i couldn't help myself :p


I shifted my face back into my own, raising a hand to my lips as Azriel knelt before her. I kept up my litany of praying, beseeching the Cauldron to make my womb fruitful, on and on—
Azriel gently removed the gag from her mouth. Are you hurt?
She shook her head, devouring the sight of him as if not quite believing it. You came for me.” The shadowsinger only inclined his head.

for thai. :)

Photo of Director of Magical Security Percival Graves on his wedding day, Circa 1929. Inscription on back reads; June 13th, 1929. To my heart and soul, so you’ll remember what I look like during your travels. Yours always, Percy. Photograph on loan from the Scamander family Archives. From P. Graves to N. Scamander-Graves.


[☮: An argument I think my muse would have with yours.]

“What is it with you and being away, huh? You think it’s okay to just leave me here? You know what he does to me, Ross. He’s fucking insane! But no, that’s none of your business, is it? You just stay far, far away, and he doesn’t touch you. Who cares what he does to me, at least you’re safe, right? Fuck you.”

“You don’t–”  He was trying to interrupt to tell Smiff that he had it all wrong, but couldn’t even get a word in.  Ross visibly winced at the last statement though and then grimaced, scoffing.  “It’s not my fault he favours you.”  He had a good reason as to why Smiff hadn’t seen him much, but if the lad was just going to jump to conclusions he didn’t feel it necessary to explain it.  “And before you accuse me of being ‘away,’” he spat, making air quotes, “Check the fucking garden, mate.  That’s as far as I’m allowed to go.”

anonymous asked:

you said ships are okay so I really couldn't help myself :p can you write something about Nicolas comforting Worrick when he's getting depressed and losing his usual cheerful attitude (I'm a sucker for angst, I'm sorry T_T)

Wahh, I’m so tired! I did what I could nonnie, but sorry if it’s not shippy enough :(   

~Admin N

Worick had said he was fine. Nicolas knew that was bullshit; they had been together way too long for half-assed lies like that to work on him.

It was a universal truth that Worick could hardly keep his mouth shut, but even when that vacant look had settled on his eyes and he started avoiding all forms of communication, Nic hadn’t been surprised. He wasn’t a stranger to this facet of his; he had been dealing with Worick’s mood swings ever since the very day he met him.

He hadn’t been worried at first. Why would he? He had learned that on days when Worick was acting distant and complaining about his aching eye, it was better to give him plenty of space and wait for his sullenness to go away. It usually didn’t take more than a few hours, anyways.

Today, however, it was exactly three days since the last time Worick had spoken more than a few words to him. And Nicolas wouldn’t admit it, but he was starting to find it alarming.

He was also in a dilemma. He had already asked if there was something wrong, to which Worick had responded he was fine–code language for leave me alone–, and he knew that was exactly what he should do… But he didn’t want to. He was starting to feel bothered–worried.

The door to the living room swung open. Nic caught sight of it out of the corner of his eyes and looked up from the shirt he was currently folding. Worick came in wrapped in the same gloomy aura that had been accompanying him for the last three days. Nicolas was a little disheartened. He knew Worick was paying Theo’s clinic a visit today, and just then he realized he’d been kind of hoping seeing Nina would help.

Worick came up to the coffee table, were Nic had laid out their fresh-out-of-the-dryer clothes in a cluster.

“Your fix, pal,” he mumbled, placing two bottles of celebrer on it. Then he headed out for his room.

Once again, Nicolas debated with himself over what he should do. “Ignore it,” he told himself, and tried to go on with his domestic chores. But after mere minutes, he found himself drawn to Worick’s room, seemingly by a force out of himself.      

Worick had left the door open so he peered in. His longtime partner was lying on bed with his head upturned to the ceiling, a forearm pressed against his eyes. He must have sensed him standing on the doorway, because he lifted it and squinted at him.

“What is it?”

[Is your eye hurting again?] Nicolas signed.

Worick nodded. “Yeah…”

Another day, another time, Nic would have taken that as a talk closure and left Worick be. But today, he stood there awkwardly, not sure of what he wanted to say. Worick stared at him, confused.

“Nic?” he urged him.

[I…] he signed, hesitated, continued. [I was wondering… Is there anything I can do to help?]

Worick didn’t even give it a thought.


He mouthed the word very clearly. Nic had tried to help once, and things hadn’t turned out very well, so to speak.

Nicolas accepted that with a nod. He understood he should leave now, but he walked into the room instead. Worick stared in puzzled wonderment as the deaf man he sat at the corner of his bed.  

[Want to go for some drinks then?] Nic signed.

Worick was baffled. He knew Nicolas enjoyed a beer or two once in a while, but he usually drank home; he wasn’t a fan of going out for drinks (like himself).

He threw his head back in laughter.

“Trying to cheer me, are you pal?” he said, in a sarcastic tone he knew Nicolas could sense.  

Nic turned his head away, but Worick could still see his ear turning red.

[Forget it] Nic signed and tried to stand, but Worick rushed to a sitting position and held him back by the wrist.

“I’ll go,” he said. “Since you’re being so nice.”

Nic’s attention was turned away from Worick’s lips to the hand closed around his wrist–he had started rubbing circles on his skin with his thumb. It was strange, this kind of intimate feeling between them. But Worick was smiling again and that was all Nic cared about at the moment.

He was back. His Worick was back.

Echoes Down the Hallway - Dean/Cas, 11x03 coda. [AO3]

Dean wakes in the dead of the night, the cool flesh of Cas’ palm pressed softly against his cheek.

“Dammit, Cas,” Dean groans, the icy chill of grace flaring beneath his skin, crawling up his spine, coiling around his toes. “I said I didn’t want it.”

“I don’t care.” Cas says flatly, face half illuminated by the bedside lamp. “You have punished yourself enough for one lifetime, Dean.”

“It’s what I deserve.” Bleary-eyed and shaken from the sudden wake-up call, Dean meets Cas’ gaze in the half-light.

“And do you think I deserved to be punished for what I did under Naomi’s control?”

“That’s not the same thing, Cas.” Dean aches, something visceral and vacant. Something desolate and empty stirring in his belly. Something angel grace could never touch.

“It is the exact same thing.” Cas’ hand grips Dean’s shoulder, squeezing, sparking something primal and hot in his chest. “Everything you’ve done, you have done because you believed it to be the right thing at the time. The only thing.”

Dean’s eyes flick shut as Cas’ hand slides up to rest against the tender flesh of his neck, warmth seeping down into all the hollow spaces carved behind his ribs, behind his eyes, touching something deeper than his bones.

“You should sleep,” Cas whispers. “I can make it easier for you, if you’d like.”

Keep reading

McDonald's Virgin // Stanza and Allan

Constanza had just ran to her dorm to find one of her many hoodies and some money. She wasn’t one to rely on the male to pay for the meal, whether he would have or not, or any gender for that matter. Sifting through the hangers in her closet, she found a pullover, one that she had purchased when she visited Juilliard during a summer program last year. Call her crazy, but it was the one article of clothing that she treasured most. Stumbling to her bag as she looped her head through the appropriate hole, she took out a ten dollar bill and ran out of her dorm.

The one thing that Stanza couldn’t wrap her head around was the fact that this kid, whose name she had forgotten to ask for, hadn’t even heard of the largest fast food chain in the world. She knew that a lot of people didn’t like McDonald’s, so she was sure that he’d probably be among them, but she was determined to get him to at least try it. Everyone has at some point, or rather most people have. Walking out into the parking lot, she looked around for the familiar face or for some indication that he was already out here.