i don't know if this is what you were asking for but there you go :)

just-a-cute-little-kitty  asked:

I absolutely loved your Gods and Monsters stories!!! Your writing flows beautifully and it transmits feelings so well ❤ Are you considering writing anything about Zeus? They way you've retold the other myths is amazing, and now I'm curious about what you'd do with him :) Have a good day and thanks for sharing your stories with us!

Their hold loosens on the earth. Gods aren’t needed like they were before, their names are not chains like they were before. Some embrace this. Ares eagerly shakes off the power he’d never wanted, and Athena lets it pass through her hands like water, wise enough to know that attempting to hold onto it will only hurt her in end.

Some do not embrace this.

~

Demeter’s skin used to be dark.

It was the rich brown of potting soil, it was the fertile black earth that washed up from the Nile River. Her skin was deep, life-giving brown.

It’s not like that now.

It’s pale desert sand, cracks all along it like baked earth and tree roots searching for water that they can’t find. Her hair hangs thin and grey against her temple, and her dark eyes have turned milky.

She clings to her power over the earth by her fingertips, and she knows that she’s just delaying the inevitable. There’s no coming back from this, not really, the strings of her fate have long been woven. But she will not go quietly. The mortals may take the earth from her grasp, but she’s never been one to cross without consequences. She still isn’t.

Demeter goes to the sea. She hasn’t dared step foot in there since her birth, but now she has so little left to lose. The water’s barely to her knees before a wave rises up from the smooth ocean and drags her below.

Poseidon has long been absent from the sea, yet his palace stands as tall and imposing as ever. Because it was never really his palace, his kingdom, his power.

It was always hers.

“Well, well,” Amphitrite says, circling her with curious green eyes, “Time has not been kind to you, I see.”

“It has to you,” she says tightly. Amphitrite looks the same as Demeter saw her last, has aged even better the goddesses who shed their mantels of power the moment they became too heavy. Then again, Demeter expected nothing less. “I want to make a deal.”

“You have nothing I desire, Sister,” she says, smiling even though it feels like she’s mocking her.

Demeter almost laughs – oh, if they could see them now, if Hera or Hestia could see them now, see her now. How they would laugh, to see how low she has fallen. How they would shudder, to see the truth of what she is, what she has always been. “I have this.” She cuts open her chest and pulls out her heart – rich red, a heart that has not failed her, a heart that can feel love and pain and desire and fear and happiness.

“Sister,” she whispers, eyes wide, unconsciously moving away from her, “what are you–”

“I already know I don’t get to see how this ends,” she says, “I’m not someone he’s interested in saving and I’m certainly not someone she’s interested in saving. You have faired far better than me in that regard.”

Amphitrite’s hands are shaking. Demeter likes the way she’s gone impossibly pale, the fear in her eyes, the way she was so arrogant the moment before and know she isn’t. She has power over so little these days. She’ll take what she can get. “Give me your heart,” she says, “give me power over the sea, and I will grant you a heart with the capacity to feel all the emotions you are so fond of.”

The queen of the sea shakes her head, “Don’t do this, you don’t need to do this.”

“I am Gaia,” she says, hard, speaking a name she hasn’t used in a long, long time. “I am Mother Goddess to all, the first to walk this plain, and your elder sister. You will not deny me.” They call her Demeter. She was born Demeter. But she was something else, something far greater, before she risked it all to be born a lowly goddess. “I gambled, and I lost this game. But I will not go out without a fight.”

“You were second to walk this plain, technically,” Amphitrite says softly, eye lowered, showing vulnerability to Demeter that she wouldn’t show to anyone else. “Thinking this was a game was your first mistake. He never thought of it that way.”

She’s about to snap at her, then Amphitrite cuts open her chest and takes out her cold, dark heart. She slips her heart into her sister’s chest, and Demeter does the same, pushing her violently red heart into the darkness of Amphitrite’s chest.  Demeter feels what little grasp on humanity she’d managed to maintain drain away, leaving only a pit of heavy coldness along her spine. A pink flush comes to Amphitrite’s cheeks and a smile tugs on her lips, her eyes warming with the emotions she hasn’t been able to feel since Poseidon left her.

Demeter can feel the power of the current beneath her, the water eager and ready to do her bidding. “Use my heart well,” Demeter tells Amphitrite, Gaia tells her little sister, before using the water to carry her far from where her sister and heart remain.

She will die. But her heart will on, her little sister will live on, and that will have to be enough.

~

Demeter leaves the sea and climbs the steps to what remains of Mount Olympus.

Only Zeus remains, and all that remains of him is skin and bones and sunken eyes. He maintains authority over the skies even though it’s killing him. He’ll maintain authority over it until it kills him.

She needs that power.

She doesn’t care if it kills her.

“My king,” she murmurs, kneeling before his crumbling throne. Their once great pantheon lies around them, nothing left but rubble and ash.

He almost meets her eyes, copper skin now sallow and black hair now white. “She left,” he tells her, high pitched and something terrifying in the edges of his eyes, “She left me – she was never supposed to leave me.” He reaches out and grabs her shoulder, bony hand surprisingly strong, “I miss her.”

Demeter only has one thing left to trade for Zeus’s power.

“Give me what our mother Rhea gave you,” she says softly, “Give it to me, and I will stay on Olympus and you can go to her.”

“There must always be one on Olympus,” he tells her. She doesn’t think he recognizes her. “As long as I am on Olympus, we’ll be fine. He can’t do anything if I’m here, as long as one of us is here. I am here.” Tears leak from his eyes and drip down his face. He doesn’t wipe them away. “She’s not here. She was supposed to be here. I did not want to be alone. She – she was supposed to stay. As long as she stayed by my side, she would be safe. She’s not safe anymore.” His face crumples, the truest expression of grief she’s ever seen from him. “Her sons think they can protect her, but they can’t. They can’t even protect themselves. Only I could keep her safe! But she left. She’s not safe anymore.” Quieter now, “I wanted her to be safe.”

“Give it to me,” she repeats, firmer. She doesn’t have the time for his existential crisis over his missing wife, nor does she have the energy to pretend she cares. “What did mother give you, Zeus? What do I need to take?”

“You can’t take it!” he screeches, scrambling back and away from her. “You can’t have it! I need it! Mother gave it to me, said I had to keep it safe, said I had to stay on Olympus. You can’t have it!”

Demeter growls and grabs the front of his too-big robes, pulling him upright, getting ready to yell at him.

Then she sees it.

His eyes.

His eyes are young, are brown and beautiful. They are eyes that haven’t aged.

Those are not the eyes he was born with.

He fights her, but the heart of Amphitrite beats in her chest, but the strength of Mother Gaia remains in her limbs even now. She plucks his eyes from his head like grapes from a vine. She wonders how old he was when Rhea did this to him, when the woman who called herself mother tore out her son’s eyes and put these ones in instead.

“No!” he sobs, and his voice is clearer somehow, there’s more strength to him even as his face is soaked in blood. “Demeter, do not – it is not your burden to bear!”

“It is no burden,” she says eagerly, “it is a gift.”

She swallows them whole, each eye getting stuck in her throat and she has to force it down. They are part of her, and after a disorienting moment she sees the world as Zeus has seen it his whole life.

It’s no wonder at all he went mad. She’s almost impressed he lasted as long as he did.

It will drive her mad too, but she doesn’t care. She’ll be dead long before that can happen.

“What have you done?” Zeus asks in horror, “Demeter – please, they’re not meant for power, they’re meant to save us. To save us all.”

“I am not Demeter,” she says, and presses her hand to his head, using some of the power coursing through her veins to stop his bleeding, to save him from the swiftly approaching death. “You want her? Go to her. Nothing is stopping you now. And it’s no use trying to stop me.”

Less than an hour later, Zeus takes hobbling, slow steps down Mount Olympus. He doesn’t want to, wants to stay, wants to fight her, wants to take back what she stole, but he can’t. He has no power and no strength and no eyes.  

She sits on the abandoned, crumbling throne and curls her lips into a cruel grin.

She has dominion over earth, over water, and over air.

She will make these mortals beg for mercy before they kill her – Gaia, Mother to All, Earth Goddess.


 gods and monsters series, part xxii

read more of the gods and monsters series here

anonymous asked:

I hate you because you use patreon

I am going to assume you mostly sent this in a light hearted “joking” way, otherwise I’d have just blocked flat out ^ ^

But please, even as a joke don’t send stuff like this, to me or other creators. If you do not like the fact that I’d like to spend more time on creating art (including stuff I post publicly), feel that my time, skills, and effort are worthless, or just in general feel that I am undeserving of a means to support myself financially, fair enough. You know where the unfollow button is, and heck you may even block me to erase all traces of my existence from your tumblring experience, and I’ll never notice but will still wish you a lovely rest of your life.

Because sending me asks like this give me the above messages.

Just because I now have some form of income doesn’t mean I’ve stopped posting publicly. You may have noticed that I’m still posting the same amount, if not more content overall as a direct result of having a Patreon. Yes, I do have exclusive content because yes, I do in fact need to give some incentive to patrons to come check it out and yes, I do want something I can give them to thank them for allowing me to continue drawing for even people like yourself.

I feel like I’ve been explicitly clear that Patreon is not and will never be (and obviously can’t be) mandatory for my followers and supporters. It is OPTIONAL, and the content on there is also OPTIONAL. You can follow all of my stories on here perfectly fine, I’m still producing tons of free content, because I WANT to. I feel I have the right to advertise my relevant content on my own blog, but it’s your choice to follow those links or not, and I do my best to more than balance it out with non-Patreon general art content. And if you do choose to become my patron, I’m trying to be fair to my audience to provide a variety of affordable tiers, starting at literally $1 a month.

My having a Patreon as an option for people who do want to and are capable of helping me out financially does not mean that my feelings towards my public audience has changed. I am still grateful for every comment, ask, reblog, like, what have you, and am still grateful for your presence on my blog touching my work. If that is all you can or want to do, that is OKAY, and I thank you for being here.

But don’t send me shit like this. Don’t fucking do it.

Any follow ups and I will gladly remove all of my content from your dash myself via a block ^ ^

Reunion

“You grew up.”

He laughs, rough and edging just slightly on bitter.

“Yeah, that happens when you disappear for two years.”

Derek’s eyes flit downward, and Stiles waits for him to comment on the FBI vest strapped to his chest but he doesn’t. His eyes only go so far as Stiles’ mouth, flicking back to his eyes and then down again, lingering, before sliding away. A warmth blooms out from Stiles’ chest, crawling up his neck and coiling downward, and this definitely isn’t the time for this but they haven’t seen each other in a year and a half, not even pictures because why the hell would Stiles have a picture of Derek (and he’s spent too long cursing not having pictures of Derek) and he finds his own eyes lingering.

“…You look exactly the same.” And that’s not true because Derek actually looks better, but there’s no real way to explain that Stiles hadn’t been able to hold all of the goddamn perfection of Derek’s face in his memory. He’d thought he had, but his eyes keep flitting around now and holding, catching on little details, little rushes of rediscovery in those eyes, that jaw, his teeth, his mouth, his…

Stiles wets his lips, and Derek’s looking again.

“We should––”

“I should have called,” Derek says at the same time, and Stiles blinks, breaking off, confusion pinching his brows because Derek hadn’t known Stiles was coming. He’d had no reason to call. Except… “After… Peter told me what happened, and I…”

“It’s fine.” It wasn’t, but it wasn’t any less fine than anything else from that shit show. It wasn’t any worse than Derek leaving town and getting rid of his phone to begin with.

“I felt sick the whole time you were gone,” Derek presses on, quick and urgent, like the words had been fighting for months to bubble loose and are finally breaking free. “I felt… Cora said it seemed like I’d just… emptied out. On the full moon, I could barely––”

Stop it.” It stung, because he’d thought Derek would care. For the longest time he’d felt like Derek should care, and deciding he didn’t was the first stepping stone to pulling himself together after… after the Benefactor.

Or… fuck, maybe Derek had cared, but he hadn’t cared enough to stay, to keep in contact, to check in when Stiles had needed… needed someone.

No, fuck. Needed him.

“This isn’t the time,” he says, firmly, because a fucking FBI SWAT team is nearby somewhere and there’s still a target painted on Derek’s back, and the fact that Stiles wants to crawl onto his lap and beat the crap out of him at the same time doesn’t matter, because Stiles is here to save his life. Again.

Derek parts his lips, looks like he wants to argue… and ends up just nodding, looking away up the street.

Stiles makes it a whole three steps toward the next corner before swinging back on him, balled fist smacking his bicep.

“Why didn’t you call?”

Derek doesn’t flinch at the blow. Sighs softly. When he meets Stiles’ eyes, the look in them’s enough to send months of coiled anger scattering.

“I would have gone back.”

“…What?” Stiles feels breathless on the word. Derek looks away, hands lost in the depths of his pockets and stance set in the defeated posture of a man with no way to win.

“If I’d heard your voice. If you’d asked. If you’d even sounded anything less than happy––” He grits his teeth, sharp and sudden, head ducking against some ugly thought. “…And I didn’t want to hear you happy, either.” That falls out lower, tight and rough like a secret shame.

“You didn’t want to hear me happy,” Stiles echoes, numb, and then slowly: “Without you.”

And he only understands Derek’s meaning because it’s been echoing in his own chest for over a year–– that stupid, selfish war of wanting to know he’s happy, and not wanting to know he’s happy, not wanting to hear him making a life and finding bliss in a way Stiles couldn’t give him. He’d always wanted to know Derek was doing well, so much that he’d lain up at night sometimes picturing new, bright, sometimes ridiculously corny futures for him… but the thought had always been as agonizing as it was hopeful and Stiles had never slept well afterward. And then he’d spent other nights up hating himself for being selfish enough to half-hope Derek might not be happy.

Might fail out there in the world, and come home.

Derek’s eyes are on his again, wide and shock-soft in a way Stiles had only glimpsed on him once before: the rush of thinking you’re alone in the world and realizing for one beautiful instant that you’re understood

He can feel a matching expression lighting up his own eyes.

“We’re idiots,” he breathes, and Derek shakes his head, barely seeming to feel the movement.

“I couldn’t go back there.”

“But you could have known I fucking missed you as much as––” He breaks off, despite everything suddenly unsure. “…you missed me?”

“I missed you.” Derek promises, not missing a beat.

“You missed me,” Stiles echoes, and it’s everything he never knew he needed to hear. They watch each other for too long, stunned, awed stillness.

And then the slam of a car door in the distance pulls them back; reminds them where they are and what’s happening. Derek blinks away, looking out and alert toward the street, but Stiles can see a faint flush around his ears, a happy pull that won’t quite die on his lips.

“This isn’t the time,” Derek says, and Stiles nods. There are villains to stop. People to save.

“This isn’t the time,” he echoes, but he’s smiling as he turns to head up the street. “Later.”

It sounds like a promise worth keeping.

Would you believe this was inspired by the beginning of Shrek? Yes. Because it’s the same.


“Next!”

Stiles dragged his feet a bit as Hilda tugged him forward in line. He was chained up and surrounded by guards, probably about to be sold into slavery, but he still wasn’t going to make this easy for the old broad.

He’d been buying her produce for years, and this was how she repaid him? Selling him to the king for some supernatural creature bounty? No. He was going to make this as difficult as possible.

She glared her beady little eyes at him, dug her sharp nails into his arm a bit more, and shoved him forward another lurching step. The fae at the front of the line was deemed worth twenty pounds, ten shillings and hauled off by knights in armor.

“Next!”

A hellhound was dragged forward in an iron collar.

“I will give you money if you just let me go,” Stiles whispered, he wasn’t above bargaining, but Hilda ignored him. He didn’t have much, but it was probably more than she’d get from these chumps. “Six shillings, right now.”

Hilda rolled her eyes and tugged him forward by the chain looped around his wrists. The hellhound was appraised and hauled off into the back of a closed wagon. It was no doubt magically reinforced; Stiles could still hear it snarling violently, but it wasn’t breaking through the old rickety wooden sides.

“Next!”

“Ten shillings,” Stiles continued, “right as soon as I can get to the bank. Twenty, even! Three pounds!”

Hilda gave him a withering look. “You don’t have that kind of money. Now shut up.” She yanked on his chain and both wrists burned as the iron manacles scraped against the already raw skin. The iron was bad enough without all of the jerking around.

Another supernatural creature was carried off to the wagon—this time a nymph—and then it was Stiles’ turn.

Keep reading

#teddy #auror #unresolved sexual tension

Prompts: @foxesandwands
Author: @queenofthyme

If you had told Harry Potter, back in his first year of Hogwarts, that he’d be sharing custody of a child with Draco Malfoy, he would have laughed. Loudly. But here he was, fifteen years later, and one of Teddy Lupin’s two legal guardians.

When Harry had accepted Remus’s offer to be Teddy’s godfather, although in the thick of war, he still never considered he’d actually have to raise someone else’s child. Teddy’s grandmother, Andromeda, had taken care of Teddy originally, which Harry was glad of - a 17 year old did not a father make. Still, he made sure to visit often. He knew what it was like to grow up without parents.

Harry wasn’t surprised that Draco visited just as often. Andromeda was his aunt after all, making Teddy his first cousin once removed.

Harry didn’t make a fuss the first time they’d bumped into each other at Andromeda’s, even though the last time they’d seen each other had been at Hogwarts, in the middle of a war, on opposite sides. He trusted Andromeda, and if she, as fiercely protective as she was, trusted Draco around Teddy, that was enough for Harry to do the same. Although, he still watched closely, curious to understand Draco’s behaviour.

Years past and Andromeda grew weary. She had already raised one child, and she was far too old to be chasing after another. As godfather, Harry knew it was his responsibility to take over as Teddy’s guardian, and no longer a teenager, he felt like he was ready. But Draco had insisted that it was he who should become guardian, as a blood relative.

They had argued like they might have back in their Hogwarts days, with taunts and snide jabs, even a  few hexes, before Andromeda put a stop to it. “How do either of you expect to raise a child if you still act like children yourselves?” She had yelled at them both, her words striking home as always.

Shared custody was Andromeda’s idea, but they both agreed it would be the best option for Teddy. He had already grown attached to both of them, and they both loved Teddy as if he was their own. On that, they were in agreement, if nothing else.

These days, they saw a lot of each other. Teddy made sure of that. They hadn’t quite reconciled all their differences, but they were civil, even polite to each other. They had to be for Teddy. But there was such a coldness to their interactions sometimes, that Harry wondered if it would be better if they just went at it, like they really wanted to. Said what they were really thinking.

Like that time when Draco dropped Teddy off at Harry’s office in the middle of a work day because he had an appointment, and Harry said, “Of course, no problem Draco. Please take your time,” but what he’d really wanted to say was, “You couldn’t have given me some warning so I could plan my day around this, you inconsiderate prat?”

Or the time Draco had taken Teddy on holiday and returned a day later than expected, and Harry said, “That’s okay, Draco, I’m glad you’re both back. I’m sure Teddy had a great time,” but what he’d really wanted to say was, “I thought you were both dead you selfish jerk, you never thought to owl ahead to let me know?”

Or last week when Draco had to reschedule their agreed custody routine because he had a date on Thursday night and Harry said, “Hope you have a lovely night,” but what he’d really wanted to say was, “I hope your date throws wine in your face and leaves you with the bill.”

It’s not like Teddy didn’t know what was going on. He was a perceptive kid. The whole situation was ridiculous.

Keep reading

Drunk/Tired Lance College Headcanons

He’s pretty much that Drunk Girl™ post personified.

  • Found Allura crying because she missed her dad and home so he brought her a sweater and a kitten and threatened to beat up whoever made her cry.
  • Interrupted a conversation some girls were having and apologized profusely about it but he just had to say how bomb her highlight looked
  • Was worried Hunk wasn’t eating well due to exams and finals so at 3 am he cooked him a three course meal and made his favorite homemade snack just like Hunk’s mom used to make them (Hunk is pretty much wtf since Lance only seems to know how to make simple stuff and even burned water once)
  • Shiro found him swaddled and buried in blankets or pillows while he was tired but still trying to stay awake and tried to give him that Disappointed Dad Look™ but he just glared at him saying “I’ve seen better disappointed looks from my dog, try again.”
  • Lance usually overthinks things but oddly enough if he’s drunk or tired enough everything is super simple?
    • Pidge: What the hell is wrong with this code???? I’ve re-calibrated it like six times and it still won’t verify anything?!?!!?
    • Lance looking over at it upside down from where he’s laying on the couch all awkward like and what should be physically impossible: Move that 6 and letter A on line 4 to line 5 and move that dash to the right about 3 spaces.
    • Pidge:
    • Pidge:
    • Pidge: What the fuck 
  • There was one time a professor tried to call Lance out…one time
    • Professor: Lance since you’re so obviously engaged in this discussion and no one else can seem to find the answer can you explain this theory for us?
    • Lance having stayed up till 4am when it’s now 7 o’clock: I could if this was even the chapter you had assigned to us to look at and said we would be discussing today, but I mean you’re either going to say well done and try to make it seem like you were testing us when in reality you had no damn idea and was gonna continue teaching like you knew what the fuck you were talking about or you’re going to try to make me look dumb with your pirate looking ass but by all means do what you do.
    • He promptly passed the fuck out right after.
    • The professor stopped calling on him after that.
  • If Lance is tired enough he literally gives no fucks…at all. He’s trying to go home back to sleep, not deal with anyone’s bullshit today.
    • Lance holding Keith by the collar: Keith no, you can’t fight him today, I’m tired and I want to go home and sleep. why are you trying to fight him anyway.
    • Keith: He was talking shit about my mom
    • Lance rolling his sleeves up: You stay the fuck here I’m kicking his greasy ass myself.
    • They had to get Shiro to pick them both up.
    • Lance and Keith: DRIVE DRIVE DRIVE!!!!!
    • Shiro: What the hell did you two do? And Lance why is your lip busted?
    • Lance: The other guy’s going to need an ambulance okay I’m fine, just drive the fuck away now! I think dude’s girlfriend called the cops.
    • Shiro: What the fucking-
    • Shiro tries to be mad but those two are in the backseat asleep and cuddling so he thinks he can let this slide just once.
    • He doesn’t wake them up when he gets in the driveway so like the shit brother he is he leaves them in the car.
    • He waits until it’s 12 at night before setting off the car alarm.
  • Lance just compliments anyone and everyone when he’s super tired.
    • He’ll say how nice and what a good friend Hunk is.
    • Makes Pidge a flower crown like he does for his nieces and nephews
      • Pidge: Where the fuck did you get the flowers? The campus is literally fake grass and the park is at least 10 miles away. You haven’t even left the dorm what the fuck?
      • Lance: Shhhh hush, now you’re the prettiest girl in town with a flower crown
      • Pidge: What was I before?
      • Lance: Prettiest girl in town duh
    • Does the most badass and elegant braids and styles for Allura’s hair but most of the time he’s not even conscious for it and when she shows up with her hair done up he asks her who she went to and she says him and he just sits there having an epiphany for a solid ten minutes every time looking at his hands like they’ve saved lives.
    • He told Coran he was the best uncle ever and the man has not stopped crying about it. Had the quote printed and framed, it’s hung up on the wall for everyone to see.
    • Shiro was asleep so he just got tape, put strips of it on his prosthetic arm (Don’t write on someone’s arm permanently that’s rude) and used the strips to write out small compliments and doodle nice things like flowers and kittens. Shiro wants to be made about but like…it’s not even permanent and he keeps finding a new doodle every few minutes like a easter egg hunt so it keeps him entertained.
    • Saw Keith was sad one time, went out at 11 at night to an old family friend that lived out near where he was, came back with kittens he newly adopted from family friend and just dumped about 3 kittens on Keith.
      • Keith: Lance what the fuck
      • Lance: Pretty people shouldn’t be sad and you’re like the prettiest so that’s pretty much against the federal law??? And kittens are like happiness personified. Keep them, I can’t take them back.
      • He passed the fuck out right after that too.
      • Keith with kittens in his lap: What the fuck

“Lance,” he said encouragingly, “just try and feel the connection.”

“I am!” He hadn’t been, but it was easier not to admit that. Keith didn’t seem to believe him however.

“Just-” he scooted over in the chair and patted it with his free hand. “Just come and sit with me at least. Maybe she can sense that you and I are connected.”

Lance scoffed but did as he was asked, squeezing into the space beside Keith with relative ease considering it wasn’t very large. Part of his leg draped over Keith’s lap, and he averted his eyes to try and focus on something, anything, other than the feeling of the red paladin beneath him.

“I don’t think the lions know that we’re holding hands Keith,” he replied with a sigh, knowing that this was hopeless, and that they were probably going to be stuck in a strange plant goo storm and get stranded on this awful planet forever.

Because he couldn’t form a proper bond with the black lion and help save them.

Because he didn’t have what it took to pilot her.

Because-

Keith gave their hands a squeeze, and Lance’s mind went momentarily blank.

“Then maybe she can sense another connection,” he whispered. “A deeper one.”

Lance felt his cheeks flush anew, and let the grin show on his face as he stared at Keith.

“You and your bonds,” he chuckled, and Keith beamed. As if in reply, the inside of the black lion lit up suddenly, and from behind them Shiro cheered boredly.

I commissioned @sleepy-moans to draw something for my fic Stick with Me and it’s honestly the best decision I’ve made in a while. Go give them so love for creating such a wonderful piece of art!! It’s perfect!!

i think it’s time i told you (i’m a fan of your universe) (1/1)

Years after Hawkmoth’s defeat, Ladybug and Chat Noir have a conversation about life, love, and marriage.

Ladybug checked her communicator for the third time that night, and frowned.

The green pawprint blinked idly back at her, resting at a junction between city streets—the same place it had been every other time she’d checked.

They hadn’t arranged to meet up that night. It was her turn for a solo patrol tonight, and there hadn’t been any trouble big enough to make calling for help a necessity. She’d stopped a couple muggings, interrupted a robbery—normal, small things. Nothing that needed an extra pair of hands.

And, sure, they both transformed just for the fun of it sometimes. Sometimes they caught one another out on morning strolls or midnight snack runs or impromptu patrols, but usually those involved moving around.

Chat’s tracker hadn’t moved in the past two hours.

She shouldn’t worry—Hawkmoth had been in jail for the past three years and Chat wasn’t in a bad part of town right now—but…

But…

The green pawprint blinked at her from the same junction, at the same pace, unmoved.

Ladybug abandoned the end of her route and headed downtown.

Keep reading

#awkward #pining #ministry

Prompts: @tera2
Author: @queenofthyme

Harry read the article again. He didn’t know why he put himself through it. Rita Skeeter’s outlandish claims never failed to make him angry. And he’d already forced The Daily Prophet to run a redaction days ago. 

No, he did know, actually. It was the accompanying image. The one with Draco Malfoy staring right into the camera, unblinking, a challenge in his eyes. It was familiar but at the same time nothing Harry had ever seen before (except during his many rereads of this particular paper). Malfoy had aged. Matured obviously since he was now a Ministry official. There was just something about his face. The same but different. Harry was drawn to it.

“Auror Potter." 

Harry looked up to find that same face at his doorway, focusing a steely gaze on Harry. He was so shocked he forgot he was holding a cup of tea. It dropped to his desk with an embarrassing clatter, spilling its contents, all over Malfoy’s inked face.  

The Malfoy at Harry’s office door – the real one – didn’t move. His eyes flickered down to Harry’s desk, watching the spill unfold passively.

Harry jumped to his feet and quickly bundled up the wet paper, throwing it face down into a waste basket at his feet. He wasn’t sure if he’d been fast enough.

He looked back up to Malfoy, searching for any sign he might have seen. Nothing. But that hardly meant much. Harry suspected Malfoy’s emotions didn’t play so obviously on his face anymore. He nodded in what he hoped was a professional courteous manner. "Dralfoy.”

Harry froze, the awful blunder hitting his ears just as it came out of his mouth. He could feel himself blushing, his palms getting clammy, his knees weak. Was simply Malfoy’s presence enough to make him come undone these days?

And just when he thought things couldn’t get worse, Harry, not quite sure how much longer he’d be able to stand for, slumped back into his seat - or at least attempted to – but misjudged the position and ended up plummeting to the floor instead.

The only saving grace – if there was any positive to the situation at all – was that at least on the floor, behind his desk, he was hidden from sight. He wondered if he crawled under his desk and stayed there, if Malfoy would get the idea and leave. Harry was seriously considering the option when Malfoy came into view again, stepping around the desk to loom over Harry.

He offered a hand. Harry gladly took it, forgetting for a moment the current predicament of said hands. And sure enough, after Malfoy helped Harry to his feet, he quickly let go and wiped his hand on his trousers.

Harry wanted to close his eyes and crawl up into a ball in the corner of the room. He never wanted to look Malfoy in the eye again. In less than a minute, he had made himself look like a complete fool. And all it took was for Malfoy to walk in the bloody room.

Malfoy cleared his throat. “I just came by to say hello. I thought it was polite given we work in the same building now. Which, of course, you already know.” His eyes darted to the waste basket. Shit.

“I had The Daily Prophet write a redaction,” Harry blurted out, as if that would help. Although at least he managed to get the words right this time.

“That was you? I should have guessed. You never miss an opportunity to save my skin.” Malfoy’s lips quirked upward for the smallest moment before his composure returned. “Well, it was nice seeing how the other side lives. I suppose I must get back to it.”

“Right,” Harry managed to nod. “I’ll get the door for you.”

They both stared at the open door.

Having already committed to the pointless task, Harry hurried forward and tripped over his own feet, falling right into Malfoy’s waiting – his reflexes were still as fast as they were in Quidditch – arms. Could Harry be more embarrassing?

Malfoy righted Harry but kept a firm grip on him – perhaps he thought Harry might slump to the floor otherwise, which was probably an accurate assumption at this stage.

There was amusement in Malfoy’s face now, a lightness in his eyes. “Are you always this clumsy, Potter, or am I special?”

“You’re special,” Harry answered quickly as he didn’t want Malfoy to think this was how all his mornings went. Although, after he realised what he’d said, he quickly tried to take it back: “No, I mean, wait, I mean, that’s not what I  -“

Malfoy took a step back, dropping his arms. “No need to be so flustered, Potter,” he interrupted. “I keep all the newspapers with your face on them too.”

Harry’s brain short-circuited. He must have stood there blinking at Malfoy for a solid five seconds before he was able to ask: “All of them?”

“Thirty-four and counting.” Malfoy winked. “You know, Potter, if you were to take me out to dinner, I’m sure the outing might be scandalous enough to make the front page. We could add to both our collections.”

“If I – you – dinner?” Harry repeated, a little discombobulated.

“Why, Potter,” Malfoy said, a cheeky smile appearing on his face, “I thought you’d never ask. I’d love to.”

Harry blinked – it was the only action he was capable of.

Malfoy laughed lightly when Harry didn’t reply. He made to exit, but paused briefly to call out over his shoulder: “I finish at six.”

Only when Malfoy was out of view did Harry let his knees give in.

more like this l @queenofthyme

Secrets

This is a (decently long, sorry for the lack of writing these past few days) one-shot for the below prompt! It… didn’t turn out exactly like the ask, but I hope you like it anyway! I’ve been wanting to try writing trans!lance for a while because I absolutely love that hc, and I really enjoyed writing this, so let me know if you guys like it, because I could definitely see myself doing another fic with it.

Trans! Lance where an asshole alien keeps miss gendering Lance and being transphobic and he starts to get upset and then the team overhears this happening and are about to kick the aliens ass.

I tried to make it gen… but it ended up being very klance, especially at the end… so uh… I hope you like it anyway! Sorry this always happens when I try to write gen fics.


Only half the team knew.

Contrary to their belief, Lance was actually an expert secret keeper. With a large family like his, he had to know when to keep his mouth shut. So, despite the loud, obnoxious, open persona he displayed for the others, he could also be sneaky.

He’d the had practice of years sneaking out of the Garrison, or even his house when he was little to go see the beach at night with his siblings.

So, keeping a secret on an unbelievably large castle ship with only six other people on it was easy.

Or at least, it should’ve been.

Keep reading

mum

Sirius Black had always traveled to King’s Cross with incredible joy in his heart knowing that he wouldn’t have to return to Grimmauld Place, 12 for several months and that he wouldn’t see his family for a very long time. This was the first time Sirius had trouble getting out of his bed on 1st of September. He didn’t know how to explain it but it felt like a hippogriff was sitting on his chest making it hard to breathe.

“Padfoot,” sighed James. “If you make me miss the train, I will steal all of Remus’ chocolate and blame it on you and he will believe me.”

“Idunwanowunintmmawf,” said Sirius into his pillow. 

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I don’t want to run into my mother,” he replied sitting up realising he didn’t have the strength to deal with James Potter at the moment. 

“We will move quickly and we won’t see even a string of her hair,” smiled James. “That’s a promise, Pads.”

“But she will see us Prongs,” mumbled Sirius looking like a lost puppy. “That bitch has her ways, she always finds me and Regulus in the crowd.”

“Don’t be fucking ridiculous and get out of the bed” ordered James in return as he attempted carrying his trunk down the stairs for a second. “MUUUUUM can I locomotor my trunk dooooownn?”

“NO,” said Euphemia sternly from downstairs. “You’ll carry it down James and so will Sirius.”

“But muuuum-”

“James, dear, you are sixteen years old,” explained his mum like she was talking to a small child to make sure he doesn’t set the house on fire. “Stop acting like you are four or that girl you like so much won’t even look your way let alone like you. Independent women like grown men, not needy children.”

Euphemia Potter had a way with her son, she knew where all of his buttons were and how to push them just right because James Potter and his trunk were downstairs the Muggle way in a minute after the pep talk she had given. 

The breakfast was calmer than usual with Fleamont being at work and Sirius acting like he is half dead. When they were completely ready to floo themselves to the train station, Euphemia put her hand softly on Sirius’ shoulder, a kind of touch he wasn’t still used to after almost two months.

“Sirius,” began Euphemia. “What’s wrong? You know you can talk to me.”

“I just really don’t want to run into my mother,” confessed Sirius. “I’m scared of what she might do to you.”

James shook his head in disbelief, he found it hard to understand the irrational fear Sirius had. He knew Walburga was one disturbed woman but he also knew his mother shouldn’t be underestimated.

“Walburga should be scared of running into me,” said Euphemia half jokingly but James knew what would happen if they were to run into that woman. “I can handle him dear.”

Sirius nodded as convincingly as he could before he grabbed floo powder from the porcelain bowl standing next to the marble fireplace.

“King’s Cross,” he said clearly and he was gone with the green flames in seconds.

It didn’t take long for James and his mum to come with the flames. They hurried towards the Platform 9 ¾ with their trolleys and James ran face first into the wall just to disappear into thin air and then Euphemia and Sirius ran to the other side of the wall as well. 

Hogwarts Express was standing with all it’s crimson glory waiting for the students to get in to take them to Hogwarts. The three of them walked hastily to where the Marauders’ compartment was. They stood in front of the door to say their goodbyes.

“Be good,” said Euphemia. “I don’t want any letters from Minerva this year James.”

“Mum, you know I can’t promise anything.”

“Where did I go wrong while raising you?” she asked curiously. “Don’t answer that.”

“Sirius, write to me whenever you feel like it,” she reminded. “I’ll be expecting you home for Christmas, alright?”

“Yes, mum,” said Sirius and choked on his words almost instantly as a warm smile formed on Euphemia’s lips and James’ eyes lit up like they were fairy lights.

“Tsk tsk, Sirius,” came Walburga’s cold voice behind them. “We shouldn’t call blood traitors who didn’t give birth to us ‘mum’.”

It seemed like Sirius had shrunk in size as Euphemia stepped in front of him protectively.

“Tsk tsk Walburga,” she repeated. “We shouldn’t eavesdrop on conversations that aren’t ours and give opinions that no one asked for. He can call me ‘mum’ whenever he wants to, seeing that his actual mother is not available at the moment.”

Walburga made an attempt to grab Sirius by the wrist but Euphemia was agile for her age and she was holding onto Sirius’ wrist like he would die if she let go.

“You won’t touch my son and I’m not talking about James.”

“I suggest you stay out of this Euphemia, this is none of your business.”

“Oh, you made it my business when this boy showed up in my living room, barely breathing,” shot back Euphemia with all the rage that had been building up in her. Sirius was hiding behind her, careful not to catch Walburga’s piercing eyes.

“You are exaggerating,” she replied. “Nothing wrong with a little tough love.”

“I know an Unforgivable Curse when I see one Walburga,” she hissed just loud enough for people around them to hear, Walburga was turning purple with anger. “If I could, I would take Regulus from you, too, before he ends up dead from your tough love.”

“How dare you speak to me like that?”

“The same way you dare torture your children Walburga,” she said without blinking. “Now let go of my wrist and stay away from my sons.”

Sirius was trembling behind Euphemia who was standing like she was the queen of the universe, she didn’t move until Walburga Black turned around and left. 

“I told you I could handle her,” she said with a reassuring smile and caressed Sirius’ cheek softly. Sirius noticed the marks on Euphemia’s wrist then, burn marks like the long boney fingers of his mother. “As long as you got me, she can never come close to you and know that there’s nothing wrong with you calling me mum. Anyone would be proud to have you as a son and I am, too.”

“I- I can heal that if y-you want m-mum,” said Sirius, his voice shaking with the weight he was feeling on his shoulders. “I’ve- I’ve gotten pretty g-good with h-healing charms.”

“No Sirius, I can fix it. You forget you are not allowed to practice magic outside of Hogwarts,” she reminded and laughed a little. “It’s funny that a woman of her age is unable to control her magic like a toddler.”

Sirius’ eyes were still fixed on Euphemia’s thin wrist, his eyes filling up with the anger and sadness he was feeling. He lifted his eyes just a little to give a guilty look to James and saw his best friend smiling warmly down at him, he didn’t hide his pity but he didn’t have to. James always found it rather unlucky that Sirius ended up in such a messy family and never lied about how he felt about that situation, his pity was because he cared.

“Mum’s a big girl mate,” he said like he knew Sirius was about to spiral down and he needed someone to say something, anything. “She can take care of herself.”

“He is right, love,” nodded Euphemia. “Now, off you go, we don’t want you to miss the train because of something as unimportant and miserable as Walburga.”

“Just call her a bitch, mum.”

“James Fleamont Potter,” began Euphemia as she jokingly flicked her son’s arm. “You kiss me with that mouth and you will stop saying that word, even though some people deserve it, or so help me Merlin I’ll ground you until the end of time.”

“Okay, okay,” surrendered James. “I’ll just call her a goblin.”

“That’s my boy,” she replied and the spark came back to Sirius’ grey eyes. Euphemia hugged both of them and gave them loud kisses before she pushed them towards the train. “Don’t forget to write to me when you get there.”

“Sure, mum,” said Sirius with a grin before he was dragged away by an over eager James.

Threaten my livelihood, don't be surprised when I come at you harder.

This happened a few years ago and it’s somewhat lengthy but I’ll try and keep it reasonable. TL;DR below.

It all started when I moved to Nevada with my dad because my parents had divorced relatively recently and he wanted me to stick around and help him with my younger siblings. He is the hardest working man I’ve ever met, and I didn’t have anything really going on besides kind of roaming, so when he asked if I could move in with him and just kind of be there for my little brother and sister in exchange for room and board, I wasn’t going to say no.

Anyway, we ended up moving to Nevada in our travels because he was in the mining field and there happened to be a mine there.

A little later on, he hooked me up with a job at the mine too. Nothing special, just working in the warehouse doing various duties. It paid well though and I was pretty strapped for cash so I was glad for it.

I actually enjoyed it for the first 2ish months.

Keep reading

Imagine Bill talking about how nervous he was during your first meeting and letting it slip he has a crush on you during an interview.

Originally posted by karlmordo

“So I- I didn’t ask you at first and don’t think anybody has let it go-” Jimmy said with a chuckle and Bill grinned to himself, nodding his head “But uh you said you met (Y/n) almost eight years ago? That’s- that’s a very long time you know.”

“Uh yeah” Bill rubbed the back of his neck a little nervously “My father had uhm he had invited me actually on set, to bemore specific, and I could never miss a chance like that. And- and that’s where I met her.”

“Hmh” Jimmy nodded his head “On the- on the set of Thor, right? Her character, and her as a person, has many fans that love her and is quite famous and so are you. Yet nobody has noticed a thing for all this time, it’s quite remarkable how you kept so low you know?”

“Oh uh” he chuckled “Well, it wasn’t that easy I will tell you. But we uhm had a friendship that we really wanted to last and for us to enjoy it we- we made the decision to be as subtle about it as possible. Our families knew of course, and so did our- our friends but uhm-” he cleared his throat, trying not to get off topic and let something slip of the two of you being more than just friends “It was all sort of- sort of us… living the moment every time, trying to make it just about… us?” he tried to explain with hand motions, hoping it didn’t come out so much as it being more than a friendship.

Keep reading

Please help!!!

So I think I have an answer to my illness

I’ve been having an extremely agonizing relapse lately. Thankfully, the labs were all in and so I went to go see my doctor. The news was… unsettling.

This is a current list of infections in my body. I have everything from bacterial, viral, and even parasitic infections everywhere. My immune system has completely shut down for a while now and is allowing everything to destroy my body. But why?

This is a lab screening for Lyme disease. I only showed signs for one type of antibody for it, which usually isn’t enough for a diagnosis. But because of everything else he took it a step further and also ordered a genetic screening for toxicity.

Surprise surprise Lyme showed up.


So yeah, I have Lyme- which I’m super allergic to- and have had it for at least a year. My immune system shut down and isn’t doing anything, letting everything fester in my body. I have parasites, typhoid fever, epstein-barr, herpes (which is nearly impossible for me since… you know… I’m not sexually active), brucella, even a type of pneumonia.


I’m very sick. And everyone thought it was anxiety.


I hate to ask for this, but if you guess could help me out with finances from the medical bills (the doctor that found this charged $560 just for the last visit). I could really use all the help I can since I really need to move away from my abusive (homophobic and transphobic conservative christian) mom. I’m still waiting for disability as well, so I currently have no income.


If you can’t, please spread the word. My paypal is courageousfire@aol.com.


Thank you guys so much;;;

anonymous asked:

Peter cancels his date night with the reader for "stark internship" but forgets to tell her so she turns up at his flat and May's fuming that Peter did that to the reader so she's like "you like Thai food? I'm taking you out for Thai food, we can complain about my useless nephew together" and they have a girls night because they don't need no men to have fun

You bit your lip to contain your excitement as you stood waiting in front of the door to the Parkers’ apartment. It was yours and Peter’s monthly date night, and you were going out together to see a new superhero movie you’d been waiting on for months.

“(Y/N)!” May Parker sounded surprised as she opened the door and saw you, confusing you slightly.

“Hi May! Is Peter ready?”

The older woman bit her lip, sighing.

“Peter was called in to work, for his Stark internship. He rushed off, but he said he’d told you that he’d have to cancel tonight.”

Your lips parted slightly, and you tried not to look too upset in front of your boyfriend’s aunt.

“Oh,” you said quietly. “He…he didn’t tell me.”

May was furious; you were the nicest girl she could think of for her nephew, she saw you as another member of the family, and she couldn’t believe that Peter would let you down like that and not even tell you.

“I’ll just go,” you were saying sadly, wiping your eyes and starting to walk away down the hallway.

“(Y/N) wait!” May called, stepping out of the door. You turned to face her, desperately hoping that she couldn’t see the tears in your eyes.

“Yeah?”

She sighed, running a hand through her dark hair.

“Do you like Thai food? I’m not happy with my nephew ruining your night, so we could order food in if you like? Girls movie night?”

You smiled softly, wiping your eyes clumsily. “I’d like that,” you replied quietly. She grinned, holding her arm out to you and leading you back into the apartment.

_________________________

It was almost eleven o'clock at night, and Peter was exhausted. Every bone, every muscle in his body ached and screamed in protest as he clumsily scaled the outside of his apartment building. He had expected to enter his bedroom to find a silent, sleepy flat, but he could dimly hear a movie playing in the living room, and two familiar laughs.

“(Y/N),” he breathed, suddenly realising what he had, or hadn’t, done that night. “Shit.”

He crept over to his bedroom door, trying to eavesdrop through the doorframe.

“…I know how important this internship is to him,” he heard you saying. “I’m so proud of him for getting it, but I never realised it would take him away from me so much.”

He felt his heart breaking in his chest; he thought that by keeping his true identity and job from you, he was protecting you. He hadn’t considered that you would feel as though he was putting his job above his relationship with you.

Realising that he couldn’t walk into the living room all of a sudden when you and May thought he was at Stark Tower, he picked his phone up off of his bedside table and began to type a text.

You were almost crying with laughter at one of May’s corny jokes when you noticed your phone screen lighting up beside you. May raised her eyebrows slightly, staying silent as you read the text from Peter.

Message from Peter P 😘❤️:
Hey beautiful. I’m so sorry about tonight, Mr Stark didn’t give me time to do anything but run out to his car. I promise you’re worth so much more to me than this internship or anything in the world, I love you so much. I’m sorry for being the world’s worst boyfriend. I love you (Y/N) xxxx

You smiled softly, your lips moving silently as you reread the text.

“Is that him?” May asked casually, folding her legs beneath her on the sofa. You nodded.

“He’s sorry. He says he’s the worst boyfriend in the world,” you added with a chuckle. “He isn’t, he could never be. I hope he knows that.”

Peter smiled slightly to himself, running a hand through his messy hair and replacing his phone on his bedside table. Maybe he wasn’t quite the worst boyfriend in the world, but he promised himself that after tonight he would be the best.

Tags: @pillow223 @agentmalfoy24601 (hope you enjoy!!)

Trust

DAY 4 OF WHUMP WEEK- Torture.

I’m actually really proud of this one? It’s a bit longer than usual, and it’s very Keith-centric even though I’m whumping Lance because hi have you met me? I’m too invested in klance. I hope you enjoy!

@elsiemcclay aka the best person to run ideas and/or titles by. thanks friendo.


A groan sounded to Keith’s left, and he looked over immediately, trying to mask his relief with a glare. “Oh, good. He finally decided to wake up.”

“Hey, how many times do I have to tell you? Beauty sleep is important.” A pause. “Where are we again?”

Pidge snorted. “Guess that general hit him harder than we thought.”

“Lance! You’re okay! I was worried— that totally knocked you out, you hadn’t moved in a while,” Hunk rambled. “Does your head hurt?”

“Like hell,” Lance said, leaning back against the wall and pressing a hand to his forehead. “But nothing too serious. Thankfully, now that I’m conscious, I remember what happened. We’ve been captured, haven’t we?”

Keep reading

thegrumpiestunicorn  asked:

I don't normally do these prompt things, but “I don’t mean to sound paranoid but I’m pretty sure you’re a serial killer" sounds really interesting. No pressure!

Bucky watches from his window as the guy who lives in C107 climbs up the fire escape in about five steps. He pauses when he sees Bucky and gives him a little smile and a salute. Bucky forces a smile back.

Because, despite the guy from C107’s blond hair, charming smile, and generally pleasant demeanor, Bucky’s pretty sure that he’s a serial killer.

— —

C107 moved in three weeks ago during the middle of the night, because that’s what serial killers do. They come in the middle of the night, murder everyone on their floor, and leave before anyone can find their bodies. It doesn’t matter that C107 smiles shyly at him in the mailroom or helps the old lady in E202 with her groceries; Bucky knows what’s up. He knows that C107 sneaks out almost every night and doesn’t come back until morning, and never through the front door. Once or twice, Bucky’s seen him covered with blood.

So the guy’s a serial killer, and Bucky’s not sure what to do about that.

— —

There’s a knock on Bucky’s door.

Bucky texts Darcy: It’s the serial killer and I’m going to die.

Darcy texts back: have fun!

It’s not a helpful answer.

Bucky takes a deep breath and walks towards the door. It’s better that he just opens it up and accepts his fate. It’ll be hard enough for the landlord to rent out his apartment again after everyone finds out that a murder took place; he may as well not make any messy clean-up bills by having the serial killer knock down the door or something like that. Makes things simpler in the long run.

He opens it.

C107 is standing there, shirt covered in blood. “Hi,” he says with a bit of a sheepish smile.

“Oh,” Bucky says, then promptly passes out, because if there’s one thing that Bucky isn’t good with, it’s blood.

— —

He wakes up on his couch, underneath a blanket, and with the fluffiest pillow in his apartment beneath his bed. He does not wake up in Heaven (or Hell, if all of those fire and brimstone ‘homosexuals are killing America’ preachers are to be believed) because C107 killed him.

Bucky blinks a few times, then hears C107 on the phone. “No, that’s not… I don’t care if he knows who I am! That’s the point!”

Bucky closes his eyes again. It’s not worth it. He’s going to die.

“Well, what was I supposed to do, Tony? March into his apartment in my Cap uniform and commandeer his laundry machine?”

That’s… kinky.

“No, no, I’ll… I don’t want to wake him up! I’ll talk to you later, Tony.”

Bucky opens his eyes again, just to be a little sneaky, but of course C107 is already looking at him. “Hi there!” he says, far too perky for someone with a shirt covered in blood.

“Uh, hey,” Bucky says, pushing himself up.

“Easy now,” C107 says, rushing over to the couch. “Don’t force yourself,” he says.

“Why would you care?” Bucky asks, a bit hysterical as C107 reaches out to touch Bucky’s forehead with the back of his hand. “Since you’re here to murder me, and all.”

C107 drops his hand. “What?” he asks, incredulous.

“I’ve seen you! Crawling through the window at night! You’re going to kill me and honestly? I’m not prepared for it. I have… four things to live for. At least. Maybe five.”

C107 just stares.

“Six?” Bucky offers. “I’m not sure I can list more than six, to tell the truth.”

“I’m… I’m not going to kill you,” he says.

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “I have a hard time believing that.”

“No, no! I’m… I needed to borrow someone’s laundry machine and I saw you were up. That’s all.”

Bucky blinks. “You have your own in your unit.”

“It’s busted,” C107 says.

“Because you put bloody things in it all the time?” Bucky asks.

C107 snorts. “No, because the last resident and their partner had relations on it and busted it.”

“Go Kevin,” Bucky says.

C107 laughs. “Anyhow,” he says when he’s done, “I’m not here to kill you.”

“That’s a relief.”

“I mean, I have killed people before,” Bucky’s eyes go wide then C107 says in a rush, “but most of them were Nazis.”

“I’m not following here,” Bucky says, throat dry.

C107 sighs. “Okay, it’s. I’m. Captain America?” he says, wincing. “And I was just wondering if I could borrow your washing machine.”

Bucky nods. “Alright, okay, that’s…”

And it’s a good thing he’s already on the couch, because he passes out again.

Things Said In My Household But With Fairy Tail Pt.4
  • <p> <b><p></b> <b><p></b> <b><p></b> <b></b> *At The Mall*<p/><b>Erza:</b> Don't do anything stupid guys.<p/><b>Natsu:</b> *scoffs* How dare you accuse us of such vulgar intentions.<p/><b>Gajeel:</b> I feel offended.<p/><b>Gray:</b> We would never. What are we 5?<p/><b>Wendy:</b> Thats something i question everyday.<p/><b></b> ___<p/><b></b> *Two Hours Later*<p/><b></b> *in the car riding back home*<p/><b></b> *dead silent*<p/><b>Gray:</b> Erza I know you're mad...<p/><b>Erza:</b> *staying quiet while continuing to drive*<p/><b>Natsu:</b> Pls dont hurt us.<p/><b>Gajeel:</b> It was Natsu's idea.<p/><b>Natsu:</b> WAS NOT.<p/><b></b> *the car stops immediately and causes everyone to lurch forward*<p/><b>Erza:</b> WHO THE FUCK SWIMS IN THE MALLS FOUNTAIN?<p/><b>Gray:</b> techically we were trying to get the money.<p/><b>Erza:</b> ...<p/><b>Gajeel:</b> we're so screwed.<p/><b></b> ___<p/><b>Wendy:</b> Heys guys I kissed a boy today! :D<p/><b>AllThree:</b> *playing video games and not paying attention* uh huh, thats nice, good for you.<p/><b>Wendy:</b> ...Im going on a date now.<p/><b>AllThree:</b> right, have fun, bring back some food.<p/><b>Wendy:</b> ....<p/><b>Wendy:</b> Im pregnant<p/><b>Natsu:</b> *falls off the couch*<p/><b>Gajeel:</b> *drops controller*<p/><b>Gray:</b> *jumps up*<p/><b>AllThree:</b> IMMA KILL A FUCKER, YOU'RE TOO YOUNG, WHAT?!!<p/><b>Wendy:</b> April fools! <3 *skips away*<p/><b><p/></b> <b></b> ____<p/><b>Laxus:</b> Do you want ice cream?<p/><b>Natsu:</b> *from upstairs* YES<p/><b>Gray:</b> *outside* I WANT VANILLA.<p/><b>Gajeel:</b> GET ME CHOCOLATE. *somewhere*<p/><b>Laxus:</b> I WASNT ASKING YOU FUCKERS. so wendy ya want some?<p/><b></b> ____<p/><b>Natsu:</b> i swear to god...*looks in the cupboard* gray you better not have..<p/><b></b> *wrapper noises in backround*<p/><b>Gray:</b> *opening poptart* What?<p/><b>Natsu:</b> OH HELL NO *jumps Gray*<p/><b></b> *CRASH*<p/><b>Erza:</b> *runs down stairs with a bat* WHO THE F-- *sees Natsu and gray fighting* ITS TWO IN THE FUCKING MORNING . *starts hitting them with the bat*<p/><b></b> ___<p/><b>Gajeel:</b> *from upstairs* NATSU HELP..<p/><b>Natsu:</b> You better not be stuck in the catbox again.<p/><b></b> ___<p/><b></b> *In Treehouse*<p/><b>Gajeel:</b> WE ARE THE TREE KINGS<p/><b>Natsu:</b> ARGH MATEY<p/><b>Both:</b> ALL HAIL QUEEN WENDY.<p/><b>Gray:</b> Arent we getting too old for this?<p/><b>Wendy:</b> THROW HIM OVERBOARD<p/><b>Natsu:</b> RIGHT AWAY YOUR MAJESTY<p/><b>Both:</b> *pushes Gray out the tree house*<p/><b>Gray:</b> Wait I ASK FOR MERCY.<p/><b>Gajeel:</b> *holding him over edge*<p/><b>Wendy:</b> hmm..NO MERCY.<p/><b>Gajeel:</b> *drops him*<p/><b>Both:</b> ALL HAIL OUR RUTHLESS LEADER. *insert Grays screaming*<p/><b></b> ____<p/><b></b> *When Wendy was Younger*<p/><b>Wendy:</b> *shy* um Gajeel..natsu..gray..<p/><b>Gajeel:</b> yea?<p/><b>Wendy:</b> the house...*shys away*<p/><b>Natsu:</b> what about it?<p/><b>Wendy:</b> it's...*shifts*<p/><b>Gray:</b> it's?...<p/><b>Wendy:</b> On fire.<p/><b>AllThree:</b> WHAT?!!<p/><b></b> ___<p/><b></b> *At The Beach When they were younger*<p/><b>Natsu:</b> that was so uncool.<p/><b>Gray:</b> we worked so hard.<p/><b>Wendy:</b> *crying* Erza, Gajeel destroyed our sand castle.<p/><b>Gajeel:</b> hehehe<p/><b>Erza:</b> *throws gajeel into a trashcan*<p/><b>Erza:</b> there you go. That handles both our problems. <p/><b></b> ___<p/><b></b> *Wendy as a toddler*<p/><b>Gray:</b> *filming Wendy and Natsu*<p/><b>Natsu:</b> Is it recording?<p/><b>Gray:</b> Yes idiot.<p/><b>Natsu:</b> okay wendy say Natsu.<p/><b>Wendy:</b> Ewza.<p/><b>Gray:</b> SAY GRAY<p/><b>Wendy:</b> Ewza<p/><b>Natsu:</b> FUCK.<p/><b></b> ___<p/><b>Wendy:</b> fwuck ewza.<p/><b>Erza:</b> what the..who..?<p/><b>Wendy:</b> Natwsu and Gwray.<p/><b>Erza:</b> ...<p/><b></b> ___<p/><b>Natsu:</b> *throws shades on*<p/><b>Gray:</b> *throws shades on*<p/><b>Gajeel:</b> *throws shades on*<p/><b>Wendy:</b> * looks at them and throws shades on upside down*<p/><b></b> __<p/><b>Gajeel:</b> *singing in the shower upstairs*<p/><b>Natsu:</b> god who's dying<p/><b>Gray:</b> I wonder how his cat puts up with his shit.<p/><b></b> *faint cat crying for help and scratching the bathroom door*<p/><b></b> ___<p/><b>Natsu:</b> s-shit.<p/><b>Gray:</b> *pale*<p/><b>Gajeel:</b> what's up with you both?<p/><b>Gray:</b> E-erza's been ignoring us all day.<p/><b>Gajeel:</b> *turns pale* what the hell did you guys do ..<p/><b>Both:</b> WE DONT KNOW.<p/><b></b> ___<p/><b>Erza:</b> *has earphones in*<p/><b></b> ___<p/><b></b> *At Police Station*<p/><b>Erza:</b> *silent*<p/><b>Natsu:</b> OH THANK GOD YOU'RE HERE.<p/><b>Gajeel:</b> what a relief.<p/><b>Gray:</b> Get us out.<p/><b>Erza:</b> you're so lucky we're in the police station otherwise you three would have been murdered. AND WHO DANCES NAKED ON THE ROOF OF TARGET?!<p<p/><b>____<b><p/></b> <b></b> Jesus.<p/><b> Part 5? :</b> </b> )<p/></p><p/></p><p/></p><p/></p>
pre-zimbits, in which bittle is drunk and jack is very patient (and a jerk with a great ass)

“I can’t believe I didn’t stay for Senior Week last year.”

Bittle was sprawled across the grass in the little cemetery on the other side of the soccer field. Jack wasn’t entirely sure how he got here, but he was very drunk and very alone, and everyone else was very drunk and not answering Bittle’s texts.

“Having fun?” Jack asked, hands in his pockets.

Bittle pulled himself to his feet, using a headstone for balance. “Mmph, sorry there, Mr. Dead Dude. Don’t haunt me for this.”

Bittle was drunker than Jack feared. He stumbled over, eyes glassy and unfocused. There was no doubt Jack would be cleaning vomit tonight; Bittle was so buying him Annie’s tomorrow.

Keep reading

Don't believe I'm sick? I'll show you sick.

This story is back when I was still in elementary school, probably around 3rd-5th grade; I don’t remember the specifics.

Growing up, my parents never believed that either me or my 2 sisters were ever sick. If there wasn’t a fever, you were good to go school/practice/church etc.

It was a Friday night, I remember that, because we were allowed to stay up late watching the Simpsons with my parents. After the last episode of the night finished airing, my Dad informed us it was time to clean up the living room (where we played) and the kitchen before bed. While cleaning, my stomach began to grumble, and the feeling of a hard lump fell to the back of my throat, as well as a hot flash. Feeling suddenly queasy, I figured to ask my father for a pass on cleaning that night. “Dad? I don’t feel very good. Can I just go to bed?” I moaned. “Really? You feel sick? You were just up playing with your sisters and watching t.v.” “No Dad I know but I really feel like I’m going to throw up” “Stop lying. Clean the living room.” he snapped back. Growing increasingly queasier, I finished cleaning, all the while holding back what felt like projectile vomit, and went straight to bed angry I wasn’t believed.

Now, here’s where the revenge comes in.

I woke in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, mouth dry, stomach turning. I ran into the bathroom that was closest to my room, and while yes, I did make it to the toilet in time, I remembered being called a liar and being forced to finish cleaning while feeling sick. So instead, I “accidentally” vomited on the tile right next to the toilet. I promptly woke my father up, told him I threw up in the bathroom but “I couldn’t make it I’m so sorry I told you I was sick”.

While I was laying bed trying to fall back asleep, listening to my father curse to himself, I heard my mother scold him and say “Well she did say she didn’t feel good.”