i hope my hair looks half as good as hers when i'm her age

sonnetscrewdriver  asked:

Am I right in thinking some Celtic peoples practiced something akin to tattooing? I'm sure I've read stuff by Roman historians about it, so obviously grain of salt and all that.

They did, yes. Most likely body painting rather than tattooing, but then, it might have been tattooed in.

The common misconception is that they used woad, which, unusually, isn’t actually Caesar’s fault for once. Instead, it’s the fucking English, of all people. In the 1600s there was obviously that big mad scramble to colonnise the “New World” i.e. cyfe everything not nailed down, and England wanted to justify why it should get the indigo plantations instead of the Spanish on Moral Grounds (OH MY GOD I KNOW). So, Queen Lizzie One went ‘Hey, my granddad was Slightly Welsh, and that’s Celtic, and they used woad and also did tattooing, maybe that’ll work.” And so, they put about that woad - a relative of indigo - was what her ancestors had used culturally, and therefore indgo was part of her heritage.

It was not true.

The Insular Celts did use woad, that much is true, but they used it as an antiseptic, mostly. While it is a relative of indigo, it doesn’t produce anything close to the dyes you get from that one; the colour is similar, but not remotely as strong, and even with the best mordants it washes easily out of cloth. It was a medicinal plant, basically. There’s a theory that they would bathe in the stuff before battle as part of a ritual, but that was probably because it you’ve basted yourself in Savlon before running at swords and other pointy things, you’re much less likely to die of secondary infection (or, as you might perceive it, it means the gods have lent you protection.) And, of course, woad is an astringent. If you tried tattooing in an astringent, the best you could ever really hope for was semi-permanent bruising.

But, there are accounts of Pretty Blue Patterns on the skin, so PREPARE FOR TEDIOUS HISTORICAL CITATIONS

So first up we’ve got our boy Caesar, of course. Exhibit A, taken from De Bellum Gallico:

Omnes vero se Britanni vitro inficiunt, quod caeruleum efficit colorem/All the British colour themselves with {glass}, which produces a blue colour.

More on that in a bit. Next, Exhibit B, Claudius Claudianus:

Venit et extremis legio praetenta Britannis, Quae Scotto dat frena truci ferronque notatas/[This legion], which curbs the savage Scot and studies designs marked in iron on the face of the dying Pict.

Again, I’ll come back to that. Exhibit C is this sexy motherfucker:

Lindow Man! The most complete bog body found in Britain. I shan’t go into the debate surrounding how he died. That’s a rant for another time. The important thing here is the copper found on his skin.

So, let’s kick off. Caesar there is doing some Classic Caesar Bullshit, look - the only time the man ever came to Britain was to briefly do a meet-and-greet with a single south-eastern tribe in, like, Kent, before fucking off back to Rome, but he always was very good at ascribing the actions of one person to an entire people because Caesar was a massive fucking tool; so yeah, grain-of-salt. But it’s probably fair to say he was giving a good overview of a common practice in the south-east of Britain, at least.

And what’s interesting is the word he used for the colouring substance, which I have here translated as ‘glass’; but the word was ‘vitro’. Vitro was a contemporary-to-Caesar Roman blue-green glass, ver’ ver pretty:

- and, crucially, the major additive to create that colour was, in fact, iron(II) oxide. Let’s revisit Exhibit B: Claudianus’ Picts, who ‘marked their faces with iron’. For ages, historians interpretted that very literally, and thought they were practising facial scarification; but there’s a whole host of reasons why that’s unlikely, not limited to the potential to kill yourself with sepsis when you live in an arse-frozen Scottish highland with no NHS.

What seems more likely, it seems to me (and others, this isn’t just my theory)… Is that the Picts, much like the Insular Celts, were of course highly skilled metal workers, and therefore produced a lot of useful compounds in their forges that they realised could be used for pigments. Because these people were incredible metal workers, as we know:

If you’re that good, you have an extensive and highly skilled cultural knowledge bank around the raw materials you’re using, you know? You know what iron and copper and tin can do, though admittedly, I don’t think they worked out that copper poisoning was a thing.

We’ve found Romano-British cosmetics, incidentally, that back this up. In 2004, they found a villa that contained a half-used pot of Romano-British foundation made of animal fat, starch and, crucially, tin oxide. When rubbed onto the skin it makes you pale while leaving a light, powdery texture. It also, unlike the lead-based continental equivalents, didn’t corrode the skin like wax under a fucking candle.

So, step in Lindow Man! Copper deposits were found on his skin, and although decomposition has meant it’s not possible to see them exactly, they did tests to see it the copper was in the places you’d expect painting vs places you wouldn’t, and the results certainly supported the theory. I believe other bog bodies have just about had visible blue swirls, too.

And, unlike woad, you can tattoo iron oxides into the skin without issue. Technically you can tattoo copper in, but Lindow Man was most likely painted. I’d say that was just as well, since tattooing copper would kill you - but Lindow Man died horribly and violently and got chucked in a bog for two millennia, so ultimately, I doubt it made much difference to him. Though, a bonus fact: he had excellent white teeth, perfectly manicured nails, and his hair and beard had been trimmed with scissors, giving us concrete evidence of hygiene practices and tools among the Celts.

To round off: it seems likely they did something, though whether it was painting or tattooing, we don’t really know. It was probably done with metal compounds, and certainly not with woad. Queen Lizzie One lost the indigo plantations to the Spanish anyway. Lindow Man’s life was fabulous if riddled with parasites, right up to the point it very abruptly wasn’t, somewhere in his 20s.

And the Celts made exquisite metal stuff.

Seven Thirty, Uncharted Territory [Part 1] // BTS’ Suga

In which an awkward Slytherin falls for an all-too suspecting Hufflepuff.

Fluff, humour, Hogwarts AU.  
Word Count: 1.7k.

Part 1 //


Seven-thirty in the morning, and Min Yoongi is already resenting the world.

It must be some sort of curse, he thinks to himself as he slumps down at the dining table, that is desecrating either his luck or ability to pass through a day without feeling the need to snap his wand in half. While he acknowledges that optimistic mornings are not normally his forte, he can’t help but feel as though today in particular is destined to run to the ground: somebody has spiked the coffee pots with pumpkin juice- not even with good juice, too, the bloke just had to use yesterday’s stale leftovers- and the Potions essay he meticulously wrote last night is missing the back page. Couple that with a double period of Arithmancy and a stack of unreasonably difficult assignments, and it’s as though the world is serving him a big steaming platter of LOL and get fucked, mate.

Scowling, he jabs at a grilled sausage. The seventh years further up the table shoot him scathing looks, but he soundly ignores their disapproval. His housemates aren’t very fond of him, he knows, but seeing as the feeling is mutual he really couldn’t give a damn. Sometimes when he’s lying in bed at night he wonders what sort of bastardly demon could have possessed the Sorting Hat to put him in Slytherin, of all places. He’s nothing like his haughty housemates- at least, he hopes to the gods he’s not- but he supposes it has something to do with his lineage being among the oldest and most traditional in the wizarding world. A prime candidate to carry on the legacy of Salazar bleedin’ Slytherin. Really, family could positively ruin your life without even trying, sometimes.

Just as he’s about to begin his breakfast, a hand reaches over his shoulder and plucks the fork from his hold.

“What climbed into your knickers this morning, Yoongs?”

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so, i ranted about spideychelle in the tags of one of @spideychelleforever‘s posts and @aqhrodites called me out by posting my tags here and i’m a sucker and will write anything probably. this is inspired by tom’s instas here, here, and here and a conversation with @spideychelleforever. also tagging @spideychelle-romanogers bc she loves me. part two now here.

pretending to drown is immature and wrong (ao3 link)

It’s the summer after sophomore year and Michelle has a problem. And this problem presents itself quite often because Michelle’s designated (and paid, which she’s quite happy about) job for the summer is to babysit her little sister Leia. And Leia loves going to the pool. Which, okay, Michelle’s all for her sister going to the pool and playing Marco Polo and doing dives with her friends. It’s just that Peter Parker happens to work at the pool as the lifeguard. And he’s there nearly every day she goes with Leia. And he’s also almost always shirtless. Hence, Michelle’s problem.

Look, it’s not as if Michelle didn’t know Peter Parker was attractive before the summer. She spent most of sophomore year staring at him from a distance. She watched as he fawned over Liz and as he started to flake more and more and saw the sudden change after Liz left when he started showing up as a teammate and classmate. (What? They did projects together. She had a vested interest in his dedication to school.)

If you watch a boy all year, eventually you’re going to notice when he has some attractive features. Like when he showers and heads straight to school so his curls are all damp and twisting all over his head. Or when he runs around the gym during PE class and his shorts are tight on his ass. Or when Ned makes a joke at lunch or during practice and Peter’s whole face lights up and his features scrunch together as the pure joy takes over all his features.

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They’re not what Zevran was expecting.

The plan isn’t ruined, per se, but he was rather counting on them to be slightly less suspicious. Grey Wardens are heroes of legend, and people routinely called heroes are supposed to be giving and trusting. This lot clearly isn’t. The elf - Dalish, if he’s seeing correctly - and Qunari are just short of openly disdainful, trading eyerolls when they think no one can see. At least, he clearly sees the elf roll her eyes; the Qunari is on the far side and perhaps more mannerly than Zevran gives him credit for.

Perhaps only the human is a Grey Warden then. He certainly seems eager to assist the woman Zevran’s hired. His information is scare and outdated; it’s entirely possible the others could be tagalongs. That would be more fitting. Champions sometimes amass a following, and outlaw heroes have their own appeal. And if the Grey Warden is this blindly trusting, well, he certainly needs them.

That rather complicates things for him though. The two suspicious ones are scanning the horizon, shoulders tight, clearly expecting something. The massive dog - and Zevran’s not sure if he’s a Grey Warden or not, this being Ferelden - is scenting the air. They’re not going to make it to the wagon.

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The Price 3/?

Summary: As Killian settles into the Swan’s castle, he finds no comfort in it’s extravagance, and yearns for more creature comforts. The Swan provides Killian with a few unwanted revelations.

tagging @kmomof4 @the-captains-ayebrows and also @jadeddiva and @artielu even though they didn’t ask because I super enjoy it when they scream at me and also I haven’t watched the episode but from what I understand about the last five minutes, I’m guessing all y’all need something to yell about.

Chapter List: One/Two

Chapter Three

Killian has never had a room for himself. In the cottage near the edge of the forest, there’d been no separate spaces, only a cot by the window where he’d curled up to sleep, and on Silver’s ship he’d closed his eyes and rested to the sounds of a few dozen snoring men, often in the same cot as Liam - even aboard The Jewel he’d refused to let the men think there was any sort of favoritism being played (First Mate status notwithstanding) and he’d kept to the berth there, as well.

The room he finds himself in is sprawling, extravagant, and so large he’s quite certain the Jewel would fit right inside of it.

It’s far too much space.

The door he’d closed behind him is sturdy and thick, with a heavy bolt to bar it shut, and a key besides to lock it up. It’s a small comfort to him, when he’s seen the Swan materialize out of nothing - surely there’s no lock that could keep her out, should she feel the need to be anywhere she pleases - and yet, it feels a bit like a promise. Of some small bit of privacy, at least, or an attempt to set boundaries.

Perhaps it was a peace offering, though Killian couldn’t imagine many of the other Chosen had felt as he did in this moment.

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take heart. (da:o LI edition)

the warden sits on the floor by their fireplace, staring blankly at the dying flames flickering among the ashes. the landsmeet failed. nobody believed them. it’s been a long night, and it’ll be a longer day tomorrow. they’re not sure how long until sunrise - and as they’ve watched the firewood crumble bit by bit, there’s a part of them that’s not sure the sun will come up at all. a part of them that’s not sure they want it to.

there’s a quiet knock, so soft they almost don’t hear it over the gentle crackling of the fire –

– and morrigan enters before the warden can rise, closing the door behind her. she sits cross-legged next to them, her hair loose, golden eyes reflecting the fire. “you have not slept,” she says, and the warden shakes their head. morrigan sighs, looks away. “nor i. this is how men have always been. blind, and stupid, and cruel and afraid.” she looks back. “but there have always been those like you, as well. those who give hope. ‘tis often hard for the one carrying the torch to see how bright it truly is - ” the fire finally dies completely, but before the room can fall dark, morrigan conjures a flame in her palm - “but know that those around you will carry it forth, should you need a rest. you are not alone.”

– and alistair pokes his head around the door. “can i come in?” he does, before the warden answers, sits behind them and pulls them in against his chest. “you too, eh? i don’t imagine anyone’s gotten much sleep tonight.” his arms are strong and he still smells like the forest, solid and unchanging. “it’s all gone to shit,” he murmurs, “– well, even more than it was already. and it feels hopeless. i don’t know how we’ll do it, but then, i didn’t know how we’d do half of what we’ve done already.” his arms tighten around the warden briefly. “we’re fighters, you and me. have been all our lives, needed to, since no one would fight for us. but now – now we’ve got each other’s backs. that’s the difference. now we’re not alone.”

– and leliana appears, almost ethereal but for her vibrant hair, catching the dying firelight. she kneels in a fluid motion, curls in against the warden and rests her head against their shoulder. “this is how it always goes,” she says. “in the songs. the stories. it was never going to be easy.” she hums quietly, a tune the warden recognizes from long nights on the road. “i used to think it should be, if one only believed hard enough, or said the right prayers. but that’s not how it works. we must continue fighting. and it will continue to hurt, the way they turned their backs today – but we find our strength in each other.” she squeezes their arm. “we always have. we’re not alone.”

– and zevran pads in on bare feet, face softening as he sees the warden. he sits next to them and interlaces his fingers with theirs. “they are wrong,” he says bluntly, and anger sparks in his eyes before fading to something like grief. “it is painful to be … mistrusted. disbelieved. you were the first to trust me in a very long time, and with so little cause.” his thumb rubs the back of the warden’s hand gently, reassuringly. “you see the good in others, even when we do not see it in ourselves. you stood up for those who could not. and you must believe that there are many who will stand with you for that – myself first among them.” he pulls the warden in, kisses their forehead gently. “you are not alone.”

anonymous asked:

Steamy prompt #14 "Can I touch your hair?" with ChloNath

I promise, I am eventually going to write all of these requests, I’m just taking a long time because writing has turned into a much slower process for me lately. Anyway, here’s some steamy ChloNath, waking up the morning after a mutual friend’s wedding (probably Adrien and Marinette’s wedding). Enjoy! <3


Chloé inwardly sighed when she heard the rustling of fabric over to her right followed by a distasteful groan. She elected to ignore it, at least until she could finish editing the proposal she was working on. Honestly, he had already set her far enough behind schedule as is, he could at least wait another ten minutes so she could still be somewhat productive that day.

A flicker of bright red moved in her peripheral as he sat up in the bed. She just had to finish this sentenc—

“Ugh,” he grumbled, “I got drunk last night.”

She outwardly sighed this time. “That you did,” she said, hitting save before finally turning in her chair to face him—the artist. He sat upright in her bed with one knee drawn up to rest his elbow on as he rubbed his head and took in his surroundings. Meanwhile, she took him in for the second time that day.

In the six years since she had last seen Nathanaël Kurtzberg, as much as she hated to admit it, he had really grown into his features. His hair was still as obnoxiously red and silky as she remembered it being, only now it was slightly longer—long enough that the two hair ties on his wrist probably went to good use—and his eyes were still that ridiculously pretty shade of blue that had infuriated her back in lycée. That growth spurt that had started to hit him toward the very end of school looked to have continued, but he certainly hadn’t bulked up, leaving him a pale string bean—long and thin. But his thinness didn’t look frail or unhealthy as it sometimes did back in lycée; he seemed to have filled out just enough for his figure to actually look good despite not containing an ounce of muscle from what she could tell—and she could tell a lot what with him being completely naked. The only thing that covered him was the sheet she had hastily thrown between his legs when she had first woken up. He didn’t even seem to care to cover himself now that he was awake and she could clearly see him.

She had to force herself not to outright ogle him. As much as she knew that drunk Chloé was absolutely insane for sleeping with him (The nerdy artist from lycée? Really!?), the sight of him at least explained how it had happened at all. The man was stupidly attractive.

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A day in the (theme) park - Power Rangers Fanfic

Based on my headcanons post

Read it on Ao3


Thank you to @rwbyfreak for helping me beta and to @giantallergyball for being so supportive and helpful during my writing process, it really helped to have a friend that is so lovely and willing to help me with my weird writing needs! <3


Group Chat names are as follows:

  • Hot Stuff: Zack
  • Boss Man: Jason
  • tinyballofrage: Trini
  • Little Boy Blue: Billy
  • Princess KimBIrly: Kim


Two weeks after their battle with Rita and the team’s energy was drooping. Jason can tell his team needs a break, the final straw was when all of them even Billy refused to go into the kitchen to retrieve their donuts. After another wasted training session, he decides to put a plan into action - for a much-needed break. When he explains his idea to Billy, the two set about compiling a list of ideas for activities they could all do and then came the task of rallying the others. He pulls up the group chat, rolling his eyes when he sees that Zack has once again changed the group name.


      Zack Taylor  has changed the name to  Zack’s Bitches….and Billy ;-)


Boss Man: Dude! Stop changing the name.

Hot Stuff: It wasn’t even me man.


            Princess KimBIrly changed the name to  LIES AND SCANDAL 

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syna-esthesia  asked:

5.“Wait a minute. Are you jealous?”Hope/Light :)

royal!AU tag

total nano count: 20435/50000

One of the first things Lightning had been taught regarding her newly royal status was that when it came to parties and dinner engagements, she was never late. Everyone else was simply early.

Of course, she’d tried to argue that that made no sense in the context of her introduction ball since there were a bunch of other royals there, but Sazh had just sighed in that exasperated fashion of his that suggested she was taking years off of his life and told her to hush.

If only she had such an opportunity tonight.

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anonymous asked:

A Marichat fic where she introduces him to her parents? (On purpose or because they find him or anything else, your choice, I just never see Chat interact with them in Marichat fics.)

for some reason this was really hard for me to come up with ideas for and mari’s parents are hard to write but i hope you enjoy it anyway!! thanks for the request~


“You want what?”

“Popcorn,” says Chat Noir, grinning widely at Marinette as they sit next to each other, snuggled under her duvet. It’s the middle of the night during winter break. Meeting in the dead of the night isn’t exactly convenient for either of them, along with the akuma attacks that come along tirelessly to no end and the fact that they have to stay as quiet as mice so as not to disturb Marinette’s parents, but it’s the only time that her parents are asleep and that he can get out of his house unnoticed… so it’ll have to do.

They’ve been doing it for a while now. Usually they just watch movies or anime. Marinette had no idea that she actually liked anime, but Chat Noir seems to love it and she’s found herself getting way more into it than she expected. Sometimes they just lie around and talk to each other until the early hours of the morning.

Generally they tiptoe around Mari’s parents and rarely does she venture downstairs for supplies - Marinette makes sure that she has all of the goods they need to get them through their movie marathons and late night chats ready before he arrives.

This time, she facepalms as she realises that she’s completely forgotten to bring the popcorn up. Popcorn is an integral part of their get togethers and Chat just can’t seem to get enough of it.

“Oh… I left it in one of the downstairs cupboards and totally forgot about it,” she says, groaning as she has to force herself out of the toasty blanket and makes her way towards the hatch that leads down to the rest of the house. “Sorry, kitty. I’ll be right back.”

“Can I come with you?”

She glances over at him and his eyes are bright with excitement. He jumps off the lounger and approaches her, beaming.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, chaton,” says Marinette uncertainly.

“Hey, come on. I’m a cat. I can be quiet, I swear,” is Chat’s response. “I’ve never sneaked food to my room in the middle of the night before. There’s a lot that I have done, but sometimes the simplest things seem the most exciting.”

“Well… okay.”

He follows her downstairs, and she’s impressed at how quiet he really is - he pads along with such stealth that she can barely tell there’s someone behind her. They reach the kitchen without any problems, and Chat watches as she reaches up into a high cupboard to grab the large packet of popcorn. And then she turns around and smirks playfully before launching it at him.

And that’s where it all goes wrong.

He catches the bag but squeezes too hard and it bursts all over the place with a loud pop - there’s popcorn in his hair, on the floor, in his cat ears, on the counter, and some even managed to fly as far as to hit Marinette, one of two of them catching on to her pyjamas. She snorts and then claps her hands over her face, stifling a laugh as he stares at her in bewilderment.

There’s a creak from the other end of the room and the pair freeze and slowly, as if they’re in a horror movie, turn to see Sabine and Tom looking into the kitchen with wide, sleepy eyes. They seem to take a moment or two to grasp the situation before Tom begins to laugh too, heartily and loudly, and Marinette’s mother attempts to hide a smile behind her hand. Marinette and Chat Noir can do nothing but stare.

“You know, honey, if you wanted a friend over for a sleepover, you could just have asked,” Sabine says, flicking the light on. Chat Noir tries not to hiss as he covers his eyes. “And that friend is Chat Noir, no less. What an honor to have him as such a close friend to our daughter.”

“Bu- well I didn’t think you’d- I thought that you would take it the wrong way-” stammers Marinette, not quite believing her ears.

Tom shakes his head. “Don’t worry, love. If there was any danger of us thinking that your relationship was like that at your age, you’d have to be an entirely different person. And even if you are dating, we trust you. Would you two like us to bring you up some hot chocolate when you go back upstairs?”

She’s still looking slightly shell-shocked - and somewhat red - as she replies, “Y-yes, please. Thank you papa.”

“Thank you,” Chat Noir repeats, bowing his head slightly. “I really a-purreciate it, Mr. Dupain-Cheng.”

“You can call me Tom, my boy. And don’t worry about it. Marinette often voices her concern regarding you and your wellbeing when we start talking about our beloved superheroes. I’m actually more happy to know where she’s been getting all her information from!” Laughs Tom. “Plus, how can I say no to Marinette having a friend over who makes so many awful but amazing puns? I always wanted someone would would really appreciate my own.”

Chat Noir glances at Marinette, and her eyes flicker briefly towards him, face ruby red. “Thank you,” he says again, more softly this time, humbled by the Dupain-Cheng family’s kindness. “Thank you so much.”

“Oh, and sorry about the mess.”


send me a ml ship and any prompt or request + ‘gif’ or ‘fic’ for a gifset or a drabble to celebrate 2k!

aban-asaara  asked:

#40 from the kiss prompt list for Anders/m!Hawke please. :D

“Hold this corner here,” Anders shouted over the wind that whipped their hair and cloaks (and tents) into their faces. This was immediately followed by an ominous flapping noise. “Bugger and blast!”

Hawke turned just in time to see one of their two tents take flight in the exact way tents shouldn’t. The wind carried it right off the cliff and sent it tumbling down to the sharp rocks below.

Merrill was wringing her hands. “I was holding it! I really was! The wind’s just too strong!”

“Well,” Hawke said, and turned back to Fenris. Rainwater dripped from his brow and over the thin, exasperated line of his mouth.

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Betrothed

Shirayuki was twelve the first time she met her betrothed. Although, looking back on it, the whole scenario had gone horribly awry, and she was surprised that anything good could have come out of it at all.

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Word Count: 1007

Triggers: None

Requested by @girl-next-door-writes

You’d been going to the same gym since you’d moved to Portland 5 years ago. It was nice, but small, and there was only a handful of people who were ever actually there when you were. Eventually, you became a regular, able to pick out who should and shouldn’t be there, who was new, who had left.

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Mini Drabble - Trainride musings

Caroline always felt nostalgic about trains. No matter how much had changed to conform to modern standards, sitting beside the window as the world passed by brought back warm memories. Years, hell, a century and a half passed by, and one look across the cart to her deviled-eyed companion brought back the vivid flashback of their introduction as if she were the grimy-little-stowaway again.

She was just a small thing but oh so clever. She knew she could disguise herself amongst the bags under the rags she wore.

She hadn’t planned for anyone to find her, let alone a vampire, or to witness him nearly tear the woman’s head from her neck in a monstrous act. Despite the blood smeared across his neck, she could identify him as an attractive man, but when he smiled down at her, she saw behind the façade and wondered if it would be her last day on earth.

He brought her up to his room at the dead of night.

She was terrified. She knew many things could transpire. She heard too many tales of men terrorizing women, especially vulnerable girls such as herself. He was too strong for her to escape his grip and she wondered why she couldn’t resign herself to her fate, to be violated and disposed of, just like the corpse who hid in her previous place in the luggage compartments.

Yet, she didn’t cry.

She wondered why but couldn’t figure it out.

Compulsion, she remembered. He swiftly lifted her up and down the carpeted hall, dragging her numb body without a single complaint.

“What’s your name?”

“Caroline.”

They were on friendlier terms after day break. He offered her breakfast, a game of cards, and lulled her into a sense of safety she couldn’t imagine possible after the ordeal only hours before.

“I’m Kol. Where are you from?”

She was vague. He knew why.

“Running away?”

She nodded.

“I see. As am I. It looks like we have something in common, Sweets.”

She thought little of the name. Not at first. It became a thing: Darling was given to the ones who amused him but were ultimately doomed. Sweets was a term of endearment, there was a chance the recipient might come out unscathed if he felt merciful. But over time, the name became less and less common, replaced by her given name. And she still stood.

“You’re quite good at this,” he mused. She had won the last two rounds. “Are you cheating?” She shook her head. “Show your deck.” She shook her head. “Not fair, sweets.”

“Life’s not fair,” she murmured. She was bold. Had it been anyone else, certainly Kol wouldn’t have been as lenient.

“I can’t disagree,” Kol nodded. “Let me show you a trick or two. Have you ever gambled before?” She shook her head. He grinned. “Oh, come on, you must have played a game or two of high stakes.”

“I’m only eight.” Caroline deadpanned.

His brows raised.

“There is so much to learn. Watch carefully, sweets.”

She was a quick learner. Three days they spent in that cabin, bonding over card games and stories. Kol brought her to a table game on the last day. She was understandably nervous. One man had the idea she was the reward if he won. Kol had other ideas. Hours into the game, with Caroline preening over Kol’s shoulder subtly to see his deck, watch his moves, and memorize the rules of the game, the men grew anxious and demanded an end.

It was a foolish mistake on their part.

They were the only ones to walk out of that game alive. That was her second bit of carnage, many more would come.

“What are you doing?”

Caroline was nervous. She swallowed painfully and rose from the floor, ignoring the wet spot on her knees where the blood soaked her tattered skirt. She gripped the towel with all her might and wearily brought her eyes to meet his, straining her neck.

“Cleaning up,” she spoke softly.

He shook his head and held out his hand.

“No need, sweets.”

“But… if someone finds them…” she muttered.

“It is not our problem,” he assured. “Look at you. You’re a mess.” Nonetheless, he smiled. The blood on her knees, straining her skirt, and the red around her hands reminded him of what she could be if she were a vampire. She was too young, and while she had extraordinary control and curiosity for her age, it’d be too cruel to condemn her this short in her life. She would have more advantageous if given the gift of immortality much later into her adolescence. “Let’s find a suitable replacement,” he gestured to her tarnished garments.

“Okay,” she nodded. He tugged off her bonnet and ruffled her hair.

In that moment, he thought of his sister. She reminded him so much of Rebekah. Perhaps that’s why he didn’t kill her that week. Or he was lonely and found her company, regardless of the resemblance, comforting – not that he’d ever admit it.

He was always messy while she was neurotically clean. It proved to be a running joke and at times, their saving grace when she thwarted any pursuers from their trail with her tendencies to cover their tracks – and the carnage that usually overlapped.

“Have you been out here?” Kol inquired.

She shook her head. She began to talk more. She grew out of her shell when she found his presence less threatening – and more protective, whenever that happened, she wasn’t quite sure.

“I’ve heard stories.”  She smiled. “People come out here for new beginnings. They seek adventure. I want that. I want to start anew, to ride a horse across the desert, to rob a bank,” she laughed. “I wouldn’t have been able to do that at home. I’d be like my mother – married, stuck in a loveless marriage, and miserable. I don’t want that.”

“I could help you,” Kol offered. “Have you robbed a bank before?”

“I’m only eight,” she laughed.

“We’ll work our way up there. Have you ridden a horse?”

“No,” she frowned. “We only had one and Dad took her with him. Mom was too scared I’d fall off, so I wasn’t allowed.”

“We’ll rectify that,” Kol promised.

“I’d like that,” she smiled. She saw hordes of buffalo pass by. She never saw anything like it. Her eyes widened, excited by the new sights.

She has seen so many things through the glass panes of a rolling train. Great cities, untamed wilderness, quiet countryside, you name it. They all had a story. She could appreciate all of them.

“Well Caroline, it appears our stop is nearby. What do you say, want to join me?”

“Where are we going?”

“Colorado City. It’s rough but you’ll survive it. I bet you this stack you will.”

That stack was her first betting money. She lost the first round but recovered quickly. Kol taught her well. She relished in the faces of the losers – men who plundered their fortunes to the hands of a girl no older than nine. She wasn’t old enough to drink but that didn’t stop her from taking a celebratory shot of whiskey. It burned. She stuck to cider for a while after that experience. Nonetheless, she split her winnings with her new mentor who splurged on women, booze, and horses.  

She saved one half of her part for future endeavors and used the other to buy three new dresses.

“Comfortable, Sweets?”

They were in a luxury cabin, isolated from the rest. He claimed the loveseat, enjoying a cigar, while she practiced her tricks. She had made quite a name for herself, usually winning honestly, but in the handful of incidents she found it necessary, she proved to be a talented deceiver.

Luck would only get you so far.

She turned and smiled.

“Very,” she confirmed.

She was older now. Three years had passed.

“It seems you are, too,” she teased, noting the shadow of a woman who had entertained him moments ago. “Satisfied?”

“Very,” he returned jovially.

“I’m surprised she could walk. You usually like to take an extra bite,” she observed.

“The night is still young. Ah, you know I’d never subject you to endure such festivities. I’d dismiss you before I’d engorge.”

Caroline took is as a sign of respect. She usually retired to the main hall, conversing with the gentlemen or woman that remained, while Kol entertained his flavor of the night. She only walked in on him a handful of times and avoided the topic each time.

“But,” he countered, “should you ever have questions, I’d happily oblige in the dirty details of adult pleasure. It’d be a shame should you be disappointed by someone who’s inadequate in the area.”

“Kol,” she whined, red in the face. “Not now.”

He laughed, enjoying her embarrassment.  He missed having those simple interactions with his siblings. Caroline was a wonderful substitute.

“I’m just saying, Sweets,” he shrugged. “Take charge. Make him work for it. Or her, should you ever steer that way. And don’t sell yourself short. It’s an activity that should satisfy both.”

“Unless one ends up dead,” she remarks dully.

“All in good fun,” he toasted.

He killed the majority of her lovers, she mused. He was rather protective of the blonde and when she was old enough to muster thoughts beyond the lock of lips. She killed the rest when they pushed her boundaries. At first, she was stunned, then angry, then grateful. It was an odd realization, but she knew his reaction stemmed from something sincere.


MORE OF THIS AU???? I’m seriously so fucking excited, and I feel so happy and lucky to have this *cries* honestly thank you for writing more!!! You’re a fucking angel, and i hope you’ll keep going haha

Koroline is the best~~ and i loved this look at their past, how they all started, how they worked together…it’s really nice and I’m in love :D also how fucking cute are they? even in the midst of murder and blood loool I’m super in love with this AU, and your writing!!

@arrenemris she wrote more about your wonderful AU!!!! Everyone should read this!

Dancing with the Linebacker

Rated: M (swear words, life stuff, gonna be smut at some point… let’s be real) - Also this might be a light concept but there are some parts in this that are kind of dark (lots of talk of divorce and some of neglect)

KRISTANNA MODERN AU

Authors Note: So, I have watched Dancing with the Stars off and on for many years (I both love and absolutely hate that show), and the thought struck me last week to make a bit of a fic out of it, and I kind of got obsessed with it and I’m now 7 chapters deep into this dumpster fire (no joke!), but I’ve been way too insecure to post it, but now I know there is a Kristoff/Anna dance tonight I just have to post the first one and please accept this for what this is! Ahhhh!


“Please Daddy!  Pleeeeaaaaassseeeee.”

Kristoff looked down into his daugters honey-brown eyes, wishing that he had never said anything to her.  The fact was, they had been asking him to do the show for three seasons, and he always politely declined, knowing that he was a terrible dancer.  Well that, and the fact that he hated being in the spotlight, and going on the show would literally thrust him into one.

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A while back I promised @djkaeru a little fic as thank you for their cute journal! So here it is, the requested Kaz + shiba fluff we all need in these trying times <3

Please note this is somewhat of a sequel to Coming Home (For Christmas)!

Enjoy c:


It was Kinako’s very first day on Mother Base when she

- woke up her owner in a midnight barking fit,

- chewed on electronic equipment, including his portable radio unit, and

- stole a variety of ties and proceeded to hold them hostage for hours in her newly-established hideaway under the bed.

Kaz knew raising a Shiba Inu was going to be hard. A few weeks later, it’s clear those stunts were only the beginning of what quickly turned into a personal war between dog and human; one in which a significant amount of his property plays the role of civilian casualties more often than not.

By now, it’s common place for the first action of Kaz’s day to be locating Kinako and performing damage control. He learned that it’s easiest to push and prod the puppy with his crutch, trying to be gentle as he nudges her into her dog bed. It’s a dark grey and already a little worn from back when DD was her size.

“Stay.”

Despite his early morning appearance – sweats, a too-large shirt, messy hair – he’s confident the effect of his commanding voice is the same.

Kinako looks at him and starts chewing on the rubbery end of the crutch.

Two of four paws are on the dog bed.

“Close enough”, Kaz sighs and goes to work.

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ishouldgetatumbler  asked:

WAIT YOU TAKE PROMPTS? (If you don't that's fine but if you do????) KilluGon, Flowerpot concussion? (If can't/don't want to it's fine.)

I do take prompts! This is another one that got away from me, haha. Juuust shy of 4K words. :D; I hope you like it! Spoiler alert: No one actually gets a concussion. I just don’t have it in me, lol.

Also available on AO3!

Danger: Risk of Falling Flowerpots Ahead!

    The day starts out peaceful.

    He, Gon, and Alluka are walking down the charming, stone-paved streets of a charming town. The path in front of them winds back and forth. There are shops and houses rising up on either side of the road. Green vines cling to brick walls, and they pass under a lattice archway from which heavy blooms of lilac hang, filling the air with their pleasant perfume. Alluka is tugging on his sleeve and pointing ahead to a store she’s interested in, and as Killua turns his head to look over his shoulder to where Gon walks behind him, brown eyes sparkle mirthfully back at him.

    A warm, content feeling settles in Killua’s chest. He turns to reply to his sister, thinking that nothing could make this day go badly.

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My Hero - Austin Carlile

Hiya, could you do a austin c /alan ashby one where you go to a high school reunion & you bump into your ex bf and he starts being really condescending to you & austin defends you then you go home and he says you’re perfect & smut/fluff love u guys x

Well you said Austin twice so I decided to do it with him. Wasn’t into writing smut so I left it implying… hope you like reading c: 2,379 words - written by Emma.

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Christmas fic :)

IMPORTANT A/N AT BOTTOM:

“Mm,” Sasuke groaned, burying his nose aggressively into Sakura’s sweaty pink hair and taking a deep whiff of her femininity. He reached for her slender body with his good arm—his only arm, as Naruto liked to tease, poking the stump with his bandaged right hand—and pulled her close against his body, the all too familiar curve of her perky breasts brushing against his rough torso.

She let out a giggle and ran her fingers through his unkempt hair, brushing away the long black locks that covered his dark eyes. “Stop,” she warned. “You’ll make me laugh, and how will we explain this to Sara—Sasuke-kun!”

His lips, swollen from the passionate kisses Sakura had bestowed upon him earlier, pressed tenderly over the purple seal of her forehead. He smirked when he heard her faint gasp of pleasure at his affection, and murmured against her skin, “Close your eyes.”

“I have to get up, Sasuke-kun. Sarada doesn’t even know you’re here. You coming home was supposed to be a surprise, and are you really going to be the one who ruins it for her, mister?” Sakura forced herself out of her husband’s firm grasp around her waist, shaking off the thigh he wrapped around her waist to keep her restrained (and to indicate his apparent excitement).

“She’s a patient girl.”

Sakura scoffed, prying his limbs off her body and stepping onto the cold, wooden floor. She reached for her undergarments and fastened her bra, ignoring the subtle admiration from Sasuke’s eyes.

“Obviously, she got that from me,” she muttered. “I’ve been waiting all my life.”

“Hey,” Sasuke said, reaching for her hand. All traces of lust departed from his face, and was replaced by the somber solidity of a promise she knew he’d never break again.

“You don’t have to wait for me anymore, alright? I’m here.”

The beginnings of a soft smile made its way from the corners of her mouth until they met in the middle, forming a wide grin. She placed a kiss over his left eye and massaged the roots at the back of his neck.

“I know. Thank you, Sasuke-kun. I love you.”

“Aa.”

.
.
.
“Sarada, honey. It’s time to get up. Merry Christmas.”

“Nn,” Sarada cried, stretching her little arms out into the air–narrowly missing Sakura’s nose–and released a yawn. She shook her head rapidly side to side to rearrange the bedhead from last night, and fumbled for her red glasses Mama picked out for her.

“Did you have a good sleep?” Sakura asked, holding out her arms for her daily hug, which Sarada returned graciously. She had her father’s mysteriously dark and handsome looks, but in essence had the features of her Mama. Sakura saw herself, twenty years ago, in Sarada’s forehead, eyes, nose, mouth–and for knowing that part of Sasuke helped her create this beautiful child, she was forever grateful.

“Are you okay, Mama? You’re crying.” Sarada ran her finger over Sakura’s cheek and wiped it on the front of her pajamas. “Don’t cry, Mama. It’s Christmas! I got you a big surprise.”

“I can’t wait,” Sakura said, maintaining her composure through her emotions. “I got you one, too, Sarada. Do you want me to carry you or do you want to hold Mama’s hand?”

Sarada leaped off her bed and stepped into her slippers, her dainty hand clasping around Sakura’s ringed finger. “I’m a big girl. I want to hold Mama’s hand so I can support her when Papa’s away.”

“Oh, honey.” She leaned down to kiss her darling daughter’s forehead. “Mama’s strong. She’s going to be okay. Don’t you know? Women have to be strong in order to survive.”

Sarada flashed one of her trademark smirks that echoed Sasuke’s so similarly. “I bet I get my smarts from you, Mama.”

Sakura winked. “Don’t tell that to your father.”

.
.
.
“Okay,” Sakura said, pushing Sasuke into the closet door and placing her hand over his mouth to silence any complaints that should come out. “Just stay in here and wait for my cue. You’re a ninja of stealth, so I trust that you can stay quiet for ten minutes while I keep her busy. Alright?”

“Is she upset that I’m not here?” Sasuke asked, removing Sakura’s hand from his mouth.

“I can’t answer for her, Sasuke-kun. All I know is that she’ll be excited to see you back.” She squeezed his shoulder and shot him a smile before closing the door on him and sitting next to Sarada, waiting casually to open her gifts.

“Aren’t you going to see what’s inside?” Sakura asked, guiding Sarada’s fingers to the ribboned bow sitting brightly on top of Sasuke’s mystery package. “It looks pretty.”

“Mama,” Sarada began. “I told you already, I’m a big girl. I know what’s happening. You can let Papa out of the closet now.”

Sakura’s body froze, her hands paused in midair. Her green eyes widened twofold, and she was caught so off-guard that the only sound she emitted was a weak garble.

“W-What are you–” Sakura began, trying to wave off her daughter’s silly conjecture as if she hadn’t heard correctly. Her eyes darted back to Sasuke’s hiding place, and she wondered what thoughts were going through his head at the moment. Perhaps they were calmer than hers, and maybe he even had a little pride that his daughter was so sharp–”She takes that after me,” he’d say with nonchalant Uchiha arrogance.

Sarada smirked, folding her arms. “I’m not mad at you, Mama. But I can tell when Papa is secretly home. You look much happier and youthful when we’re all together as a real family. And although you are so pretty, you become ten times more beautiful when Papa is around.”

Sakura began to protest, but knew her efforts would be futile. Instead, she brought Sarada onto her lap and held her tight to her chest, showering kisses on top of the head of black hair she inherited from her Papa. “You do get your smarts from me, Sarada-chan. What a bright girl.” She picked up the gift with the ribboned bow and dropped it into Sarada’s eager hands.

“Go ahead,” Sakura said. “Open it.”

With delicate movements, Sarada began to untie the bow and placed it on the ground. She smoothed it into a crisp, straight line, and slowly began to lift the cover off the box.

“What is it?” Sakura asked, peeking inside.

“It’s–” she began. “It’s…Papa and your wedding picture?”

In a flash, Sasuke was already by his girls’ sides, bringing Sakura onto his lap and Sarada onto her’s. Sakura hadn’t even heard him leave the closet, and Sarada feigned ignorance that she knew he was even at home.

“Papa!” she shouted with true glee, throwing her arms around his neck. “Merry Christmas!”

“Aa, Sarada.” He ruffled her hair. “Have you been a good girl?”

“Yes, Papa.” Sarada bit her lip, showing the wedding portrait of him and Sakura. “Is this for me?”

“You always said you wanted to see what Mama and I were like a long time ago. I thought you would like this.”

Sarada took a deep look at the portrait, framed in cherry wood and engraved with their names and his clan symbol. Meanwhile, Sakura shot Sasuke a dirty look, silently asking him if he thought that was an appropriate gift for their daughter.

“Did you love Mama a lot then?”

“Sarada!” Sakura blushed. She and Sasuke vowed they wouldn’t talk about the past until she was older, and topics like their love for each other were off-limits for a child her age.

Sasuke smirked. “I still love Mama. That will never change, okay?” His words were directed to her, but his gaze burned on Sakura’s, his eyes whispering messages of his unspoken love that settled deep in her heart. She rested her head against his shoulder and wrapped her arms securely around Sarada’s waist while she continued to gush over her parents’ picture.

“Merry Christmas, Sasuke-kun.” She nuzzled her nose into the crook of his neck. “We love you.”

“Yeah, Papa! Welcome home!” Sarada chimed in, bouncing eagerly on her father’s knee. “I’m so glad you’re back with me and Mama.”

“Get used to it,” he murmured, his cheek flattening against the crown of Sakura’s head. “Because you and Mama will be seeing much more of me soon.”


-

I realize that it’s been nearly a month and a half since I last wrote something. As many of you know I’ve been through some pretty crappy personal stuff and lost much of my motivation to write or produce anything decent for you guys. Every time I wanted to try I was scared of failing and just never attempted. But because I want to make this a new year filled with joy and self-love and love for the rest of you guys I will overcome these obstacles and continue writing not only to improve myself but to thank all of you for supporting me. This was very rough but I wanted to do an Uchiha family fic! Hopefully Sasuke and Sarada weren’t TOO out of character >.<

Thank you all again for continuing to love and support me and I hope you had a happy holiday or day :)

Somewhere along the way Eilidh Lavellan’s smile had become Cullen’s favourite thing.

It had crept up on him without warning. When he first met her in Haven she was still uncertain, and wary. She had been ripped from everything familiar, thrust into strange, dangerous territory by forces no one quite understood, had gone from being blamed for the tear in the sky to being asked, somehow, impossibly, to fix it. She had been solemn, her mouth always slightly drawn down at the corners, every word that passed her lips precisely chosen and considered with care.

Then they had been talking of the Inquisition’s forces, his plans for training recruits, and he gotten carried away enthusing over the potential the Inquisition held - and she had smiled. It was the first real smile he had seen from her. Her lips had stretched upwards, her nose wrinkling slightly, and the skin around the corners of her eyes had creased into tiny, delicate lines. Her whole face was suddenly softer, filled with a humour he hadn’t noticed before. And Cullen thought, Oh.

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