hover conversion

Heating Up - Part Two

Author’s Note: I’m really happy with how this is turning out y’all! And this is part two so make sure you check out the Prologue and Part One

Word Count: 1902

Warnings: one curse word, twice

It had been two weeks since you had last seen Leonard McCoy and that was back when you were in his office trying to avoid spilling your secret, right before you went out to round up the crew members with heat exhaustion.

By the end of that very long day you had sent fifteen people to sickbay in total, assisted in the duty rescheduling to replace the affected crew members, and assisted the engineers in getting the environmental systems finally back under control. Growing up in the South had certainly had a large part to play in you not suffering too badly with the heat, and for that, you were thankful. Ending up in sickbay as a patient was not on your list of things to do.

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Imagine Peter being genuinely nervous and afraid about telling you how he feels.

It starts off as a normal conversation. a few flirty remarks here and there, a little affection as he touches your shoulder, laughs, throwing his head back and giving you glances of adoration. Unknowingly to Peter, you’re glancing at him the same way. You think he’s absolutely stunning. With perfectly arched eyebrows, sunken, dark brown eyes that dance along the edge of being pure black, natural sunken bags under his eyes, giving him the appearance of constantly being tired and stressed, a perfectly formed mouth that, in his rest face appeared to be pouting, but could also stretch out into the most mischievous grin you’ve ever encountered.

You just got onto the topic of Peter’s last girlfriend, that lasted a whole month. There was something lingering in your voice. Perhaps, a bit of hatred and jealousy. These are things you push aside though.

The conversation comes to a sharp stop as you stopped complying with him and refused to talk about relationships any further. He was your best friend, but your romance life you liked to keep to yourself. Or at least, your lack of romance life. You hadn’t meant to be completely strung on the speedster, but there you were. Completely. in. Love.

He figures now is a good time, more than any other. it was just the two of you after all, and he didn’t have his mother or sister there to hover. And since the conversation about relationships was the last thing you two were on the topic of, Peter decided to take his chance. He looks up at you, catching eyes for a moment as you fiddle around with his Walkman. Flipping it up and down, side to side.

Then, it all stops and Peter swallows, his neck muscles convulsing slightly as he does. Readjusting the metallic, leather jack on his shoulders, Peter turns to you and says, “Can I tell you somethin’? It’s a bit serious.”

The atmosphere of the room changed drastically. The only thing Peter could initially compare it to was the feeling that rose in his chest when he found out that Erik Lehnsherr, Magneto, was his father.

The fear of rejection and being left alone kicks into gear, leaving a hollow feeling to rest uneasily in his chest. It was a smothering sensation, and he just fumbles his way through asking you. He gets sidetracked, starts talking about other things, like his mother’s cooking, and his little sister, but you sit there and ask him, “What were you going to tell me?”

Somewhere deep down inside, Peter was hoping that you had forgotten that he wanted to tell you something, and that he could slowly go back to just being your friend without any issues. That was impossible now though. There was no going back for Peter, and with a deep intake of air, he’s scooting over on his couch so he’s sitting directly next to you, “Do you ever look at your best friend and realize… That you don’t love them as just a friend…?”

That maybe, y’know,” He snorted, trying to think his way through what he truly wanted to say, “You just look at them and you…” Hanging his head, he cupped the sides of his face with his hands and snapped a bitter, curse word at himself. Blinking, you leaned over and touched his back. Peter jolts, sniffling a small bit before telling you in a broken voice, “I— I never thought falling in love was a thing I wanted… Bu-but when I see you, and I hear you, I just… The world around me speeds up and I see things like normal people do. Things are going slow anymore…”

Peter pushed back some of his silver hair, watching you as you sat his Walkman down on the coffee table in front of you. “I’m afraid, you know. Of a lot of things. I seem like I’m not, I like to play this tough guy thing, but (Name)… I’m terrified.” Peter laughed sarcastically at himself, his defense mechanism kicking in, “My own dad didn’t want anything to do with me, or my mom… I was rejected before I was even born. and I guess the rejection I’m expecting from you is just another tally-mark in my fucked up life… ‘Ca-’Cause I know you don’t want this.” Peter gestures to his chest with both hands, “A fuck up who can’t do anything right… I may be fast, but sometimes I feel 10, 15 steps behind and it just— it kills me…”

What kills me more is the fact that I let myself fall in love with you. I knew it was happening,” He looked at you, “I tried to stopped it, dated a few girls here and there. It was meaningless, all of them were. I mean, they’re all nice girls and stuff. But, they’re not you…”

“Pet-” You tried to speak.

“Just say it, (Name). Say you don’t want me.”

“I’m sorry…” Your voice peeped, “I can’t do that…”

”Well, why not?” Peter sounds semi-frustrated and hangs his head again.

”Because I love you too much to say that.”

Originally posted by quicksilver-gifs

Completed and polished version of typoerror7’s illustrated commission! There are no better places to hang out than in the main plaza, especially as the leaves fill in on the tree. The residents of this town would be insanely fun to hang with, too. It was super awesome just imagining the myriad of conversations hovering about, ha^^ Love these guys!

I hope that you like it as well, I feel super lucky to have been able to work on this one!!

this little moment right here was everything. just the hovering faces and the hands and how into each other they are… so. into. each. other! SO INTO EACH OTHER i can’t

Last to Know

Words: 1128
Rating: T
Genre: Fluff, Humor
Summary: A continuation of this. Goes best with Britney Spears’ Last to Know, because I am a product of the early 2000s who just can’t resist.

“The Chief’s really into you.”

It’s Krem, standing at the entrance of his little library nook. Dorian’s eyes flick up momentarily from the book he’s reading, unimpressed. His gaze rests on one line, no longer reading, but no longer looking at Krem, either.

“You mean, he’d like to be into me,” he quips, turning a page.

Krem’s attitude bleeds into his body language, the way his rolling eyes tilt his chin back, his hips shifting.

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sinycath  asked:

♥ miss you ;p

Better late than never, I guess :P Sorry this wasn’t in time for VDay. 

The text messages from Derek are sporadic and never at a time when Stiles is paying attention. They’re not urgent, for the most part, and he’s getting used to either waking up to a notification on his phone’s screen, or walking out of class to find it. They’re always simple too, updates about what the Desert Wolf left in her wake, location hints – always hints, never specifics – and sometimes random witty comments about those places.

There is never anything serious about them, no questions or too much voluntarily provided personal information, not unless it is related to the latest crisis. Stiles does mention that he has yet another scar and that the Jeep broke down again, Derek offers back that he’s gotten a better hang of his full wolf transformation that helped him corner one of the Desert Wolf’s minions.

All their communication is restricted to text messages, and not even in the most dire moments does either of them make a phone call. They don’t ask each other to help directly either. Even when Stiles knows that having Derek around would be a lifesaver, he doesn’t ask.

But then that conversation with Scott happens.

Stiles is sitting on the ground by his Jeep and the only thing he can focus on is the phone in his shaking, freezing hands. He opens the messages, and looks at the recent conversations, most of them showing his own latest responses. There are several numbers he scrolls past, people he doesn’t want to or can’t talk to, and then he stops on the one he hasn’t called in a long time.

The latest message is a random one, from a few days ago, and it’s not Stiles’. Derek was letting him know he moved on from the last place the Desert Wolf was seen, and heading west where she was rumored to be. As usual, there were no specifics, only a general direction and a casual “still alive, unharmed” comment.

His whole body shudders then, and his finger slips over the message thread, opening up the conversation. Stiles pauses, his eyes too unfocused to read the previous messages, and he tries to think what he should type. If he should type anything at all. There are things he wants to say, things he needs to talk about, things he has no one else to talk about to.

It’s after he called the tow truck, when the sky is slowly brightening, and he’s waiting for Malia to pick him up since Roscoe isn’t going to make it, that Stiles finally hovers over the conversation again.

Miss you, he types, and hits send before he can think it over.

rose is great and oh my god the pitch johnrezi is thick in the air.  I love it. also, the progression of the little illustrations you get when you hover over the previous conversation options is so great!  one of my favorite things about hs: the different ways hussie finds to tell the story. <3

sunnyjolras  asked:

Fantasy au where all the amis are servants and Enjolras and Grantaire are together, but Enjolras holds the affection of the King who can do what he wants with the servants and can marry who ever he chooses. :) how would it come about? How would Enjolras hear about it and react? What happens next? ^_^

Yo I am always here for fantasy AU’s. More fantasy Au’s 2K16

There was unrest and anxiousness among the servants in their quarters. Their conversation hovered slightly above a hum as they waited for the news.

Tonight the King was choosing who he was to marry, and it seemed he’d been charmed by one of his servants. The only issue being, none of them knew who he was so taken with.

Joly sat huddled against Musichetta, whispering sweet assurances in her ear and gripping her hand just a smidgen too tight. She didn’t voice complaint, she didn’t know if this would be the last time she’d be able to hold his hand. 

Others were sitting in silent solitude beside their loved ones, desperately waiting for the news to break, not daring to breathe a word.

Grantaire sat alone. He seemed strangely sober as he drank his share of brandy and sat in sullen silence.

“R, my dear friend,” Bossuet said, joining him at his table and looking morosely towards the place where Joly and Musichetta were currently sitting. “You look glum. Are you concerned for your fate?”

“Mine?” Grantaire asked bitterly. “No. The King has frequently discussed his distaste of me, my face in particular seems to give him grievance.”

“Then why, if you don’t mind my prying, do you seem so lost. You’re usually the first to make light of such situations.”

“Enjolras.” Grantaire said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Did you not realise he is the only one not present? I tried to find him in our chambers and it’s as if he’s vanished.”

“You don’t think he could be…?”

Grantaire eyes were shadowed with anger and darkness. “What other explanation is there?” He bit out a little too sharply. “Were he not, he’d be the first on the table, talking of the injustice that this is. And this is an injustice. But one I’m afraid even he cannot stand against. What are we to a king? Fodder for his cruelties and his wealth. There’s no way to fight this, we all know it.”

“But Enjolras always fights against the King,” Bossuet argued trying to comfort his friend. 

“For scraps. More food rations, more beds. That is nothing. This is much more than that.”

“The King can be fair when it comes to Enjolras. He always listens to his arguments. He claims to love his people.”

“That’s exactly my fear.” Grantaire said darkly. “Any other King would cut the head off the snake, let the body die out. Why else keep a mere servant around who runs his mouth and rallies a convocation of servants. He has a soft spot for my lover. That, or worse.”

“Worse? What could be worse?”

“He means to break him.”

Just as it seemed Bossuet was about to make a counter, a noise from the hallway alerted them to a new presence. The room stiffened in anticipation, two palace guards were dragging Enjolras by the arms into the room. Grantaire stood to his feet, fear gripping his heart as he saw Enjolras’ head bowed down.

The guards threw him carelessly into the quarters before making their exit. Grantaire had crossed the room and slid to his knees before the other occupants had comprehended what had happened.

Gripping Enjolras in his arms he lifted his face towards his own, drawing in a sharp breathe at the sight of it. Blood was running down his nose and was splayed across his mouth. They’d been careful, hurting him without causing any exterior damage.

Grantaire gripped him tightly. “Mon ange,” He whispered softly against Enjolras, holding back his own tears. “What have they done to you?”

Enjolras was quiet for a second, his grip on Grantaire weak, he was clutching at him like he had never before. “I am to be married.” He said his voice broken in disbelief.

Grantaire felt his world shatter beneath him. Entwining his fingers, he knew he was about to go against everything he didn’t believe in.

“We will fight the King,  Mon chéri” Grantaire said fiercely in his ear as Enjolras grip tightened on him. “And we will win.”

Burial Banter

When a Black boy is killed
the conversations that hover over his
lifeless body
often become about everything
his right to remain breathing

He is buried twice
Once, beneath the soil
Once, beneath everyone’s other agendas.

MYSTERY TEXTER | Chapter Two | A Gail x Holly Original Fanfiction

A/N: I’VE ACHIEVED MY GOAL OF POSTING THIS PART BY MIDNIGHT. I’m 3 ¾ hours early, in fact. :) I’m shocked–seriously, SHOCKED!–at the response to the first part of this story! Y'all are awesome! And now I feel the pressure to make part two as good as part one. I hope I don’t disappoint! :)

[ part one ]

MYSTERY TEXTER (chapter 2)

Gail was bored and seething. Not a good combination, especially for a Peck. Swarek was so going to pay for this later. “Suck it up, Peck,” Swarek had said when Gail had protested being assigned to accompany the body—which was little more than skeletal remains—to the morgue that morning.

So Gail was moping as she leaned against the wall across the morgue as the pathologist worked. They basically ignored one another unless it pertained to the case. Gail was quite alright with that; it just meant more time for her to play Angry Birds on her phone.

It was no secret that Gail didn’t play well with others. In her defense, she just had a low tolerance for stupidity. Stupid people hurt her brain. But the pathologist—Holly Stewart, Gail reminded herself—was far from stupid. Obviously. But there was something about the pathologist that just… unbalanced Gail.

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So, the Striders...

We have a new set upd8s, the “Wow, 10 path options”!!!

Let’s see how the Striders are doing! It looks like we’ll get two conversations with Dave and Dirk!

Conversation #1

Jasprosesprite^2 just popped in and left again, they agree that it’s totally weird as fuck, talk about swords, awkwardly stare away from each other, and are basically bored…


Now, if you hover over Conversation #1 when the Meenah/Vriska conversation is next, this is what shows up:



anonymous asked:

hey this is pretty random but i cannot find the pages with meenah thinking about dolphins and dave "walking away" from dirk??¿¿

in the fake conversation selection screen you have to hover on the old conversations icons, a different image will appear in the middle of the screen :^)

Anon:Hey uh I’ve been wondering what book does nico appear in?

he first shows up in the third book!

Anon:When will the commissions be available again? Sorry to bother you ^^;

somewhere in july I might take some more ;v;

raeczerny  asked:

Do you have anything to nerd out about Cisco?

  • The left brain/right brain theory is bullcrap, Cisco knows, but sometimes it feels like that’s what happened with him and Dante—the musician and the scientist, splitting everything between them. Cisco has a wall full of science fair ribbons; Dante has their father’s smile, his approving glance when he sits down at the piano. Cisco skips grades; Dante skips class, and their mother kisses him on the cheek. Dante is loved; Cisco does the loving.
    • (In hindsight, this is his whole problem.)
  • Harrison Wells walked into his interview with STAR Labs HR and Cisco slammed his knee on the underside of the table, trying to stand and shake hands and babble something about how much he wanted to be here and that Wells was maybe his personal religion. But like, in a cool way.
    • Wells didn’t say anything, just studied him for about thirty seconds with his head cocked and a faint smile. “All right,” he finally said. “Let’s get to work, Cisco.”
    • Cisco had gone out that night with some of his buddies from the University and ridden high on their jealousy and congratulations, barely managed to drag himself in to work the next morning.
      • Wells brought him a coffee, and smiled like he could smell the cheap beer on Cisco’s breath—he couldn’t, Cisco had brushed obsessively, and chewed gum like a fiend on the bus. But it was okay, because Well brought him coffee and said, “Well, let’s go prove you belong here,” and Cisco believed him.
      • He went on believing him, believing in him.
        • He tries not to think about that too much, these days. 
        • The worst part of Thawne wasn’t really the murder or the Singularity or the grand evil plan, honestly. It’s selfish as hell, but the worst part was how much Thawne had poisoned. Late nights of conversation, little victories with the accelerator, amicable chess games, years of Cisco’s life—
    • “ ¿Estás bien? ” Cisco’s real father asks. (The man who raised him, loves him and will never kill him, will die before he allows such a thing to happen.) It’s the fifth time Cisco has showed up for dinner in a week, and they’re working in the garage—whatever else, Cisco comes by his love of mechanics honestly. Cisco can feel his gaze at the back of his neck.
      • “Yeah, of course,” Cisco says, because his father’s love is straightforward, true as sunlight, like Cisco’s own. (Cisco came by that honestly too.) But Cisco doesn’t know what to do what Thawne left him, this love like antimatter, an open wound missing the metal that made it.
  • He doesn’t tell Caitlin, because it was one of those post-accelerator explosion nights where they were drinking to forget even their own names. He considers it a kindness—she should be allowed to forget the sloppy, drunken fumbling, especially when it ended before it began, with her crying about Ronnie and Cisco holding on to her just so the world would stop spinning.
    • He doesn’t tell Ronnie, either. Though sometimes he can see the question, hovering just beyond whatever conversation they’re having. 
  • “Why do you have so many podcasts?” Barry asks once, scrolling through the lab’s itunes library. Cisco has to spit out the pen in his mouth to say, “Dude, it gets boring in a six-by-six prison cell. At least they can listen to some Serial or something.”
    • He takes requests.
  • Seeing Earth-2 Wells is like—
    • They’re alike. That’s the part that fucks him up, how they can sound the same sometimes; how certain ways of standing, of moving, resurrect a ghost. Every times Wells-2 calls him ‘Cisco’ he gives a full-body shudder. (Then he stops, calls him ‘Ramon’ instead, and Cisco misses it.)
    • They’re nothing alike. Earth-2 Wells is dark and sarcastic and defeatist, pointedly silent, messy. He shuts people down mid-conversation and stands too close and it’s so unfamiliar-yet-familiar that it takes a while for Cisco to realize—it’s typical nerd behavior. 
      • (Eobard Thawne was not as much of a socially inept geek as the shape of the man he stole, which probably would be funny, if Cisco hadn’t been so thoroughly conned by it.)
    • But also….Earth-2 Wells knocks over Cisco’s stuff. Specifically.   Earth-2 Wells messes with Cisco’s stuff. He catches Earth-2 Wells looking at him sometimes, and then away.
      • “Freud would have a field day with this one,” Cisco mutters to himself, and doesn’t talk about it. To anyone.
  • His nightmares are all dark-tinted bluish hellscapes now, and he startles awake in the grey hours of the morning wondering whether they’re vibes or just the fallout of seeing too much shit in the last couple years. 
    • His mother almost weeps with joy when he asks for her icon of Padre Pio. But it looks good next to his Luke Skywalker figurine on his nightstand, and he figures that one of them’s gotta be protection against visions.
    • (What? He’s always been more of a engineer than a scientist, he’s cool with abandoning strict rationality if it gets him a full night of sleep.)
  • The left brain/right brain theory is bullcrap, Cisco knows. But where Dante had their family; Cisco made his own. Maybe that’s enough.

It is a busy life
you see lights
and you see cameras
you see cell phones
in mid air
capturing smiling masks
and honking traffic
where everybody cares about
their own damn destination.

As nights settle down,
so do bottles of booze
and joints that cloud
everything with their smoke.
Conversations that hover
over Universe and lust.

A hung over morning
a suit and a tie.
A fast life
through one window
behind which a girl
plays with her cars.

An ideal life
from the streets where
he plays football with her,
and nobody disturbs them.

The day they remove
their napkin from their eyes
and wear the same mask
as you and I,
dust is all they’ll covet,
among a room
with their favourite toys.