He knew her time was valuable too despite not being Inquisitor. She’d laughed about the fact that someone as irresponsible as she had been given such responsibilities, but he didn’t think it was silly at all. She had a knack for strategy, an eye for sneaking and what weak points places had. She had actually been the one to suggest the trebuchets to start the siege on the impenetrable Adamant and he was quite impressed. She said she’d read a book once that used that strategy and shrugged it off.

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Saddle fitter came out with a demo today



Justin lunged me on him, so not quite a proper ride but still :P but really, this horse hasn’t been ridden in 2 months and i hop on for a lunge lesson and he’s just chill? He’s such a good egg. I am so glad we have this resource up our sleeve. When our saddle is here we will start back that way to get me confident and to just get a positive association with me on his back again. And then onwards and upwards. I am so ecstatic from just sitting on my horse and feeling how much nicer his paces are than this school pony I’ve been riding

But yeah 4 weeks until we get a custom Black Country Eloquence in my hot little hands! I just hope I can sell my KN… I’ve had a look online and the Symphonies seem hard to sell but the Melodies don’t seem quite so bad so maybe I can get closeish to what I paid? But really, 3.9k for a custom is pretty amazing, normally 6k + through most saddlers. So I should just stop complaining. And the interest rates are so shit that although I’ll be taking money out of my savings to pay for it (it’s one of those accounts with an ‘extra high’ interest rate if you don’t take any money out that month), I’ll only be losing like $12 for one month lol.

Anyway, I love my pony. I just want him to be happy, I’m trying so hard. Just be happy pls Arthur.


Anonymous: Do you do Hotch x Reid fics? If so can you do one where Reid has been kidnapped and Hotch is a mess and rossi helps him through it. Reid is resued after being tourtured. (Lots of angst please)

Originally posted by zugzwangcm

Aaron paced around his cluttered office, shaking hands pulling at his dark, messy hair while David’s deep eyes speculated his stressed action’s.

“We’ll find him, Aaron.” David comforted, standing up to calm the stress-ridden man.

“You can’t say that.” Aaron growled as he continued to aimlessly pace, legs threatening to fall beneath his trembling form.

“How many times have we found the unsub before anything major happened? He will be fine, Aaron. He’s strong.” David continued, trying to persuade the frantic man.

“But Spencer helped in those cases, right now we…we don’t have him.” Aaron quivered, clenching his pale fists.

“And we will have Spencer back with us, I promise but right now we need to do our job.” Rossi commanded, voice growing stern in attempt to pull Aaron from his wandering mind. Aaron’s broken expression met David, tears threatening to crawl down his face.

“I-I can’t do this without him.” Aaron cried, collapsing into the office chair while burying his damp face in his trembling hands. David took a deep breath but the deathly silence was soon interrupted by Penelope bursting through his dull office.

“Sir, I have a location!” But Aaron remained, slouched in his seat, fingers trembling while he rubbed his tired eyes.

Aaron stormed through the narrow, filthy corridors, eyes frantically searching for Spencer until he heard a blistering shot from David’s direction. 

“Spence,” He whispered before running in the direction of the death-defying shot, he was tragically met by Spencer knelt in the mug, blood painted across his bruised face with deep cuts scattered across his limp body. Aaron threw himself beside the struggling form, shaking hands sweeping his blood-stained, knotted hair from his incredibly pale face.

“A-Aaron,” Spencer croaked, eyes wide with fear but his limbs weak on the ground.

“I’m here,” Aaron comforted, hands still in his curly hair.

“N-no, Aaron!” Spencer warned but within moments, Aarons vision grew black as a sharp pain grew strong on the back of his head. Spencer’s hooded eyes parted at the sight of Aaron’s blacked out body.

“A-Aaron,” Spencer cried, stretching his fingers to grip Aaron’s hand.


Nathan shivered as he meandered towards the local tavern, a thick layer of snowflakes encrusting the top of his head.
It had been quite awhile since he’d had his last taste of alcohol, and the jailor was looking forward to drinking away the events of the previous night. Quickening his pace, the man threw himself at the door of the bustling establishment and made his way inside. His gaze snapped to a seat near the back. Perfect. Striding over, he frowned as he spotted the familiar face that occupied the chair beside his. It was of the same man he jailed a week back, the one who claimed to be a bodyguard.
Nathan plopped down and turned his head to speak.

“So you come to this bar too, eh?” He raised an eyebrow, hoping that the guy would recognize him.

Crossed Paths (A Grelliam Ficlet)


Maybe a little thing of Grell and William meeting briefly during their human lives?

The autumn wind whipped through the streets; jostling bits of trash and forgotten papers and tugging at the clothes of the people. People held tightly on to their hats and clothes in fear the articles would blow away, so most were not noticing surroundings. This was especially true of one young man.

William T. Spears walked with a steady, determined pace, but his heart was not in his journey. He was walking to his father’s office, just as he did everyday. This was life. He went to work where he buried himself beneath papers and figures. He was good at organizing, but each day he felt like he was getting more and more loss in the process. He was slowly being suffocated to death without having ever been alive. He sighed softly; the sound slipping from his mouth and dancing on the cool wind. As much as he wanted escape, he truly saw no way out.

He was so lost in his own thought that he didn’t notice the slim form running his way until they collided. With a surprised nose, the other person fell backwards onto the ground as several packages slipped from their grasp. “I’m sorry,” William said, as he picked up a package and extended his hand to help the other person to their feet.

“That’s okay,” the stranger replied with a shaky voice, “I was in a hu..hurry, and I wasn’t wa…watching where I was going. It is all my fault. I’m so sorry.” With those stuttering words, she took his hand and shyly looked up.

Upon first glance, she seemed like such a nervous almost mousy person with straight brown hair, pale green eyes, and a splattering of freckles across the pale nose and cheeks, but William saw something else in the depths of those eyes. Beneath the nervousness and ill fitting attire, he saw a flash of a secret fire. There was passion and excitement in the depths of those irises, and William felt himself drawn in. He wanted to know those secrets, although he had no idea of how to even begin.

“My name is William,” he said, as he took her hand, “William T. Spears.”

“Grell Sutcliff,” she replied as a blush stained her cheeks, “I’m very sorry, William, but I have to run. I’m terribly late already.” With a nod of the head, she reclaimed her package before hurrying off down the street. William watched as she turned the corner and disappeared from sight.

The excitement was already gone, and he stuffed his hands into his pockets before continuing on his way. He knew that he probably would never cross paths with Grell again, and that caused his heart to ache.

listen… i am here for zayn doing what he’s always wanted to do at his his own pace and his own way, i am here for niall being to broadcast his own voice after being limited for so long, i am here for harry branching out into all of the things he’s wanted to do, i am here for liam slowly and carefully putting together his own materpiece and i am sure as hell here for louis finding his way after being kicked around and put down for so long. i am here for each and every single one of those five boys and that’s never going to change

“Some things are better left unsaid, you know?”

“Like what?” He asked, without slowing down his pace. I watched as his back getting far away.

“Like goodbye..”

Like I love you.
—  Excerpt from the book I’ll never write #45
Random headcanon

All of Joker’s clothes are custom made and Harley is in charge of getting his measurements after he ended up murdering the last few people who tried it because he was offended that they “thought they were allowed to touch me”

101, of course, looks much the same when you flip it on its head.

(please note, this isn’t my observation, just my graphic. Others have already pointed this out, on reddit [x] and here on tumblr [x])


“The best part of the trip.” (Halt and Catch Fire 3x10)

Joe MacMillan, visionary and storyteller.

spn fic: lapse

lapse; 1k, dean and his 12x11 amnesia, inspired by the new promo. deancas if you squint very, very hard.

His name. He has to remember his name.


Dean paces the length of the motel room. It’s small and dirty; the air is heavy with old cigarette smoke and the carpet feels gritty and stiff under his boots. The vacancy sign is buzzing through the gap in the curtains, cutting a dull, red stripe across the beds. Dean would rather be outside, but Sam ─ his brother, Sam is his brother ─ said he shouldn’t leave until they get this figured out. He isn’t sure what needs figuring out, or why Sam needed two knives and a gun.

They have a lot of weapons ─ shotguns, pistols, stakes, daggers, knives. Dean walks over to the kitchen counter and pokes around inside the bag Sam left behind. There’s an old, rusty crowbar, and an nearly-empty bottle of butane, and an industrial-sized canister of salt. Dean runs his fingers over one of the guns ─ a Colt forty-five with a nickel-plated barrel. He picks it up and tucks it into the back of his jeans. It feels like it belongs there, but he ─ he doesn’t know why. After a moment, he shakes his head and puts it back.

He glances at the door. A note is taped below the check-out times, reminding him to stay inside. It’s signed “Sam.” Sam ─ Sam is his brother. Dean tries to remember it, but it comes to him in a jumble. He’s wrapping a bandage around Sam’s hand. He’s grabbing at Sam’s arm, trying to pull him out of a room with blood on the floor. He’s setting off fireworks in an empty field. He’s kissing a woman with dark hair and red eyes. She’s beautiful, but her tongue tastes like a burnt match.

“Winchester,” he says carefully. “My name is Dean Winchester.”

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anonymous asked:

What do you tbink d+p are like in bed?


I think Dan would be a lot of things when it came to sex. He’d be passionate, kissing and touching and loud moans. He’d lace his fingers through the back of Phil’s hair, his legs tight around his hips, long strung out moans pouring out from Phil’s hitting his spot over and over again. He’d be sensual, riding Phil, rolling his hips slowly, throwing his head back in pleasure. He’d whine, whimpering and grabbing Phil’s hands both in his, looking at him and biting his lip hard enough to draw blood as he got closer and closer, his slow pace increasing as he bounce, trying to push himself over the edge. He’d be kinky too, on days he wasn’t particularly romantic, he’d bend over as much as possible, teasing Phil where ever they went, trying his best to get a hard rough fuck from his daddy. When he finally got it he’d be so vocal, begging and pleading pathetically for more, fucking himself back, Phil’s hand between his shoulder blades to keep him down as he fucked him harder and harder, punishing him with harsh hits against his ass and thighs, knowing dan loved it.


Phil would have a normal sex drive, but dan drives him crazy. On normal days, he’s a pretty vanilla person, striking Dan’s thighs, listening to his moaning, fucking him slow with languid movements d this hips. Sometimes, Dan woke up after sleeping in panties. His shirt rode up, his ass on full display, his thighs marked purple from nights before and soft snores coming from his mouth, and Phil would loose it. He’d kiss dan heatedly, waking him up as attacking his mouth instantly, pushing his tongue passed his lips. He’d be forceful, spreading Dan’s legs apart and climbing between them, pinning the younger male with all his weight and grinding hard into him, kissing and exploring Dan’s mouth and hearing his small gaps and whimpers, minutes later roughly fucking into him, a hand wrapped around his throat as he pounded in. Fucking him like this every time Dan teased, every time he was bad, every time he was just so hot Phil couldn’t take it.

A/N: I like writing these tbh. Send me more things like this this is fun to write!!! Also update I wrote this to Often 😂 I’m so not sorry. It’s Ashton’s fault tbh.