hot splash

anonymous asked:

Okay I need to ask. Why do YOU write?

I grew up surrounded by words, quite literally. By the time I was six months old my parents had taped words to every surface in the house, so the walls said “wall” the window said “window” and so on so forth. I still don’t know how they managed to get the cat involved but some things are meant to be wondered at.

But for the next six years the world was covered in words, as first I learned to read, and then my brother. I dare say if you move some furniture in my parents house to this day you will find a faded piece of paper that says “shelf” or “bookcase” on it. It was a sad day when they were taken down, they were like old friends. But by then the magic had already worked. I was able to look at the world and see words, whether they were printed there or not.

I was four when I sat down to consciously write my first story. I remember it vividly because I had my bright yellow Cadburys Caramel mug, that had the purple flowing font on the side with the bunny rabbit lady on it. It was filled with “baby tea”— mostly hot milk with a splash of tea from the pot to give it color— and I was holding it in both hands, sitting at the little “art” table dad had built for me in the corner so I had a place to sit and scribble that wasn’t the walls. Contemplating my next masterpiece I looked around the room for inspiration. Would it be an exploration of color through pinky finger painting only? Or would it be the greatest macaroni interpretation of a dog we’d ever seen? Sadly we’ll never know how this might have worked out, as at that very moment, mum came in holding a crystal mobile and hung it up on the window sill. This in turn had the effect of creating a living, dancing rainbow in the living room, and something in my brain short fused.

That was the day I learned the word “iridescent”. It was like learning the language of angels.

After that I was always scribbling something. My school books were a mess of words, crammed into margins and on back pages. I was always in trouble for letting my mind “wander into whimsy.” Once I got a report card that said “fantastical leanings towards flights of fancy.” It was meant as criticism, but dad still has it framed in the office.

Then there came the time a few years later when I was reading the Hobbit with dad, and I turned to him quite seriously and asked “where are all the girl hobbits?” and dad hemmed and hawed before eventually telling me “they’re in another book, darling…having their own adventure…” and I accepted this and settled back down to let him finish the chapter. He probably thought I forgot about it until that weekend I marched up to the Librarian and asked for “the girl hobbit book please”, which was met with much confusion and my dad rushing over to tell me they probably wouldn’t have it yet because it was very rare. A few weeks later, dad handed me something. It was sheaves of paper bound together by string. It was, he told me, a very exclusive copy of the girl hobbit book.

I still have it somewhere, back home. Probably on a shelf somewhere that still says “shelf”.

And sweet, naive thing that I was, I believed him. It wasn’t until later on and someone else popped my bubble, that I realized dad, not Tolkien, had written it. And oh I was furious, furious because the story had been so good and because dad had lied about not writing it himself. But that small bubbling anger was nothing compared to the heat inside my brain when my dad confessed he’d tried without much success to find books I might like with girls in them. All the heroes were boys, you see. It made me quite tearful actually, that no one had ever thought that someone like me could go off on an adventure and save the world, when I knew it to be a blatant lie. Old Mrs McDougall across the street had been a land girl and saved a man shot down from his spitfire. Mrs Mitchell had been the emergency coordinator and saved people from burning buildings when the Nazis bombed the shipyards, and her skin was all bubbled and tightly pulled across the left side of her face because of it and her hands didn’t quite work because she’d gripped burning metal to try and free the men inside. Those, were heroes. But we never learned about them at school. We only learned about kings and tyrants and the kind of heavily filtered history that lead you to believe that women were in there somewhere, but only in the same sense that a wall has paint on it.

And now my books, my lovely wonderful books, where you could travel through space and time or climb up volcanoes to throw rings inside and save the world…those wonderful colorful worlds that spoke the language of angels, were just the same.

I was ready to cry and be defeated about it until dad, raising his eyebrows at me and offering me a notebook, said, “well, maybe someone ought to write one.”

And you likely know the rest by now. But in short I write because there are stories to be told. I write because it’s the closest I’ll ever be to how the word iridescent feels. I look at the world and I see words, dancing like rainbows, singing like angels.

There’s words everywhere. I’m just scribbling them down.

anonymous asked:

I wish you would write a fic about Scott getting werewolf drunk with Derek and accidentally letting it slip that Stiles is on love with Derek. (In honor of your drinking) ;)

“Scott, I’m going to kill you!”

The door of his apartment banged open and for the first time in years, Scott jumped in shock. His coffee mug hit the kitchen tile and shattered, piping hot coffee splashed over his bare feet, and he suddenly remembered Stiles saying at some point that he was learning how to mask his presence from werewolves.

Apparently he mastered that particular skill.

And how to magically and silently open a deadbolt.

Normally Scott would pick up Stiles’ familiar heartbeat two floors down, and his jeep while it was still a ways down the road, but this time, there had been nothing. No heartbeat, no jeep, not even footsteps in the hallway—until suddenly there was everything. Elevated heart rate, clouds of anger wafting through the apartment, Stiles stomping closer, furious for some reason, and Scott could do nothing to prepare himself because for the first time in his life, he was hungover.

Really hungover.

He was dying, because just the night before, he discovered in the stupidest way possible that yes, werewolves could get drunk with the right tools and a little determination. And the right tool was some crazy strong alcohol Stiles brought back from Poland last year that could punch straight through even an alpha werewolf’s metabolism. And what did he do with that discovery?

Shots.

Like a college freshman away from home for the first time, buckling under immense peer pressure.

He was hungover, he was dying, and he was an idiot.

An idiot who Stiles was apparently about to murder, judging by his murderous expression when he turned the corner and locked his wild, murderous gaze on Scott. His hair was tugged up in every direction, he’d probably slept in that loose and stretched shirt, and he had the manic energy of a man who’d been roaming the streets looking for vengeance.

It had been years since Scott last felt any kind of inkling of fear towards his best friend, but right then, standing in his underwear in a puddle of hot coffee, feeling nauseous and fuzzy and somehow bloated—he was horribly aware of the mountain ash that Stiles always had on him. It was the emissary’s favorite threat towards werewolves who pissed him off, and while he rarely ever followed through with it, that murderous face promised no empty threats. Just revenge.

Scott stepped out of the puddle of hot coffee. That was really all he could do to improve the situation.

“You told him,” Stiles accused, eyes narrowed with rage as he stalked closer. “You actually told him, I can’t believe you would tell him!”

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Vixen Geyser in Yellowstone’s Norris Geyser Basin

171210 Pepero fansign: Kyungsoo fanaccounts

@dyodyo_chu: When I saw Kyungsoo, I told him I enjoyed his movie and that I looked forward to the other projects he would be on, so he bowed and said thank you TTT I told him I was curious about Meokmul and Huchu and asked if he could post pictures of them when he had the time, and he said he would TT

@kjybbhkjd: I asked Kyungsoo for a blessing for 2018!! Kyungsoo: Please don’t get stressed…!!!! He said that Meokmul and Huchu both grew a little bigger than what was on their papers….

@jong_in_jongout
Me: By any chance, have you thought about making a Sa-keul?
KS: Sa-keul? What’s that?
Me: (enunciating) A Soundcloud
KS: What.. do you do with that?
Me: Ah (just realizing he doesn’t know) it’s somewhere you can upload the songs that you sing
KS: (eyes wide, eyebrows raised) Aahh yes!! I will

@94sh0412:
Me: Hello TT Could you say your closing comment [from the elyxion invitation video]? When countless nights and stars have passed..
KS: Aahh, when countless nights and stars have passed..
(Silence) ……….
Me: Until the day we meet again TT
KS: (laughs) Until the day we meet again
Me: TTTTT Thank you TTTTT

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Feel the Fear and Do it Anyway (Bill Skarsgard X Reader)

Requested: Hello!! :) hope you’re having a great day! I was wondering if you could make an imagine where you are watching ‘IT’ for the first time with Bill but you hate clowns. Kept up the good work!

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1665

A/N: Thanks for requesting hopefully this is what you wanted - I know it is a bit different, but I really enjoyed writing this!

Originally posted by eternalmikaelson

All her life, Y/N saw herself as a coward. She was a coward during the first grade spelling bee, during every exam or test, during her first date, during college tours, during everything. During every somewhat challenging situation her heart would begin to race, her hands would become clammy, and her mouth would become ickily dry. No matter how much she recited ‘this too shall pass’ to herself, the mantra never seemed to stick.

A few years back, Y/N decided to make peace with her cowardice and therefore come to terms that she was just destined to lead a boring, dull life. No airplanes (it could crash!), no public-speaking (what would everyone think of her?!), no walking atop the space needle (heights!). Which was fine. It was fine with her.

This epiphany (as it was just her luck) took place a year before Bill entered her life. A daring and fearless character, hell, the man was a regular Nik Wallenda. While she spent her days alone answering phones in a cubicle, he was out pursing his dream in one of the most difficult industries out there. If she ever asked him about it, she knew he’d laugh. He’d clutch his stomach and laugh aloud and say, “Yes how courageous of me to go to forty auditions a week and get none of them”. She wouldn’t reply, but in her head she would think, that is exactly my point.

Her cowardice was even the root of most of their arguments. Even though the majority of their disagreements dealt with silly things like forgetting to buy Bill’s peach smelling soap or printer ink, some, however, were very much real. Those debates could be so loud it rattled the ceiling above them and quaked the floor beneath them.

When Bill got the role of Pennywise the argument they had was earth shattering.

“I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU’RE TELLING ME NOT TO TAKE THIS! I’VE BEEN WAITING FOR SOMETHING LIKE THIS FOR MY ENTIRE CAREER!” Bill yelled, he was blue in the face already from screaming and he had stretched to his full height of 6’4. He was still dressed in his plaid yellow pajama pants and an old t-shirt from Y/N’s cousin’s wedding (‘Laura and Tom Forever’ was hardly visible now that he had worn it and washed it countless times). He reached over Y/N’s shoulder and roughly poured coffee into his mug. The hot coffee splashed all over the floor, burning the tips of Y/N’s toes.

“I’M NOT SAYING THAT YOU SHOULDN’T TAKE IT, BILL!” Y/N countered, ignoring the dull pain in her toes. “I’M SAYING THAT MAYBE YOU SHOULD THINK TWICE ABOUT HOW GREAT THIS IS! HOW OFTEN DO YOU THINK WE’LL SEE EACH OTHER ONCE FILMING STARTS HM? ONCE A WEEK? THAT - IS - NOT - GOOD - ENOUGH!” The thing about Y/N (and most cowards for that matter) was that she could never let an argument go. Once she started she was like a ball rolling down a hill. She couldn’t ever walk away for fear of what might happen if she did; would he walk away too?

“I THINK WE’LL WORK IT OUT! HONESTLY YOU’RE JUST BEING SELFISH AS ALWAYS!” Bill screeched back, but as he used his arms to gesture the rest of the coffee in the mug spilt onto the floor. Y/N jumped and retreated but, if she were to be honest, she wasn’t quite sure if it was because of the coffee or because of the vile in Bill’s words. Selfish as always, he had said. Though they had made up eventually, after cleaning the coffee and apologizing to one another profusely, she couldn’t get those words out of the back of her mind. Like a ghost they followed her, when Bill came home for the first time since filming started, Selfish as always, when she met the cast of the Loser’s Club, Selfish as always, when Y/N went to set to see Bill, Selfish as always. Perhaps it was in the nature of the cowards, to be selfish, always fearing the ultimate thing as they watched their own backs.

So Y/N tried to make peace with that development too.

“Hey honey,” Bill murmured as he leant down to peck Y/N’s buttery lips. She had just gotten off the plane, her pillow still hanging around her neck and headphones spilling from her ears, she lugged a heavy carry on bag. “Let me get that for you,” Bill said, still just as quiet as he attempted to grab the handle of the case but Y/N immediately used her right hand to pull it away from his helpful grasp.

“I got it babe,” Y/N replied, rubbing her boyfriend’s shoulder comfortingly with her free hand. He looked at her, eyebrows furrowed, lips apart for only a moment, before shaking it off and telling her all about his day (“I told you about how I was nervous for that scene but Andy said to just…”). Y/N listened carefully, trying to hang onto every word to ask him about later. As Bill spoke on and on and on, Y/N nodded, laughed, smiled at what she hoped were all appropriate times. She dragged her suitcase along the cold floor of the airport, finally reaching the sliding glass entrance doors which revealed a cloudy scene. There were plenty of places she would’ve rather been then cloudy and rainy Vancouver (take for example sunny California), but Bill had wanted her here to experience the full screening of IT with the rest of the cast and crew. Therefore here she was.

Once they reached Bill’s car, Bill, helpful bugger that he was, took Y/N’s suitcase, opened the car door for her, and buckled her seatbelt. Selfish as al-. She stopped herself from thinking the rest, breath in, breath out. Breath in, breath out. She had been concentrating so much so on her breathing that, before she could realize it, she was sitting in front of a big blank movie screen in a small, freezing theater. She could slightly remember going to bed the night before, being pulled by the waist into Bill’s long and strong arms. She could slightly remember getting dressed this morning, being prepped on what she could and could not reveal to the public about the movie (like she’d be able to talk to any sort of media).

As the introduction music played and the screen blinked to life, Bill wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into him like he had done last night. He looked at her, smile wider than Y/N had ever seen before and whispered in her ear (as to not to disturb anyone else in the theater), “Are you excited?” Y/N quickly nodded back, smiling just as wide (but not nearly as genuine), before motioning for him to hush.

As the movie rolled on, the happiness from the cast and crew was palpable, which was ironic considering the dark subject of the film. Bill kept on leaning in to whisper things in her ear and nudge her to let her know to pay attention at certain bits. Y/N was so proud of him. It was truly beautiful to know how talented the person one loves is, but as the scenes played on she couldn’t help herself but tear a bit. She was not necessarily afraid of the movie. Pennywise, for all intents and purposes was her boyfriend, she had seen him in and out of costume a number of times. Regardless, by the time Bill was on screen climbing out from a refrigerator, Y/N couldn’t help but silently sob. Wet, full, heavy tears rolled down her cheeks and pooled into her lap. Selfish as always, Y/N remembered as she rubbed her nose with the back of her sweater, creating a pitiful sniffle that alerted Bill to look at her.

“Y/N, ar-are you crying?” Bill asked, reaching up to touch her cheek with pads of his fingertips. She looked away from him, causing his arm to fall from her face. “Y/N?” He repeated, and she could feel his looming figure ghost over her shoulder. She took a shaky breath in, letting it rattle her rib cage, before grabbing her coat and leaving the small cinema entirely. She pushed her way out of the double doors, and covered her face with her hands, as tears after tears pour from her ducts.

“Y/N! Y/N WHAT THE HELL!” She could hear her boyfriend shout from in the theater, but she ignored it. She simply leant against the wall and sank. Sank to the floor.

“Y/N WHAT - WHAT - oh.” He stopped as he saw her state. Sunken. “What happened? What - is- is it movie?” He didn’t crouch on his knees to comfort her like she had expected him to, rather he just stood aloof.

She wiped tears from her soft cheek and laughed sardonically. “No n-.”

“Then what is it? Why are you -?” Bill asked, Y/N could sense the strain and panic rising in his voice. He waited for a few moments shuffling back and forth on his heels awkwardly as he awaited a response.

“BECAUSE!” She finally yelled, cutting the tension, causing more wet hot drops to squeeze out. “I’m TRYING NOT to be ‘selfish as always’ and I’m TRYING to brave, because I can see how much you love this but - but..” She trailed off, to have the things she have been thinking about over the course of the last year finally vocalize was a relief but she couldn’t help but to stop once she saw Bill crestfallen.

“But what?” Bill whimpered so quietly Y/N wasn’t sure she had actually heard it.

“But I can’t.” She said, pushing herself off the wall and standing up. Tears still streamed down her face and she could tell that her eyes were red and puffy, but she got up anyhow and left.

Can I keep you? Pt. 1

(A/N) I decided it’s time to post this thingy! I hope you enjoy it and if you want to be tagged, let me know! This is also going to be a multi chapter fic and will be posted on thursday! I hope I didn’t just jinx us! *fingers crossed*

Summary:
Imagine being Tony’s adoptive daughter no one knows about because you’re studying abroad. One day you come home without saying a word and all the Avengers are confused by your appearance and especially Loki being quite smitten by you. The Avengers, especially Natasha being very protective of you when they notice the tricksters’ interest in you. You on the other side, being the curious girl you always were, wanted to know more about the mysterious guy and the world he comes from.

Pairings: Loki x Reader ; Tony Stark x daugther!Reader

Warnings: swearing

Original: here

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@hello-i-dont-have-a-name
@jaihardy
@sammysgirl1997
@magellan-88
@purplekitten30

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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Originally posted by littlemisssyreid

Tip from my side: if your dad, mum or any other relative is a super hero, especially if he is a part of the Avengers, never forget that! I did, and that lead to me standing in the living room of my adoptive father, Tony, and having various weapons pointed at me.
You see, I’m currently having troubles at my college and decided to take a break and visit my father, completely forgetting that he is Iron Man and that the ‘Stark Tower’ was transformed into the ‘Avengers Tower’ and that said Avengers, are now living there.
“Who are you?” Natasha Romanoff, Russian Agent, rough childhood. She pointed one of her guns at my head and I had no doubt that she could blow my head off.
“(Y/N) Stark. Starks daughter? Well adoptive daughter. Where is he anyway?” The way the others looked at me was really amusing. Only one of them, who I guessed was Loki, looked rather bored. He didn’t even bother to stand up and point anything at me.
“Miss (Y/N), should I inform your father of your presence?” Ah, how I missed Jarvis. Before I went to college, as lonely as it sounds, he was my only friend. “No thanks Jarvis. I will tell him myself, but where exactly is he?” “Right here.” I turned around and saw my father standing there, with his arms outstretched, ready for a hug. And a hug he received.
“I missed you Dad.” I buried my face in his neck. “I missed you too kiddo.” He squeezed me harder against him, kissing my scalp.
“I see you already met the others. This is Thor, Steve, Bruce, Natasha, Clint and behind them on the couch is Loki.” He pointed at each one, but as soon as he mentioned Loki, a snarl took over his face.
“You do know that I have a TV at the college. I know who they are. All of them.” I laughed and the other lowered their weapons.
“So Tony, you never told us you had a daughter, and such a gorgeous one too.” Thor smirked and bowed his head. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady (Y/N).” He took my hand and gently kissed my knuckles. “So, how’s your brother complex going Thor?” Loki, tried to hide a laugh, at which he clearly failed. Thor, on the other hand, looked at me with wide eyes and a faint blush on his cheeks. “What?” I laughed, rolling my eyes.
“Is my room still available?” Tony nodded and I grabbed my bags, making my way to the elevator.
As soon as I was, what the others thought, out of earshot, they began asking tony questions. Even though, it was mostly Thor asking what I meant with ‘brother complex’.
No one noticed the handsome god making his way to the elevator too.
“So you are Starks little princess.” He didn’t look at me, just stared at the elevator doors.
“I’m neither little nor a princess. I’m his adopted daughter. I guess we have something in common.” I smirked at him. Before he could talk again, the elevator came to a stop and the doors opened.
“Excuse me.” I walked out and smirked to myself, picturing his face.

Finally in my room, I noticed one problem. The last time I’ve been here, I apparently still had my ‘pink phase’. My walls were pink and so was my most of my furniture. That was a real problem.
“Jarvis. Where is the next interior centre? Oh and I need some new clothes and a new wallpaper. This one won’t do.” I left my bag on the floor and exited the room again.
“Anything else, Miss (Y/N)?” Jarvis artificial voice inquired. “Yes, I need my father’s credit card and a car. Send the location of the store to my phone, would you?”
“The location is send. And I think your father’s (F/C) would be to your liking.” My phone buzzed and I had the location.
“I think so too Jarvis. The keys are still where they always are?” Jarvis answered with a polite ‘Yes Miss’ and I took the elevator up to the living room again.
“Hey sweet pea, do you need anything?” Tony sat with the others, drink in hand.
“Yes, your credit card.” I shot the others a tight lipped smile, looking back at my father. “What for?” He stood up and got his wallet out of his jeans pocket.
“Have you seen my room? It’s pink.” He laughed and passed it to me. “Need any help?” “I’ll let Jarvis let you know when I’m back so you can help carry most of the stuff to my room. And maybe we can fix it together.” He smiled at me and kissed my forehead. “Of course kiddo.”

After my shopping trip, I drove back to the Avengers Tower, telling Jarvis to let my father know of my return. The answer wasn’t really what I hoped for.
“Your father asked me to tell you that they had to go on a mission. He is sorry Miss (Y/N).” Jarvis’s voice followed me to the elevator. Biting my tounge, I shook my head.
“I know Jarvis, I know.” I moved the wallpaper and everything I needed to remove my old wallpaper to the elevator. The new floor I chose, was too heavy, so I had to wait for my father’s return anyway.
I brought all the stuff to my room, but immediately lost my interest in redecorating it.
It was almost lunch time anyway, so I decided to go to the kitchen and cook something for myself.
I didn’t expect Loki to be sitting in the living room, reading.
“I thought you were out on a mission.” I checked the fridge and cupboards, deciding what I should cook. “Well, they never take me with them. Not that I’m complaining.” Loki didn’t look up from his book, but his voice was softer than I expected.
“Know how that feels. Want something to eat?” I leaned against the kitchen counter, looking at the Trickster God. “Deepens on what you’re cooking.” “I thought about Carbonara.” I took everything I needed out of the fridge and the cupboards, laying it out before me.
“What is that?” Loki quietly came up behind me, surprising me. “God, Loki! Warn me the next time you sneak up on me!” I looked at him with wide eyes, but he just grinned.
“There would be no fun if I did that, pet.” He looked over my shoulder at the ingredients, still grinning. “Don’t get used to the nickname Loki. My name is (Y/N) and you’ll call me exactly that.”
He had a mischievous glint in his eyes, but nodded.
“So, do you want some, or not?” I looked at him and put my hands against his chest, trying to get a little distance between me and the god.
“Why not?” He went back to the couch, leaving me alone in the kitchen.
I was in the middle of cooking when my phone buzzed.
“Hey dad. How’s the mission going?” I put the phone between my right ear and shoulder and continued to stir the pasta.
“Just fine honey! You fucking-! Sorry, I just wanted to -Oh come on!- check if everything’s okay -Asshole!- over there.” He was still in his suite, fighting against whatever.
“Everything’s perfect. Call me again when you’re finished. Love you.” I hung up before he could answer, taking my phone and putting it back on the counter.
“Miss (Y/N), I am supposed to tell you that your father loves you too.” “Thanks Jarvis.”
Deciding the pasta was ready, I put a sieve into the sink and lifted the pot. I was just sieving the pasta when Loki appeared behind me again, affectively scaring me. I let go of the pot and the hot water splashed onto my hands.
“Oh for fuck’s sake!” I fell to the floor, pressing my hands to my chest. Loki, looked worried for once.
“Where does it hurt?” He put his hands out, waiting for me to put mine into his.
“Stay away you creep! God!” Huffing he took my hands and the pain almost immediately lessened. Loki closed his eyes and focused, his hands becoming colder by the second.
And there was something else. His hands turned blue and some sort of pattern appeared on his skin. Slowly, his whole body, at least everything I could see, became blue and had the same pattern. The next time he opened his eyes, they were blood red. But that wasn’t it, there were also so many emotions in them. Fear, insecurity, shame. All those emotions were behind those eyes that looked at me pleadingly. Pleading that I don’t throw him away like so many others did.
I took my hands out of his and a new emotion appeared, hurt. Seeing this, I immediately put my left hand back in his. With my right, I touched his cheek. It was as cold as ice but I didn’t pull back. I couldn’t. All the emotions were gone, replaced by confusion and happiness.
“You’re not scared?” After a few minutes of silence he spoke up. “Why should I? You’re beautiful.” He huffed and pulled back. Before I could say something he vanished into thin air, leaving me alone on the kitchen floor.

I sat there for about ten minutes, until Jarvis asked if I was alright. After telling him that everything was fine and he mustn’t tell my father about what just happened, I finished cooking. As soon as I was done eating, I filled a plate and brought it to Loki’s room. It was the first time I noticed that his room was on the same floor as mine.
I knocked on the door and waited for a response, which never came. So I slowly opened the door and looked inside. The room was in green and gold, there were also a big bed and a very comfortable looking reading chair. The walls were lined with bookshelves the reached the ceiling.
“What do you want?” His voice as sharp as the knife he was playing with in bed.
“I just brought you something to eat. If you still want it.” I walked inside the room and put the plate down on his nightstand. “Well, if you’re in a better mood, I could use your help. My room is just down the hall, last one on the right. See you!” I was just about to leave the room when he grabbed my left hand.
“How are your hands?” He inspected it carefully, but didn’t find anything, so he let go again. “I’m sorry about that. I’ll be more careful from now on.” He looked me in the eyes and I knew, even though he was the God of Mischief, his words were true. So I nodded and left his room, getting ready to work on my room.

It took me a few hours, but I managed to break down all my furniture. Now I remembered why I asked my father to help me. It took a while to get all the stuff out of my room, but somehow, I did it. I brought it downstairs into the garage, leaving it there for the moment.
Taking the elevator, I went back up again.
“Jarvis, put on some music. This will take a while.”
Dancing to ‘Back in Black’ from AC DC, I began to scrape the wallpaper down. Even though Tony wasn’t my biological father, we had a lot in common. We liked the same music, were intelligent and loved building things. He had his suit and I had my hover board. I only used it on the large campus, what can I say? I’m too lazy to walk all the time and it’s a lot faster.
It took me some time to convince the University council to allow me to use it, but it’s definitely a pro to be Tony Stark’s daughter. And I never broke something.
Well…except for the time one of the other students ran in my way. And the time the board had a malfunction. Oh, and the time…! Let’s not dwell on the past…right?
Either way. We had enough in common for him to be my real father. The only thing that wouldn’t fit, is that he actually wanted me. Sure, I was the one that practically begged him to adopt me, but he still chose me.
Being absorbed in my thoughts, I didn’t notice the handsome god entering my room.
“Midgard to (Y/N)?” He tapped my shoulder, making me spin around and threaten him with my spatula.
“Loki! What did you say about not surprising me?!” I took the spatula down and looked at him with wide eyes. “I tried to warn you, but you didn’t react.” Huffing I turned around and continued scrapping at the wall.
“Do you need to get that down?” He stood in the middle of my room, looking around.
“Yup. All four walls need to be bare.” I could barely finish before Loki snipped his fingers and the walls were naked.
“Can you also put those up on the wall?” I pointed at the wallpaper rolls, lying on the floor.
Snipping again, my walls were covered in the wallpaper and the rolls were gone.
“My ceiling should look like a sky full of stars.” I grinned at the men-I mean god, in front of me and he smirked. This time, he moved his hands around and a few seconds later, my ceiling was covered in blinking stars.
“Wow.” I looked around my room, more than happy with the result. “I thought they took all your magic?” He smirked at me. “They took enough from me so I can’t escape. But I can still teleport inside this place and I can use a little magic. Enough to help you redecorate your room.”
“Perfect! Come with me!” Taking his hand, I pulled him to the elevator and to the garage, where my new floor still waited.
“By the way, what is a ‘creep’?” Loki looked at me, confusion written all over his face. We were standing in the elevator, going down.
I couldn’t supress a snicker. “A person that kind of scares you, but…more like…I don’t even know. Google it.” “Google?” Face palming myself, I stepped out of the elevator, walking to the pyramid of floorboards.
“This needs to go up into my room.” Nodding, he snipped again and the pyramid vanished.
“Can I keep you?” I took his hand again and pulled him to the elevator. Instead of answering my, very serious question, he chuckled and followed me.
Upstairs he changed the floor for me and asked me if I needed anything else.
“Well…a bed would be nice. But all the shops are closed by now. Your magic is not enough to teleport things from a magazine or the internet into this room, is it?”
Loki shook his head.
“You can sleep in your father’s bed. His other half isn’t here right now.”
“Yuck no! I don’t want to know how many times the both of them had sex in there!” Chuckling at my response he walked out of my room.
“Wait! Can I sleep at yours tonight?” I leaned out the door, watching his back.
“Who says I don’t masturbate?”
“You probably do, but you’re not my father! That only makes it half as gross.”
“Be my guest!” He entered his room, leaving me grinning at the door to my room.
This is definitely going to be fun.

Kickin' Chicken Tortilla Soup


I don’t know about y'all, but chicken tortilla is my all-time favorite soup. Never had a bowl I didn’t like. My version is a little different than what you might get at a restaurant in that it’s super low in calories and fat, albeit without sacrificing the flavor. “But Misty, I don’t don’t have time to cook. I’d rather just grab a bowl from Panera.” Skip the drive-thru. This is literally the easiest thing ever to throw together. No pre-cooking required. Just dump everything in your slow cooker and go! It takes less than ten minutes, and that includes the time it takes to chop an onion. Don’t feel like cutting one up? Buy frozen diced onion. Easy-peasy! Even if you swear you’re useless in the kitchen, you can make this. I promise. So get on it. ;) 

 If you make this for yourself, post a pic and tag #OhHealthYes so I can see! Thoughts? Questions? Let me know! 

 Happy cooking!

Kickin’ Chicken Tortilla Soup

Serves: 8 | Serving Size: 1½ cups

Calories: 196 | SmartPoints™: 5

Prep: 10 min. | Cook: 4-8 hr.

Ingredients

  • 1 lb. boneless, skinless chicken breasts
  • 1 small onion, diced
  • 1 can black beans, drained and rinsed
  • 1 12-oz. bag frozen sweet corn kernels
  • 1 16-oz. jar salsa
  • 1 4-oz. can chopped green chilies
  • 1 packet low-sodium taco seasoning
  • 4 cups low-sodium chicken broth

Directions

1. Add the chicken to the bottom of your slow cooker. Then top with onion, beans, corn, salsa, and chilies. Sprinkle on the seasoning, then pour the broth over everything.

2. Cover and cook on high for 4 hours or low for 8 hours.

3. When done, turn off the heat then remove the chicken and shred well. Return to the pot then give the soup a good stir. Serve hot and enjoy!

Notes

Calories: 196 | Fat: 2g | Saturated Fat: 0g | Carbs: 26g | Fiber: 3g | Sugar: 4g | Protein: 18g

Weight Watchers SmartPoints™: 5

I like to top this soup with tortilla strips, a sprinkle of reduced-fat shredded cheese, a couple splashes of hot sauce, a dollop of fat-free Greek yogurt or sour cream, and sometimes even a little chopped cilantro. Garnishes are not included in nutritional information.

lowkey jealous [ eggsy x reader ]

warnings: chavs, cussing

words: 1914 (oops)

prompt: May I request an imagine for Eggsy Unwin from Kingsman? Preferably before he was recruited into kingsman and he was living with his mum. Could it be where him and the reader are friends and are deeply in love with each other but don’t want to say. Eggsy takes the reader to a club for a night out and he gets extremely jealous because other men try it on with Y/N, leading him to tell her how he feels? Sorry it’s a bit vague. I absolutely adore your writing and I love you ❤️ (anon)

a/n: anyone know kelly from misfits???? it’s her!!

MASTERLIST KO-FI.

“Oh c’mon, (Name),” Her hand lands on your naked knee and squeezes reassuringly. “One smoke, yea? Nothin’ will happen from one bloody smoke, promise.”

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Anything for You: Part Seven

Pairing(s): Richie Tozier x Eddie Kaspbrak, Bill Denbrough x Stan Uris

Warnings: swearing, blood, crying

Word Count: 1.4 k

Part 7 / ?

1  |  2 3  |  4  |  5  |  6  |  8  |  masterlist

-

“Richie, please!”

Beverly’s voice was desperate and high-pitched. She  hiccupped over her own sobs, her hands pumping Richie’s chest. He was completely still, bleeding profusely, and non-responsive. The dark bags under his eyes were nearly black, but Beverly couldn’t tell if they were due to lack of sleep or the merciless wrath of Henry Bowers.

“Please, please, please-” She practically chanted, a disgusting trail of snot gathering at her cupid’s bow, but she refused to remove her hands, “Richie, wake up! You fucking asshole, wake up!”

The pavement was hot under the the beating rays of the sun, although Richie could not feel it. His skin was pale, body thin, lips beyond chapped. Beverly straddled Richie’s stomach, her palms flat against the middle of his ribs.

“C’mon, c’mon - come on - this has to work, Richie. You have to wake up.”

As she heaved over his body, a line of saliva dripped from her mouth. Her vision was severely blurred, blood beginning to seep into her tights and single white sock. She glanced up at her other sock, which was tied tight around Richie’s severed forearm. Beverly shook her head, partly in denial and partly in shock. She slipped, her forehead knocking against Richie’s sharp chin.

Help!” She called out in despair, her voice hoarse and raw, “My friend - please - My friend needs help!”

And, her hands were on his chest again, pumping rapidly. Her head spun, breathing  ragged and pained. A shrill scream startled her, followed by the clang of another bike joining the heap.

“Eddie, slow down - holy shit!”

Beverly looked up, wide-eyed and shaking. Her hands continued to work at Richie’s chest, trying to force his lungs to work again. Bill, Stan, Eddie, and Ben stared back at her, all in shock. Stan hunched over at the sight of Richie’s blood leaking all over the pavement, Bill’s hand immediately meeting his back.

“Don’t just stand there!” Beverly shouted at the boys, spitting and snotting everywhere, “Go! He’s not breathing, go get help!”

Bill and Stan nodded, still on their bikes. They pedaled away as quickly as they could. Eddie stood next to Ben, his bike leaning on the stack. Ben gripped his own handlebars as his bike rested against one of his legs.

“I’m going to get Mike.” He stated in a rush, heading off in the opposite direction.

Eddie watched as Beverly sobbed over his lifeless ex. Her thin, bloody hands pressed down on his chest, quiet pleads falling from her cracked lips. Eddie’s feet dragged him, his breathing becoming more and more rough as the approached the two.

He fell to the ground, his knees splashing in the red puddle that he didn’t seem to notice. His hands cupped Richie’s face, forcing the head to look at him - although, the eyes did not see.

“Rich, wake up,” muttered Eddie, voice cracking as he gave Richie’s cheek a pinch.

Beverly began to cry even harder, her hands and wrists throbbing.

Eddie coughed out a sob, gripping Richie’s face tighter, “This isn’t fucking funny, Richie,” He spoke in a louder tone, “Wake up! Stop messing around!”

Beverly fell slack, her hands finally reaching up to wipe at her mouth and nose. Her face was contorted as she cried harder than she ever had before, her chest aching excruciatingly.

“I’ll give you a cigarette if you wake up,” He tried to coax, “I know how much you love those disgusting cancer sticks - I won’t even get mad at you, I promise!”

Eddie let out a small noise that reminded Beverly of something between a whimper and wheeze, his head dropped to Richie’s shoulder, hands grasping at his arm and bicep. He wept into Richie’s ruined shirt, dark curls tickling his forehead.

“I promise, I promise, I promise - I’ll never get mad at you again. Just, please wake up. Please.”

Eddie’s fingers brushed a piece of wet cloth, his head lifting to examine it. A blood-soaked sock knotted around the middle of his lanky arm. Eddie tugged at the knot, his fingers trembling and numb. Beverly’s hand came down on his.

“Don’t.” She warned, “Don’t look at that, Eddie.”

Eddie gave a slow nod, settling for lacing his fingers with Richie’s cold ones.

“What did he use?” The question came out, though he wasn’t sure if it was his mouth that had said it. He didn’t want to know the answer.

Beverly shook her head, “He didn’t do it himself. It was-” She stopped, her lip wobbling, “- He chased down Bowers. Richie kept picking a fight with him, I tried to stop him but he was just so angry.”

Eddie stared at their intertwined hands, his fingers fiddling with the ring on Richie’s finger.  He looked up at Beverly, who was sitting still on Richie’s stomach.

“You stopped,” Eddie pointed out, gesturing to her limp hands , “Why’d you stop? We have to help him!”

“Eds-”

“Don’t fucking call me that!” He was screaming, tears streaming steadily down his cheeks, “You’re not Richie, he’s the only one calls me that!”

Beverly began to apologize, but instead let out a yelp as Eddie gave her an angry shove. She fell back off of Richie’s body, elbows hitting the burning pavement. Eddie took her place, placing a leg on either side of Richie and placing his palms on the boy’s chest.

His hands pushed down on Richie’s chest. Even through his shirt, Eddie could feel the cold radiating from his skin, goosebumps rising on his own arms despite the sweltering weather.

“Why’re you so cold, babe?” Eddie whispered, his hot tears splashing onto Richie’s neck, “You’re always warm - I love how warm you usually are. My little heater, you’ve gone cold.”

“Eddie-”

“Warm up, Richie. You’re okay, you’re just cold.”

“- Eddie, stop, look at me!”

“Cold, cold, cold; my cold boy.”

Beverly heard sirens approaching, the sirens that would hopefully save Richie’s life. Time seemed to pass at ultra speed; large, white trucks with obnoxious, flashing lights stopped mere feet away from the kids, men rushed from the trucks, bringing equipment out with them - Eddie was shouting at the men, purely out of anger and worry. His small hands pushed away anyone who came close, face flushed bright red.

Beverly hooked her arms around Eddie’s waist from behind, jerking him off of Richie. A mask was placed on his face, forcing air into his lungs.

“He’s not breathing - hurry and load him up!” One of the men instructed, climbing into the back and grabbing the end of the stretcher to help pull Richie in.

Eddie fought against Beverly’s arms as she held him. He sat between her legs on the concrete, she cried into his neck as he writhed almost painfully.

“He’s cold!” Eddie shrieked as they drove off, “He’s cold, warm him up!”

Beverly didn’t loosen her grip until the ambulance was out of sight, but Eddie did not move. He sunk into her, his bloody hands netted into his dark locks.

“Warm him up, warm him up, warm him up-” He repeated under his breath like a prayer, “My baby went cold, he’ll be okay after he’s warm again.”

– 

{Tag List: @stanleyurisisalive @eddiekaspbraks-inhaler @emrysaaryn @strawberry-cake456 @richietoaster @the-losers-law @eddierichietozier @whytholikeugggh @wiinchesterlogic @of-outerspace @im-not-psychotic @bitozier @exceededexpectations @eddie-kaspjack @eddies-inhaler @woahtherebuddyfriend @smol-and-annoying @phil-lesters-ass @cupcakeatl @eddiekaspbraklovesboys @yepitsmuffinman @prettyblossoms @smiley-riley-pokipine @couldbemimi @virgay @decaffeinatedpostmoon @edward-kaspbrak  @derrydays @adventure-time @just-an-akward-fangirl @lovely-chaotic-goddess @sakurabun203 @thatgazebobullshit @imdefinitelynotaserialkiller @sunflowersandhoneybees @freddyxbonnieshipper459 @lemonadeandrice}

The Pleasure Collection | 2. If You Insist

Genre: Smut/Angst

Word Count: 14.5k

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

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

Originally posted by pinkpopcorn99

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

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

You should have been more careful.

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Caffeinated Fornication

This if for @ask-haleinski whose birthday was July 27th, and my stupid ass didn’t post it on time! This is basically how they met again in their universe so I hope you all enjoy! :)

Warnings: mature language and sexually explicit content

Find this on AO3!


Stiles was tired.

So tired that if he’s being honest the sweet release of death won’t give him long enough to become well rested. More often than not these days tired is now his default setting.

It was the reason he was currently walking down the street to his favorite coffee shop in town. It just so happened to be open twenty four hours. God bless because it was one in the morning and he needed his coffee fix if he was going to finish his essay.

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everything in between...

After the final battle, Killian and Emma finally find their way home. (I like imagining the conversations we never see, and the sexy times that follow)
rated M, 1200 words


The walk up to their door seems endless, both of them clinging to the last tendrils of adrenaline keeping them upright after a hellishly long day. Killian’s lost track of the hour, but his body feels every minute spent, muscles still burning from his climb and fall from the beanstalk, head aching from clenching his teeth as Emma performed her Savior’s sacrifice before his eyes. Her fingers give his a gentle squeeze causing her wedding ring to press against his and like a rope snapping loose in the wind, he becomes completely untethered. Eyes burning with overflowing emotion, he stops, turns and gathers her close, tucking his face into her hair as hot tears splash down over his cheeks.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

Shaking his head, he just pulls her in tighter, not sure of how to express the weight of everything crashing down over him, just knowing he needs to hold her and allow himself a moment to find his bearings. Her woolen cap is slightly rough against his temple, but it’s so achingly Emma that he finds himself leaning further into it, the threads drying the tracks of his tears. Keeping his hook anchored against her back, he loosens his grip on her jacket so he can cup her cheek with his hand, forcing a shaky smile upon his lips as he finds her worried eyes with his own.

“Sorry, Swan, it’s been an exceedingly trying day.”

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Fatigue (M)

Character / Genre: Min Yoongi x reader (oc) | Smut, Fluff

Prompt: “Let me spoil you tonight, Princess.”

Summary: He has a special way to help you wipe away your fatigue after a long day. And tonight, it is all about you.

Warning: Fingering, soft Yoongi, bath tub scenes

a/n: I have so much writings piling up in my draft and this one was actually one of the oldest (lmaooo I am so lame), I wrote this in the middle of my packed deadlines but then I have been too busy and tired to re-read and edit this. Plus I ended up posting Heat which had almost the same topic *shrugs* Sorry if this is lame, it’s just a simple fantasy when I just wanted to be spoiled by my dear beloved Min Yoongi. Enjoy! 

Originally posted by vmiin


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2

what big eyes you have (the kind of eyes that drive wolves mad)

Happy birthday @aenariasbookshelf

Her grandmother would always say that if you cut a Lewis woman, they’d bleed green. She never understood that, not as a kid with red-scraped knees. As an adult though, things were different. Darcy, like all the Lewis women before her, was a witch. A hedge witch with magic over green growing things.

She could make anything grow, except for her nails.

She was a witch with a specialisation in earth magic, with an impulsive streak a mile wide. She listened with her heart more than her head, which often led to some interesting places.

Darcy tried hard to curb her impulsive nature, she really did. But moving forward without any thought, listening with her heart, led to a life far different than working in her mother’s flower shop in Petaluma, California.

It led her to a job working for a brilliant, if somewhat caffeine-addled, alchemist living in the middle of the city, the only greenery nearby a sad communal garden with vicious little roses and more weeds than grass.

There are crescents of dirt beneath her nails as she pushes open a glass door into the cool interior of White Star Tattoo. A spark of magic like golden sunshine washes over her as she steps over the threshold.

The shop smells of leather and ink and beeswax candles. The walls are filled with framed photographs of tattoos and beautiful sketches.

“Just a minute,” shouts a voice from the back of the shop.

“No problem,” Darcy shouts back. She takes a sip of the coffee she brought in with her and examines a sketch of the phases of the moon over a geometric forest. Interesting, even if it wasn’t her style.

“Hi,” says a soft, deep voice.

Darcy’s heart jumps in her chest and she spins around on her heel. Hot coffee splashes onto her hand. She looks up and up, into amused blue eyes and a handsome face covered in a neatly trimmed beard.

Magic clings to the man like an old coat, well-worn and stained. There is a wildness to the man, something that echos of the deep forest. Moonlight and fur and…

“Wolf,” Darcy says. The word slips past her lips without her consent, trailed by the hot feeling of embarrassment crawling up her neck. Wearing a red blouse might have been more than a fashion mistake.

“Witch,” he replies, head cocking to the side. “Can I help you?” He crosses his arms over his chest, ink spilling out from under the rolled-up cuffs of his sleeves.

Darcy’s mind goes blank. A small splash of magic slips past her control, wrapping itself around a potted tulip on the reception desk. The green leaves perk up, and the white blooms open.

“Tattoo, I want a tattoo,” she blurts, tearing her eyes away from the glimpse of ink peeking out behind the open top buttons of his shirt. “Apple blossoms. It’s…it’s a thing.” Darcy waves her hand, and the tulips bend towards her fingers with a whisper of leaves.

“Alright, let’s see what we can do for you, Ms..”

“Darcy, just Darcy.”

“Alright, Just-Darcy, I’m Steve.”

“A werewolf that tells dad jokes and then stabs you with needles? This must be my lucky day.”

A Little Too Much

Pairing: Y/N/Calum

Rating: All

Request: No

Words: 1.500+

Summary: Life is hard sometimes, Y/N realizes, but in the end Calum is always there to make her realize that soon the fog will clear up and sometimes everything can get a little bit too much.

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