i didn't even write a thing

Chloenette au idea

Omg I thought of this chloenette fic idea where they both work in competing boutiques that are right across the street from each other. And even though the one that Chloe works at is super fancy and expensive, Marinette’s that’s cute and wholesome has more customers. Chloe’s manager asks her to go under cover to see how and why they’re getting more business than them and Chloe goes in as a “customer”. And just sees how the employees like Mari and Alya are super nice and social with the customers. And Mari always makes and wears her outfits and customers like seeing them. And the first time Chloe goes in she doesn’t really talk to Mari. But then she starts going like once a week as a “regular” to continue spying and starts talking to Mari more and more. And then whoops starts going everyday but not because she likes talking to Mari pssshhh no obviously to continue spying! And even when her boss tells her she can stop that they know enough now, she still goes. And wow now she has Mari’s number and they text all the time and they’re going to see a movie together whoops. 

And she has a crush on the chick she was spying on. 

Bassian + romance

Listen, just, shit listen.  We’ve been wrong.  We’ve been so wrong.  It’s understandable, you take one look at Bodhi Rook and then you take another look at Bodhi Rook in a flower crown and you just want to see him romanced so hard and flustered and adorable but just fucking listen. You know who’s the one to actually get really flustered by romance?  Cassian. Fucking.  Andor.

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anonymous asked:

I completely understand why Harry wrote Sweet Creature for his boy. At such a difficult time in their lives. And If I Could Fly, god. Even the sad songs on HS1, I can see myself in Louis in that we don't say much when feeling down, and H probably really just wants his boy to feel loves and confident. They're a team, they love each other. The quote about Harry re. song writers too, I didn't see it as bitter but rather as pride that my boy is doing that, and i hope i can too kinda thing

Even the interviewer said that Louis never said it in bitterness. I honestly think Louis still sees Harry as the curly headed 16 year old he met at XFactor and asked for his autograph. 

Louis always believed Harry was born to be a star, and he supports him fully in that, but I don’t think Louis believes in himself the same way and I think the way Harry writes lyrics about Louis is almost to say, 

“I’ll believe in you enough for the both of us!”

anonymous asked:

fitzsimmons + 10 if you're up for it? :)

things you said that made me feel like shit’ – okay, I know this is super cheating, but I just couldn’t bear to have Jemma or Fitz say something like this especially with current canon haha. So it’s a different kind of heartache!

—–

“I hate you!” James screams, his face scrunched up in the devastating combination of impotent fury and heartbreak that only the very young can manage. “I hate you and I wish I’d never been born!”

Every cell in Fitz’s body seems to still; synapses refuse to fire in his brain. Is this parenthood? he wonders. He hadn’t known letting a piece of your own heart free into the world would mean there was the possibility of it returning ashamed and angry and wishing for annihilation as some nuclear option solution.

“I think you should go to your room now,” Fitz says, voice even and unflinching. “Just go to your room and stay there until you’ve calmed down.”

James turns and runs, stomping so loudly that dirty dishes rattle in the sink. He slams his bedroom door shut and Fitz winces at the echoing sound.

Fitz presses his fingers against the bridge of his nose, feeling slightly dizzy at how quickly the situation had spun out of control. He replays his own words in his head and can’t see where he might have avoided the escalation. But of course he’s missing something. What other explanation could there be?

He walks to James’s bedroom door and knocks softly. When there’s no response he rests his forehead against the wood and closes his eyes.

“I just want you to know that I love you, James,” he says. “Nothing will change that, okay?”

“Go away!” James yells, and so Fitz does. What else is there to do when your own son hates you? What more can possibly be said?

++

When Jemma arrives from a late shift in the lab, the usually-cheery house is eerily silent and dark.

“Fitz?” she calls. “James?” She’s not worried, per se, but living the sort of life she’s lived has given her an edge. Sometimes, she still sees monsters lurking in the corners.

She finds Fitz first, sitting at the kitchen table with his head resting against his arms. She can sense sorrow thick as molasses pooling from him.

“Fitz?” she asks again, more softly this time. She sits down next to him and rests a hand on his shoulder, which finally causes him to look up. She can tell he’s been crying and her immediate reaction is to worry about their son.

“He’s fine,” Fitz says, as if reading her thoughts. He jerks his head over his shoulder, in the vague direction of their son’s bedroom. “We got into an…argument.”

“Oh, Fitz,” Jemma says in sympathy. James was normally the sweetest, most well-behaved boy, tender enough to melt your heart, but in the past year he’d decided yelling was the best way to air his frustrations.

“I’m absolute shite at this,” Fitz whispers, burying his head into his arms again. “I have no idea what to say to him.”

“You are not! It’s just a phase…I hope.” She realizes at the same time that Fitz scoffs that she probably hadn’t been very reassuring.

“He said,” and here Fitz lowers his voice even more, as if what James has said is some demon that can be brought forth by simply uttering its name, “he said he hated me and that he wished he’d never been born. That’s…Jemma, he’s eight and his biggest regret is that he exists.”

Jemma’s heart clenches tightly and she chokes on the inhale. Talk of regrets is, all these years later, still a delicate balancing act in their household. She rests her head against his arm, gripping his elbow with her hand. “Fitz, that’s not his biggest regret. He was just throwing a tantrum. He said the same thing to me the other week.”

At this, Fitz looks up, his normally bright eyes dulled with pain but questioning nonetheless. “He said that to you? You didn’t mention it.”

Jemma scrunches up her face, realizing suddenly that she hadn’t. “Of course I was going to,” she shrugs. “But then your mum came to pick him up and he was happy as ever when he came back. And we were in the middle of that big project. It just slipped my mind.”

“It slipped your mind?” Fitz repeats incredulously, as if he can’t imagine how something so awfully momentous could have fallen into the background of their lives.

Jemma smiles, running her hands lightly through his overgrown curls. “One of the boys at school was yelling at his mum the other day. I think they’re all feeding off each other a bit. Anyway, honestly, I don’t think it’s a huge deal. Children say these things. Didn’t you ever say something like that to your mum when you were a kid?”

But even as she says it, even as Fitz’s eyes widen at her question, she knows he never did. Fitz and his mum had been each other’s only allies. It had been the two of them—against his father, against a world they wanted to believe was beautiful despite its cruelty, despite how horribly it had let them down. No, Fitz would never have told his mother he hated her, would never have even thought it.

Jemma wraps her arms around her husband, as if she can shield him from everything. From bullets, from evil organizations infiltrating their lives, from an eight-year-old’s careless words.

“I love you,” she says, peppering kisses along his face. “I love you and James loves you and you are an excellent father. We’ll talk to him together, okay?”

Fitz melts into her, nodding carefully. Jemma sighs. Marriage and parenthood were her two favorite things she’d ever experienced in a lifetime of amazing experiences, but how was she to know letting pieces of your heart reside in other people could amplify your own sorrow?

Jemma places a kiss against his forehead, breathing in the scent of home, knowing her heart had never completely been her own anyway.

++

Fitz jerks awake, not entirely certain where he is, when he realizes his son is standing at his bedside.

“Daddy?” he whispers, voice thick with tears, and Fitz sits up in concern.

“What is it, James? Are you okay?” Next to him, Jemma hasn’t even stirred.

James shakes his head at the question and throws himself into Fitz’s arms, crying wretchedly into his chest. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I didn’t mean it. I don’t know why I said it. I love you, I promise.”

Fitz draws his legs up so that James is cocooned in his arms and rocks him gently, like he’d done when he was young. James usually fidgets out of his grasp if he feels he’s in any way being treated like a baby, but now he relaxes into Fitz’s embrace, nearly boneless with relief.

“I love you, too, James,” Fitz says against the top of his son’s head. His soft hair reminds Fitz of when he’d been just a baby, of cupping his perfect head in his hands and being terrified and enamored beyond belief.

“You’re my best friend,” James says quietly, and Fitz loses the battle with his own tears at the admission.

“It’s okay,” Fitz reassures him. “It’s going to be okay.” They sit this way for a while, Fitz gently stroking his son’s hair, before he realizes that James is about to fall asleep in his arms.

“How about I take you back to bed?” he asks, but James grips Fitz’s waist tighter and shakes his head.

“Okay,” Fitz says, pretending to think carefully. “How about you stay in here tonight, and tomorrow we make Mummy pancakes so she doesn’t get cross with us?”

James nods and allows Fitz to carefully lift him from his arms and place him in between his parents. Fitz shifts to his side so he’s facing James and kisses his cheek. “Let’s just go to sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

Jemma moves in her sleep suddenly and James widens his eyes, putting a finger to his lips to shush his father. Fitz nods in agreement and they both hold their breath. A moment passes, and then another, and then Jemma turns until she’s curled up protectively against James, still sound asleep.

James grins over at Fitz and then snuggles closer to him. They’re both asleep within minutes.

master-sass-blast  asked:

Right. So. Might be mildly addicted to your 'Gods and Monsters' series. Definitely need an intervention, but I'll prolly ignore that anyway, so... anyway, can you do something with Zeus and Hera? I've always thought it was massively whack that the goddess of fidelity was with --according to Greek mythos--one of the biggest adulterers on Olympus. Definitely smelling a bit of an abusive relationship there, if you catch my drift... okay byeeeee

Hera, the young goddess of marriage and family, is only unfaithful to her husband once.

She seduces Zeus first, right as the war ends and they’re all pain and ash and thrumming with the excitement of victory. She smiles just so and touches his bloody chest, her hand pale against the dark copper of his skin and, and when he looks at her his eyes spark with the lightning he so easily commands. She is named his wife that very night, her body littered with bruises from his rough, eager hands, and she tells herself the bile at the back of her throat tastes like victory.

She is queen of the gods. This is what she wants.

They’ve all claimed their domains and gone their separate ways, Demeter to the earth, Hades to the underworld, and Hestia to Olympus where they plan to build their palace. But Poseidon still lingers. “Don’t you have an ocean to conquer?” she asks.

He looks at her, then behind her to where Zeus is busy sketching plans for Olympus. “You don’t have to do this,” he says softly, “you – you can come with me if you want. Or I’m sure Hades would take you.”

Hera has no time for Poseidon and his soft heart. “I will only belong to the best,” she says, tossing her head so her crown of curls fall over her shoulder. “You should go. You have work to do.”

“There are more important things than power,” he says uncomfortably, shifting from foot to foot.

“No,” she says, “there aren’t.”

~

Hera would not mind Zeus’s women so much if they were not constantly giving him children, something she has been unable to do.

She is an obedient wife. She does not turn her powers against him, and she’s tolerant of his mortals at first, but the longer she is empty of child the less patience she has. How can she be the goddess of family without one of her own?

Her spite gets in her way, and she hurls every kind of obstacle and curse she can at the woman her husband lies with. At first he is angry with her, and bruises litter her throat and wrists. Then, as her wrath and powers grow, he is afraid of her. He watches her warily, sneaking to the mortal realm when before he wouldn’t even try to hide it. He submits when she pins him to the bed and rides him hard, desperate for a child of his, desperate to fulfill the perfect image of wife and mother she’s built for herself.

No matter her magic, no matter how many times they lie together, Hera does not get with child.

She goes to Hestia, and her sister presses a hand to her stomach and purses her lips and says, “Must it be his child?”

Hera stares. She’s the goddess of marriage and family. She is not capable of infidelity. “I – I can’t.”

“Just once,” Hestia says, “the problem is not with you, nor with him, clearly. Only the combination of you both. Lie with any other man, and you will have your child.”

So Hera, just once, puts on a disguise and goes to the mortal realm. She finds a man with skin darker than Zeus’s, a rich warm brown that matches his soft eyes. She lies with him, and it hurts. He is kind and patient and kisses the edge of her jaw, her shoulders, her navel. But to be unfaithful grates against her very nature as a goddess, and every moment is agony. He finishes, his mouth whispering kind things against her own, and she leaves as soon as she can.

It works. She becomes round with child, and is happier than she’s been in a long time. She does not mind Zeus’s mortals, and he even becomes kinder while the baby grows inside of her. His hands become softer, and he spends less time away from Olympus.

The baby is born, and Zeus is furious.

The child is too dark to be his, and he tears it from Hera’s hands while she lies exhausted from the birth. “What do you care?” she cries, struggling to stand, “You have dozens of children. What does it matter if I have one?”

He holds the baby in one hand and grabs her jaw with the other, pulling her to her knees. “You are my wife,” he hisses, “the goddess of marriage and family. You will have my child, or no child at all.”

He throws the baby from Mount Olympus. Hera screams, pushing herself away from him and attempting to jump after it. Zeus catches her around the waist, and with a crackle of power and roar of rage, he sends a lightning bolt after the baby.

The child may have survived the fall, but not the lightning.

“NO!” Hera screeches, clawing at his arm as she struggles to escape his grasp. Normally she’s not this helpless against him, but delivering her baby has left her weaker than she’s ever been before.

He presses the flat of his hand against her swollen womb, adding pressure until she cries out in pain and tries to squirm away from him. “My child,” he repeats, voice low and terrible, “or no child at all.”

He lets her go, and she collapses, grasping out a hand over the edge of Olympus. But the blood between her thighs is still wet, and she can’t find the energy to stand. She wonders if she’ll have to crawl down the mountain to retrieve her baby’s corpse.

“Sister!” Soft hands grab her shoulder and gently roll her onto her back. Hestia’s face fills her vision, and Hera has never seen the older goddess of hearth and fire look so cold. “I’ll kill him,” she says, hands hovering over Hera like she’s not sure where to begin. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think this would happen, I didn’t think he would – I didn’t think.”

Hera curls on her side until she can place her head in her sister’s lap. She’s not sobbing anymore, she’s never been one to fall into hysterics, but she can’t stop crying, a steady stream of tears dripping silently down her face. Hestia runs trembling hands through her hair. “Don’t,” she whispers, “I did this, this is my fault. I – I should have known better.”

Hestia’s hand cup her face, leaning over so she can look her in the eye. “This is not your fault.”

Her sister stands and picks her up in her arms. Hera tries to tell her to put her down, that Zeus will be angry if she leaves, that she did this to herself. But she falls unconscious before she can get any of it out.

~

Hera awakens someplace soft and warm. She opens her eyes, and she’s inside Hades’s palace. Her confusion lasts only until her memories come rushing back, and then she has to bite her lip until it bleeds to stop herself from crying out.

“Hestia brought you here. She’s returned to Olympus to cover for you both. Do not worry – Zeus doesn’t know where you are.” She turns her head, and sees the goddess of magic at her side. Hecate smiles, “I have mended you, do not worry. All is well.”

All is not well. That statement is so far from true, and her instant urge is to crush Hecate to dust for the audacity. Before she can make up her mind one way or the other, there’s a soft knock on the door. It opens to reveal her elder brother. “I have something that belongs to you,” he says, and Here focuses on the bundle in the crook of his elbow.

Her baby’s corpse. She’s relieved someone thought to get it. Her heart feels like lead, and all the control she’d had over her emotions is gone instantly. She hopes they’ll leave her alone to hold the body of her child and weep.

Hades gingerly sits on the edge of the bed, and Hecate rises to help Hera prop herself up so she’s at least sitting. “He’s a strong little thing,” Hades says, and Hera doesn’t understand.

Then a warm, wriggling baby is placed in her arms. He’s got great big eyes and his mouth splits into a toothless grin when he sees her. “He’s alive,” she says numbly.

“Not without sacrifice,” Hecate says softly, and reaches over to undo the blanket he’s swaddled in.

Her son has no legs below his knees.

“Zeus’s lightning bolt didn’t kill him, but we cannot return what was lost,” Hades says, pained. “When he’s older, maybe we can do something, give him something in place of legs. But for now, there’s nothing I can do.”

The king of the underworld is the most powerful god after her husband. Hera knows that, even if Zeus doesn’t. If Hades can’t do anything about her son’s legs, then no can. But he’s alive, Zeus didn’t manage to kill him, and Hera finds herself so grateful that she’s holding a smiling, living child that she can’t be anything but relieved. Her son is alive, and happy. He doesn’t need legs.

“I can’t bring him back to Olympus,” she looks up at them, “Can you find someone to raise him? Someone you trust?”

She doesn’t trust anyone, so it can’t be her choosing.

“You’re going back to him?” Hecate demands, “Hestia said – but I thought for sure – you don’t have to! Don’t go back to him!”

“I must,” she holds her son to her chest, and he reaches out with chubby hands to tug at her hair. “I am the goddess of marriage, and he is my husband.”

Hecate stares, aghast. “Don’t – don’t, Hera. Please. Stay here. Hades will protect you.”

She looks up at her brother, and he raises an eyebrow. He would protect her, he would put himself in between her and Zeus’s wrath if she asked him to. But she won’t, and she thinks he knows it. She says, “I am Hera of the Heights, of Argos, of the Mound. I am the cow eyed, white armed goddess of marriage and of family. I am Hera, queen of the gods.” She looks down at her son, and her heart clenches, because for now a title that cannot be afforded to her is that of mother. “I will not abandon my dominion, nor my husband. I will return to Mount Olympus.”

“But you don’t love him,” Hecate says helplessly.

Hera stares, baffled that anyone could think her marriage had anything to do with love. “Of course not. But this isn’t about love. It’s about power.”

The goddess of magic swallows, then says, “I will raise him.”

Even Hades is surprised by that. “Hecate?”

“I will raise him,” she repeats, “He will stay with me, safe in the underworld where Zeus cannot find him, until he’s old enough and strong enough to protect himself.”

“Thank you,” Hera says, and lowers her head enough to kiss the top of her son’s head. “Tell him that I’m the one that threw him from Olympus.” When she looks up, Hades is resigned while Hecate looks on in horror. “Tell him, tell everyone. I gave birth to a hideous son, and I threw him from Olympus. His legs were crushed in the fall. I did this. Zeus tried to stop me, but could not.”

“Why?” Hecate asks.

Hera smiles down at her son, her heart full with a helpless sort of love. “So that when he ventures from the safety of the underworld, Zeus will have no reason to hurt him. So that when he comes to Olympus, Zeus will be unable to hurt him without explaining he was the one that tried to kill him in the first place.” She runs the back of her finger down his cheek, and he grabs it, his little fist holding onto her. “Blame me, and he will be safe.”

Hecate looks like she wants to argue. Hades puts a hand on her shoulder and asks Hera, “What’s his name?”

Her son smiles, and tugs at her hand, the beginnings of a giggle gurgling in his throat.

“His name is Hephaestus.”

~

When she returns, she no longer has any patience for Zeus’s mortals. When before she had only inconvenienced them, now she’s not playing any games. Those that do not die end up wishing they had, and she’s especially vindictive to any mortal carrying her husband’s child.

She sits on her throne, waiting, a smirk curled around the corner of her lips.

Zeus barges in and charges towards her. He’s so angry smoke is rising off his skin. “You,” he hisses, “this is your doing.”

“Whatever do you mean?” she asks, unflinching when he slams his hands on either side of her head, crushing the back of her throne with the force of it.

“She and the children are dead,” he snarls, “my children are dead! I know this is your doing, it reeks of your handiwork.”

Hera slides forward to the edge of her throne, their faces nearly touching, and spreads her legs. He flexes his hands, because even at his most furious he still wants her. She is his wife and his queen. She banishes her clothing so she’s spread out before him, hair piled high and jewelry glinting around her neck. “What are you going to do about it?”

He kisses her hard enough to bruise, and Hera crosses her legs around his back, urging him closer. “Why are you doing this?” he hisses, mouthing at her neck, because he hates her even as he loves her, hates her because he loves her, and loves her because he hates her.

She waits until he’s inside her to lick the shell of his ear and whisper, “My child, or no child at all, husband.”

When he breaks her skin with his teeth, she only laughs.

They do this to each other. Maybe they are meant to be together.


gods and monsters series part xv

read more from the gods and monsters series here

Mike and El love to lay on his bed listening to old music, talking about little things; constellations, school, the future, their feelings. They hold hands, and lazily laugh when the other cracks a joke. The first time Mike says “I love you”, the sun is pouring through the window and warming their skin, and El is rambling about missing a class the day before. She stops talking, grins…

And then the kool-aid man bursts through the wall. 

(for @stevemossington)

Let’s talk about dom!Cas sitting down on a chair on Christmas Eve and patting his leg to get Dean off of his knees and up on Cas’ lap.

“I’m feeling generous and would like you to tell me what you’d like for Christmas,” Cas says, squeezing pointedly at Dean’s hips.

Dean blinks, trying to process. Is…is Cas actually asking what Dean thinks he’s asking?

“Um,” he says, not quite sure what to say.

Cas just chuckles knowingly and leans in rake his teeth teasingly over Dean’s collarbone and press a little kiss to the spot before leaning back to catch Dean’s eyes again, eyes sparking with fondness and mirth.

“Tell me what you’d put on your Christmas list, because I hear that Santa is granting all wishes tonight,” Cas grins.

Stupidly, Dean blushes from his chest to his ears, as if this right here is somehow more scandalous than the hundreds of times he’s knelt stark naked at Cas’ feet, or that time he accidentally came all over Cas’ pants in the middle of getting spanked across his lap.

With anyone else, Dean wouldn’t bat an eye at charming and seducing them into his bed, and coaxing toe-curling orgasms out of them with full confidence. But Cas? They’ve only had vanilla sex maybe twice, and that was way back at the beginning, and not even penetrative. In fact, this whole arrangement they’ve got was only born from a random hookup that just kind of…snowballed. Right on into Dean finding himself at Cas’ orgasmic mercy at least twice a week.

In a way, Dean kind of wants to tell Cas that he just wants the man to do what he always does because that’s comfortable and familiar, but something is niggling at the back of his mind, like a small itch that he kind of wants to scratch.

He’s going to do it. He’s going to ask, but he has to close his eyes to do it. “Would you, uh. I mean,” Dean fumbles out, startled when Cas pinches lightly at his nipple in reprimand. Right. Eye contact.

When he opens his eyes though, instead of offering a command right away, Cas is giving him a thoughtful look, head tilted and eyebrows gently pushing toward each other.

“Stand up,” Cas orders quietly.

Dean climbs off Cas’ lap and onto his feet, wondering what Cas has planned, when Cas stands up too, and directs Dean to sit in the chair, which he does without question. But then it suddenly feels like there isn’t enough air in the room, because Sweet Baby Jesus, Cas is lowering himself to kneel at Dean’s feet, right between his knees. And holy shit on a communion cracker, he is NOT holding his hands behind his back, oh fuck.

“What would you like me to give you for Christmas, sir?” Cas asks, the very picture of submissive. The image itself is shocking, but even more so, Dean finds himself more than a little moved, and quite a bit aroused at the sight. Fuck, is this what Cas feels like when Dean does this for him?

With a shaky hand, Dean reaches out to run his hand through Cas’ hair, sucking in a breath when Cas leans into his touch. Dean clears his throat, grasping Cas’ hair only slightly; just enough to get his attention.

“Want your eyes on me, Cas.”

[Part Two]  [Part Three]  [Part Four] [AO3]

Nature Family

@ciphernetics did a very very good thing and came up with the best AU idea ever.

I ruined it. Enjoy the ruining.


“David?”

He glanced up, his eyes widening. “Yes, Nikki?”

She was one of the only campers left waiting at the pick-up spot, having wandered away from Max to explore a mysterious rustling from the bushes. (This, it turned out, was a squirrel; Quartermaster seemed more than capable of sorting it out and had pulled her away from the animal by her overalls.) But … Well, David had to admit that he’d been so worried about Max being lonely or upset about the summer ending that he’d almost forgotten about the adventurous young camper. So it was with no small amount of guilt that he met her  eyes, watching anxiously as she scuffed her toes along the ground and glanced over her shoulder at Sleepy Peak Peak.

“Well, uh … I think my parents aren’t coming?”

David sprang to his feet, leaving Max to continue drawing in the dirt and ignoring him. “Don’t be silly! It’s only noon, after all! And Max is still here,” he added, gesturing at him.

Max looked from David to Nikki, something almost like concern in his expression. “David, are you being fucking stupid again?” He stood, pouring as much resentment into the motion as possible. “What’s up, Nik?”

She shrugged, stuffing her hands in her pockets. “It’s just that Mom said Dad was picking me up yesterday because of his Sunday Golf Tournaments, and he didn’t. So …”

“What?!” David tried to keep his voice calm, but he couldn’t help wincing as it leapt up to what Gwen called “dog-whistle levels.” “Wh … why didn’t you tell us that, Nikki?” As a matter of fact, why hadn’t her parents told them that? They were in charge, after all!

“I was gonna, but then Max and Neil decided to try and blow up the Supply Shed and that sounded like more fun!”

Oh, dear. David whipped out his phone and sent a quick text to Quartermaster and Gwen: ‘stay away from the supply shed might be dangerous’ Then he narrowed his eyes at the two of them, putting his hands on his hips. “Now, kids, that was very irresponsible of you –”

“Yeah yeah,” Max interrupted, rolling his eyes. “How about you just do your goddamn job and figure out where Nikki’s parents are?”

Oh. Of course, that made sense. “R-right. Thanks, Max!”

“Fucking idiot.”

He had all the campers’ parents saved in his contacts for easy access, just in case. So he didn’t have to leave their side as he looked up Mariana Zuckerman’s number and listened to the line ring.

And ring.

And ring.

Finally there was a tiny click. “You’ve reached 555-0175. Dr. Zuckerman isn’t available right now, so please leave a message at the –”

He snapped the phone shut, shaking his head. “No worries,” he chirped to the kids; Nikki was watching a line of ants travel through the grass, but Max’s eyes were trained on him, tiny pinpricks of searing turquoise. “We’ll just try Mr. Sherwood then …”

Nikki’s dad didn’t pick up, either.

That was … well, of course it wasn’t troubling, David wouldn’t jump to conclusions so quickly! But he would have to give her parents a friendly reminder that it was important to have their phones on them at all times. 

Then again, maybe they were driving. That made sense.

“Why didn’t they pick up?” Max demanded, startling David out of his thoughts and nearly making him drop the phone.

“Oh, I’m sure they’re on their way!”

He just stared for a few long moments. Then turned with a heavy sigh, shaking his head. “I’m gonna go find Gwen.”

“Max, don’t –” But it was too late; faster than he’d ever seen the boy move, Max was trotting across the small grassy clearing that served as Camp Campbell’s pick-up spot, over to where Gwen had her nose buried in a magazine about … something or other, he didn’t really understand most of what she read.

Maybe Max had the right idea, though. Gwen would know what to do, even if she was a bit of a worrywart. He straightened, feeling better already as he tried dialing Nikki’s mother again. There was no point in panicking, which meant he’d just ignore the niggling worming sickness in his stomach until it went away.

That usually worked.

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Langst. Last words.

He didn’t feel it. Not at first, he was too emersed in fighting off the two galra soilders in front of him to feel it. All he felt was adrenalin, anger, fear, it was driving him. It wasn’t until after they were both dead did Lance see blood. At first, he figured it was the Galras, but then he panicked as pain shot through him. He yelped, his hand clutching his side.
“Oh-Oh fuck..” He slowly pulled his hand away. It was indeed his own blood, seeing his wound made him want to spill his stomach. There in his side, was a gaping hole. He could stick 3 fingers through it if he wanted, which on course he didn’t. Then he swayed, everything was spinning, black was spotting his vision.
“Ugh Lance! The battles over, where are you!” Keith groaned into the com. Lance tried to speak, but nothing came out. He wanted to scream and cry, but nothing came out. No sound. Tears welled in his eyes as he struggled to breath.
“Lance, we’ve been calling you for ten minutes! Where are you?!”
“Lance stop fucking around, be serious for once in your life and do something right.” Pidge scolded. They wouldn’t care, he thought to himself. If he died, Allura would just pilot blue. Everything would go on like he was never there. He was useless, he was weak, a mess up, a fuck up, an idiot! He’d never done anything right! He’d only fuck things up for everyone else! He let out a silent sob, this was it, this was the end. He was going to die and he had let everyone down. He struggled to take a last breath before he stilled, eyes blank and tears still streaming down his cheeks. Lance was gone.

“Guys…” Hunk spoke nervously, “I-I think somethings wrong with Lance. He’s not answering his comm.”
“Yeah I know he isn’t. He’s just fucking around.”
“No seriously, I have a really bad feeling.” He spoke again, now wandering away from the group. “Lance?! Lance buddy where are you?!” He got nothing, the rest of the team followed, calling out his name.
“Lance?! Lan-” Hunk stopped before breaking into a run. The team looked at eachother with confusion. “Lance! Lance!” He sounded panicked. The rest of them followed suit and watched as Hunk crumpled next to his lifeless friend. “O-Oh god no..no no no.” He lightly hit lances face. “Lance, Lance c'mom wake up. Lance please! Lance!” Shiros eyes widened at the boys lifeless body. This…this is where he had been? This is why he wasn’t answering? Guilt started to settle in Keiths, Shiro, and Pidges stomach as Hunk wailed, holding Lance into his chest.
“I…” Pidge started before kneeling next to him. She broke down, holding his hand.
Keith stood next to Shiro. “I assumed he was just playing around…”
“We all did.” Shiro whispered back.
It hit then awhile later what the last thing that Lance would’ve heard was and that made them feel even worse.

anonymous asked:

"Is 'fat' really the worst thing a human being can be? Is 'fat' worse than 'vindictive', 'jealous', 'shallow', 'vain', 'boring', or 'cruel? Not to me." "Frankly, I'd rather they didn't give a gust of stinking chihuahua flatulence whether the woman standing next to them has fleshier knees than they do. Let my girls be Hermiones rather than Pansy Parkinsons." - JK Rowling. I'm neither agreeing or disagreeing with you, I just wanted to point out that she doesn't do it intentionally.

See, this is the thing - even if it’s not intentional, it’s still there. I know I’ve stumbled across a few gross stereotypes in my own writing - I bet anyone who writes does, because they’re stuff that’s internalised and repeated by the media until we sort of end up believing them, or at least repeating them ourselves.

Take Pansy Parkinson. She’s ‘pug-faced’ in the books - yet another antagonist described as being ugly. Dudley is fat. Snape is ‘greasy-haired’ and has a ‘hooked nose’ and ‘sallow skin’. I’m sure there are a thousand other examples of antagonistic characters who are described with less-than-flattering physical features. Do the protagonists have these features? Not that we hear of. Hermione gets her ‘beautiful all along’ moment, Harry and Ron are described in ways that are awkward but endearing - messy hair, shabby clothes. 

It may not be intentional, but it’s still there, and while these stereotypes exist, we should be actively trying to combat them.

2

“How are we even together when you despise me so badly?”

“I approached you first because I hated you so much. Look where it got us~

“We’re lovers because of it.”


“How are we even separated when you hold me so dearly?”

Hey! You left me first because you loved me too much. Look where it got us.

“We’re rivals because of it.”


It was supposed to be a sketch but then it just.., yeah, Garrison and Voltron Klance. 

So to summarize it, back in one of the days at the Garrison, Keith was approached by this Cuban guy who has calling him his rival, which he’s been aware of for quite some time and so, he just went along with it  but somehow, they end up getting closer over time and got into a love-hate relationship. You could call them the competitive s o u l m a t e s who are kinda always (playfully) bickering and fighting but becomes lovey-dovey along the line. Keith is certainly a tsundere at times

When the Kerberos mission failure was announced, Keith was kicked out of the Garrison.., well, for the same reason he was in canon but then he didn’t contact Lance at all after that, which left them to be driven apart. Despite being left behind, Lance was still really worried about his partner although while looking for Shiro, Keith hoped that Lance would forget him, hate him even.

Later on, during Voltron, Lance and Keith are absolutely at each other’s throats all the time because of their confusing feelings and relationship status at that point and they are both avoiding to engage an awkward conversation that may lead up to everyone else learning about the history between them and the downfall of Voltron due to stupid emotions. 

Are they still together? Are they good or on bad terms? No one knows since they are the only ones aware of their (past) relationship and they don’t seem to bring it up into a proper conversation anytime soon because they have always been the kind to snap at even the pettiest thing coming out of each other’s mouth especially Lance, to the point they accidentally hurt one another’s feelings sometimes when it wasn’t supposed to and so, they’re stuck in that vicious cycle that only seems to repeat itself. 

~I’m not even going to bother with grammatical errors at this point~English is not my native language~It’s 11 p.m. XD~I’m no good but there you go~ GOODNIGHT

                                                                                         -Bleu ;)

The History of Romance...

…Like It’s Course, Never Ran Smoothly.

So I didn’t know this was a THING until yesterday, and so of course I need to join in since…y’know, I’m utterly insane for all things Hey Arnold! And since I didn’t know about it on the first day I’m playing a bit of catch up. 

My Shortaki Week Day One Prompt: 

History

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The Thing About Goku and Chi-Chi

I think people who criticize the GoChi ship look at their relationship and think, ‘I wouldn’t be happy in that relationship, therefor they must not be happy’.  And I understand that thinking, to an extent.  

If my husband died and left with no promise of return, I wouldn’t want to live the rest of my life raising my children alone as a widow.  I would’ve probably attempted to move on after a couple of years.  But Chi-Chi didn’t.  

If my wife scolded me and told me what to do as often as Chi-Chi, I might not be happy.  I would’ve probably complained or argued with her.  But Goku didn’t.

To the contrary, Goku explicitly said what GoChi fans have known for years - he loves that about Chi-Chi.  That means when Chi-Chi berated him countless times for being irresponsible and for deterring Gohan from his studies, he loved her for it. 

Likewise, when Goku unexpectedly came back to Earth seven years after his death, one of the first things Chi-Chi said to him was, “I waited for you.”   That means Chi-Chi didn’t mind waiting for Goku.   She waited, even with no indication she would ever see him again in her lifetime.  If that’s not romantic, I don’t know what is.

The GoChi ship works because of Goku and Chi-Chi.  

They know they belong together, without reservation, without regret, without even a moment’s consideration of looking elsewhere.  Their relationship is loyalty, acceptance, and commitment at its finest.  

Not all of us are made for that and even fewer seem to fully grasp it, which is why I think a lot of people can’t relate.  But we can sure as hell be impressed by it and I, for one, ship it.

anonymous asked:

Do you know any fics with slytherin!harry. Preferably in the long range?

I have a few! I am very picky about my Slytherin!Harry, because I don’t like him to be OOC (sooo no Harry supporting Voldemort or anything like that) and I find that a lot of Slytherin!Harry fics make him into an entirely new character. I thought the following ones were very well done though!

Slytherin!Harry Recs

Leo Inter Serpentes by Aeternum (658K combined so far)- Just one conversation between two eleven year old boys goes slightly differently, and the world changes. Just how much will be different with Harry being sorted into Slytherin, and how much will stay the same?
My favorite Slytherin!Harry fic! It’s a canon re-write starting from book one, but enough things change that it stayed exciting throughout! Also Harry has a pet snake! And Snape becomes his mentor!! ALL THE GOOD THINGS!!! You should be warned that it’s a WIP. But the author is currently actively posting the 6th book, and I have hope it won’t be abandoned :)

Written on the Heart by who_la_hoop (114K)- Harry doesn’t mind that so many Slytherins from his year have returned to finish their NEWTs, really he doesn’t. It’s just – do they have to be so friendly? He’s not prejudiced, really he’s not. It’s just – they’ve got to be up to something, right? Unnerved by the attention he’s attracting from everyone – the Slytherins are the least of it, to be fair – and struggling with a raft of changes to Hogwarts itself, Harry wishes he could be happy that one constant remains: Draco Malfoy really fucking hates him. When he’s hit by an illegal love-spell though, Harry finds he has more to worry about than whether or not Blaise Zabini actually wants to be his friend. For if everyone affected has been blessed – or cursed, by the look on Malfoy’s face – with a magical tattoo revealing the name of their soulmate, what does it mean that Harry’s skin remains completely bare?
kfhdsjrg3hi SOUL MARKS!!! c;mbxneiu EIGHTH YEAR!!! rewuy,obsk AMAZING AUTHOR!!! Harry is forced to move to Slytherin!!!! Need I say more? Seriously, this fic is amazing. Harry doesn’t act super Slytherin, but he has to live there, so it counts, right?!

Malfoy Flavor by Vorabiza (199K)- Harry’s ready to banish the Golden Boy image and take charge of his life. Unfortunately for him, or fortunately, there are surprises in store for him.
Okay so this one might be a tiiiiiiiny bit ooc, but I LOVE VORABIZA’S STUFF and it’s so fun to read that in this case I don’t even care. Harry disguises himself as Dustin Snape (okay I know I also had to get over the fact that this is a horrible name) and “transfers” into Hogwarts and is a total badass and just READ IT.

Other People’s Choices by Lomonaaeren (49.5K so far)- AU. The Sorting Hat doesn’t just let the Sword go when it falls on Harry’s head in the Chamber, but also Sorts him again, this time into Slytherin. Harry is furious and terrified, and the adults aren’t helping much.
WIP. And I haven’t read it yet!!! But it looks amazing and Lomon is always amazing, so I am very excited for it to be finished. Also, if you are just looking for a Slytherin-esque (adult) Harry or Dark!Harry or Grey!Harry, she has written a ton of that in other completed fics!

Progressive Displacement by GatewayGirl (21K)- Harry didn’t mean the wish that way. From his point of view, it hadn’t even worked.
Another one I haven’t read! I just discovered it right this very moment while poking around to make this list, but it looks really good! I think Harry wakes up in several alternate realities, and he’s a different Slytherin!Harry each time. All I know for sure is that it starts with Harry taking Draco from Azkaban, and I love that <3

Cunning and Ambition by MinaAndChao (372K)- “The weak in courage is the strong in cunning” -William Blake. One small gesture and one simple sentence change lives, and through it, history. A Slytherin!Harry AU. Abandoned in the sixth book.
This series is a pretty straight-forward Slytherin!Harry re-write, and it stays pretty similar to canon. It was abandoned in Book Six.


Also soon (hopefully!!) you will be able to read my WIP, Test of Time! Harry and Draco both go back in time to just before first year, and Harry ends up being sorted Slytherin this time around. There will be Slytherin politics and Draco teaching Harry how to be more Slytherin (among many other things; this is just a side-plot), and it will diverge almost entirely from canon :D

the-tao-of-fandom  asked:

For prompts: So I'm interested to hear about the courtship of female Sam Vimes and Lady Ramkin because obviously that's something everyone needs in their lives. (or just the life of a female Sam in general)

inspired by x

Those nights when she makes it home at something approaching a decent hour, Sam will lie in bed with Sybil’s head on her stomach. Sybil keeps her hair very short and fine beneath her wigs, and Sam likes the feel of it, tracing every dip and line of Sybil’s skull, from the soft rolls of her neck to the slope of her temples, the sharp curve of her widow’s peak. Her fingertips could map out Ankh-Morpork on Sybil’s skin, though sometimes she got distracted and forgot where Scooner’s Lane ended and the faint divot beneath Sybil’s ear began.

Sometimes Sybil will talk, or read aloud, and Sam thinks—there’s the Chase, there is always the Chase, but this might the only thing she’s ever known where there’s joy in the having.

What are you thinking about? Sybil asks sometimes, and Sam says, Nothing, nothing. Tell me more, I was listening. I like listening to you.

.

There was an Understanding.

The Understanding was: Her Grace, Lady Sybil Deidre Olgivanna Ramkin, had, on the twelfth of May, married Captain Samantha Vimes of the Ankh-Morpork Watch. It was a very lovely ceremony. There had been cake.

Questions on the matter, such as “is there legal precedent for this”, “where exactly are the records for—” and “how does a noble title pass to a duchess’ wife” could be respectfully addressed to the Patrician.

It was amazing how quickly people Understood, when Vetinari was suggested as the alternate means of education.

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anonymous asked:

I don't see anything wrong with them doing that. he has new stuff coming out, he hasn't used it in years.. I didn't even know we had a Facebook until recently lmao is people that don't really follow the boys even going to care or is it just fandom?

i legit did not know he had an official facebook until 3 days ago lmao. it’s just this fandom! the media is going to write the same bullshit they’ve written for years. no matter what harry says. the FANDOM is who needs to quit the harry vs. ot3 bullshit. do we perpetuate every other thing the media writes? NO. we vehemently deny it because it’s been proven by the guy’s actions and characters to be untrue. if you want the harry vs. ot3 bullshit to quit….then stop fucking perpetuating it yourselves! 

based on this post: once a boy let me borrow his jacket and after i gave it back i heard him gushing to his friends bc it smelled like me


The windows to the lounge room are open and Lance is cold but too lazy to get up from his comfortable position in the papasan chair to close the windows. Instead, he uses his energy in other forms.

“Pidge, come on,” Lance repeats playfully as he melts further down in his seat, staring up at the ceiling. “Gimme your jacket.”

Now at the entrance of the room, Pidge continues to make her way out as she waves her hand in dismissal without looking back, refusing to further indulge in Lance’s boredom.

Lance drops his right arm over the chair, fingers running through the shag rug. When he hears the doors sliding close, he sighs dramatically. “What if I catch a cold?! I can feel it, right now, here in my throat!” His left hand reaches for his throat as he lets out a fake cough followed by a fake groan. “See! It’s happening!”

A force knocks lightly but unexpectedly into his solar plexus, causing Lance to groan for real. “Dude!” he reflexively calls out, struggling sit up.

Keith stands in front of him, cheeks tinting up pink. “Just–take it,” he offers.

Lance does not reply, he just openly gapes, now fully aware and up in his seat. He watches Keith closely, scrutinizing every aspect of his face—not that he needs to, he has Keith’s face memorized from the shape of his face to the dark hues of his eyes, but that’s not what Lance looks at. What he looks at are the little twitches and curves of Keith’s facial features.

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