i just love the contestant's faces

anonymous asked:

*shyly whispers* do u think u could do another Greek Mythology story~

“Your tapestries are so fine,” the merchant says in wonder, “that you must be blessed by the goddess Athena.”

Arachne tosses her head, braided hair falling over her shoulder like an obsidian waterfall, “What’s Athena got to do with it? My hands wove these, not hers.”

The merchant blanches and looks to the sky, as if expecting Zeus himself to smite them for blasphemy. Personally, she thinks the king of the gods has better thing to do with his time. “Ah,” he says weakly, “I suppose.”

He pays her for her wares and she leaves, almost immediately bumping into a hunched old woman with grey eyes. “Do you not owe Athena thanks for your talent?” she croaks, gnarled hands curled over a cane.

Arachne is not stupid, but she is foolish. They will tell tales of it. She looks into those grey eyes and declares, “Athena should thank me, since my talents earn her so much praise.”

She pushes past her and keeps walking, ignoring the goddess in humans skin as she disappears into the crowd.

They will tell tales of her hubris. They will all be true.

~

The next day she bumps into the same old woman at the market. Everything goes downhill from there.

“Know your place, mortal,” Athena says, grey eyes narrowed. There is a crowd around them, and Arachne could save herself, could walk away unscathed, and all she has to do is say her weaving is inferior to that of a goddess.

She will not lie.

“I do,” she says coolly, “and in this matter, it is above you.”

She is not honest as a virtue, but as a vice.

Athena challengers her to a weaving contest. She accepts.

~

Gods are not so hard to find, if you know where to look.

“It’s a volcano,” the baker repeats, looking down at her coins, as if he feels guilty for taking money from someone who’s clearly not all there.

She grabs her bag of sweet breads and adds it to her pack before swinging it over her shoulders, “Yes, I know. Half a day’s walk, you said?”

“A volcano,” he insists, as if she did not hear him perfectly well the first dozen times.

“Thank you for your help,” she says. He’s shaking his head at her, but she knows what she’s doing.

She walks. She grows hungry, but does not touch the bread she paid for, and walks some more. The sun’s begun to set by the time she makes it to the base of the volcano. It’s tall, impossibly large, and for a moment the promise of defeat threatens to overwhelm her.

But Arachne does not believe in defeat, in loss. They will tell tales of her hubris. Those tales will be true.

She ties a scarf around her braids then hikes her skirt up and ties the material so it falls only to her thighs. She fits work roughened hands into the divots of cooled magma and begins her slow ascent.

~

The muscles in her legs and arms shake, and her hunger pains are almost as distracting. Her once white dress is dirt smeared and torn and sweat makes her itch as it covers her body and drips down her back.

“What are you doing?”

Arachne turns her head and bites back a scream, looking into one giant eye. The cyclops holds easily to the volcano’s edges, even though her hands are torn and bleeding. She swallows and says, “I heard you like honeyed bread. Is it true?”

The creature tilts his head to the side, baring his long fanged teeth at her. She thinks he might be smiling. “You’ve been climbing for hours. What do you want?”

“Is it true?” she repeats, refusing to flinch.

“Yes,” he says, looking at her the same way the baker had, “it’s true.”

“There’s some sweet bread in my pack, baked this morning,” she says, “it should still be soft.”

His hands are big enough and strong enough that it could probably squeeze her head like a grape. Instead he gently undoes her pack and reaches inside. The honey buns look comically small in his large hands, and he swallows half of them in one bite. He licks his fingers clean when he’s done, and his smile is just as terrifying the second time around. “I am Brontes. Why are you climbing my master’s volcano?”

“I’m the weaver Arachne,” she takes a deep breath, “I need your master’s help.”

~

They tell tales of Hephaestus’s ugliness.

They are not true.

He’s got a broad, angular face and short brown hair. His eyes are like amber set into his face, and his arms are huge, and he’s rippling muscle from the waist up. He has legs only to his knees. From there down his legs are bronze gears and golden wire, replacements for the legs destroyed when Hera threw him from Mount Olympus.

“Had your look, girl?” he asks, voice rough like he’s always a moment away from breaking into a coughing fit.

“Yes,” she says, and doesn’t turn away, keeps looking.

His lips quirk up at the corners, so it was the right move. The heat is even more oppressive inside the volcano, and all around him cyclopses work, forging oddly shaped metal that she can’t hope to understand. “You’ve gone to an awful lot of trouble to find me, girl. What do you want?”

She slides her pack off her shoulders and holds it out to the god, “I have a gift for your wife. I have woven her a cloak.”

He raises an eyebrow and doesn’t reach for the bag, “You believe something made with mortal hands could be worthy of the goddess of beauty?”

They will tell tales of her hubris.

“Yes.”

They will all be true.

With a gust of wind the oppressive heat of the volcano is swept away, leaving her chilled. In its place stands a woman – more than a woman. Aphrodite has skin like the copper of her husband’s machines and hair dark and thick and long. Her eyes are deepest, richest brown, piercing in their intelligence. People don’t tell tales of Aphrodite’s cleverness. That is because people are stupid.

“Let’s see it then,” she says, reaching inside the pack and pulling the cloak from its depths.

It unrolls beautifully. It’s made from the finest silks, and it shimmers in the light from the forges. The hem of the cloak is sea foam, speaking of Aphrodite’s beginning, and up along the cloak is intricate patterns it tells of her life, of her marriage and her worshippers and escapades, all with the detail of the most experienced artist and the reverence of her most devoted followers.

Her lips part in surprise and she slides it on, twirling like a child. “Gorgeous,” Hephaestus says, though Arachne knows he does not speak of the cloak. She doesn’t take offense.

The goddess smiles and Arachne’s heart pounds in her chest. She does her best to ignore it – Aphrodite is the goddess of love, after all. It is only expected. “Very well,” the goddess says, “you have my attention.”

Arachne swallows. Aphrodite’s attention is a heavy thing. “I have offended Athena,” she says, “She has challenged me to a weaving contest.”

Their faces somber. Hephaestus rubs the edge of a sleeve between his fingers and says, “Athena will lose such a contest, if judged fairly. She does not take loss well.”

“I know,” she says, “you are friendly with Hades, are you not?”

There are no tales of their friendship. But she’s staking her life on its existence, because why wouldn’t it exist – both of them even tempered, both shunned by Olympus, both happily married.

Gods hate being made to feel lesser. It is why they say Persephone was kidnapped, why they say Aphrodite cheats with Ares. It is why Athena will crush her when Arachne wins the weaving contest.

“Clever girl,” Hephaestus says, smiling.

Aphrodite stares at her reflection in a convenient piece of polished silver. Arachne assumes Hephaestus left if lying there for that express purpose. “Very well!” the goddess says, not looking at her, “when Athena sends you to the underworld, we will entrench upon our uncle for your release.” She turns on her heel and points a finger at her. Arachne blushes for no reason she can think of. “In return, you will weave me a gown, one equal to my own beauty.”

A gown as exquisite as the goddess of beauty. An impossible task.

They will tell tales of her hubris.

“I accept.”

They will all be true.

~

The contest goes as expected. Athena’s tapestry is lovely, but Arachne’s is lovelier.

The goddess’s face goes red in rage, and her grey eyes narrow. Arachne stands tall, ready to accept the death blow coming for her.

The blow comes.

Death does not.

~

She is an insect. Even if she can make it back to Hephaestus’s volcano, even if they can help her, they will not know it is her. She has no hope left, no course of action, she should just give up. But –

She doesn’t believe in defeat, in loss.

It was a terribly long journey on foot, that first time. It is even longer this time, although now she has eight legs instead of two. She makes it to the volcano, and creeps in between crevices, until she finds out a hollowed room, one with a sliver of sunlight and plenty of bugs to keep her fed.

Athena’s cruel joke of allowing her to weave will be her downfall. Her silk comes out a golden yellow color – it will look exquisite against Aphrodite’s copper skin.

~

It takes seven years for her to complete it. She hasn’t left this room in the volcano in all that time, and as soon as it’s done she scurries out back toward the village. She’s a large insect, but not that large.

She arrives just as the sun begins to rise, and leaves before the first rays have even touched the earth, her prize tied to her back with her own silk.

Arachne doesn’t return to her room. Instead she goes to the more popular parts of the volcano, hurries and runs around terrifying stomping feet until she finds who she’s looking for and scurries up his leg and onto his shoulder.

“Huh,” Brontes looks onto his shoulder and blinks. “What on earth are you?”

She cautiously skitters down his arm, waiting. He bends closer and lightly touches her back. “Is – is that a piece of a honey bun?”

She looks up at him, waiting. It’s her only chance, if he doesn’t remember, if he doesn’t understand –

His face slowly fills with a cautious kind of wonder. “Arachne?”  She jumps in place, being unable to nod, and Brontes cautiously cradles her in his massive hands, “We must find the Master immediately!”

She jumps down, landing in front of him and running forward. “Wait!” he calls, and she makes sure he’s running after her before skittering back to her corner of the cave. It’s almost too small for him to enter but he squeezes inside and breathes, “Oh.” He stares for several moments, and Arachne climbs her web and waits. Brontes shakes himself out of his reverie and uses his powerful wings to bellow, “MISTRESS APHRODITE!”

There’s that same breeze and she’s in the crevice with them, “What was so important, Brontes, that you had to yell?”

Arachne sees the exact moment that the goddess sees the gown, golden yellow and glimmering, made entirely of spider silk. “Beautiful,” she says, reaching out a hand to brush down the bodice. Her head then snaps up, “Brontes, where’s Arachne?”

She warms at that, that Aphrodite knew it was her weaving even though she hasn’t been seen in seven years.

They’ve told tales of her hubris.

They are all true.

Brontes points at the web, and Aphrodite steps over and holds out her hands. Arachne crawls onto the goddess’s palms. “Athena is more powerful than I am, I cannot undo her work,” she says, “but I know someone who can.”

Then they are in front of a river. A handsome young man stands there waiting with a boat. “Goddess Aphrodite,” he says, “we weren’t expecting you.”

“Thanatos,” she returns, “I need to see Persephone.”

The man’s face stays cool, and for a moment Arachne fears they will be refused and she will be stuck in this form forever. Then he smiles and says, “My lady is of course available for her favored niece.” He holds out a hand to help her onto the boat, “Please come with me.”

~

Arachne weaves a dress for Hades’s wife as a thank you, and returns to her volcano.

“I can take you somewhere else,” Aphrodite says, “you don’t have to hide here.”

Arachne pauses at her loom. She has lived in this volcano for seven years. It’s her home. “Would you like me to leave?” she asks instead.

Aphrodite scoffs, “Of course not! How could I dress myself without you here?” She’s wearing the spider silk dress Arachne spun for her, and she’s working on another for the goddess now. Aphrodite runs a gentle finger down Arachne’s cheek and for a moment she forgets to breathe. “You are the finest weaver to ever exist.”

She looks up at the goddess, “Then as the god of crafts and goddess of beautiful things, where else would I belong besides with you and Hephaestus?”

To declare your company equal to that of gods is the height of arrogance and blasphemy.

They tell tales of her hubris.

“An excellent point,” Aphrodite murmurs, and tucks a stray braid behind Arachne’s ear.

They are all true.

gods and monsters series part iii

lil things i love about firebringer

this accidentally became rly long. lmao sorry

• molag’s turtle shell shoulder pads

• when they go to use a modern-day idiom but they stop halfway through because a word in the idiom wasn’t a word yet (“i don’t wanna be around when the shit hits the … i don’t even know what”)

• tiblyn bowing down and dancing & stuff with her arms still in the air

• “keeri JUST invented dancing”

• EMBERLY’S HAIR that must have taken forever to brush out

• chorn can only SAY chorn but it can SING other words

• “it’s not yet been scientifically proven how big the turtle we live on top of really is”

• jemilla’s freakout when she finds out the duck isn’t a god

• keeri just fucken gnawing on a rock in the background

• meredith cutting off the band to change them to another musical theme

• keeri copying zazzalil’s movements

• KEERI SHOVING THAT BEETLE IN HER HAIR LMAO

• at the end of welcome to the stone age “chorn!” “ha, yes!”

• “it’s happening!!” “what a lion is befriending a little baby pig and now they’re hanging out ??”

• schwoopsie’s squirrel tie and dandelion microphone

• emberly’s really frantic body motions all the time she literally can’t calm down

• “you know how sometimes there’ll be a pack of coyotes feasting on a rabbit, and there’s one small coyote who’s being kept from the meal?” “yeah,” “I’m like the rabbit”

• DUCK IS L O R D

• ducker’s face when tiblyn puts her arms down and the sky doesn’t fall

• “she is the spirit of the river! i know this because i saw her standing by a river once”

• “don’t be mean to lauren!”

• smelly balls dancing alone onstage at the beginning of the night belongs to snarl

• sexual tension between keeri and zazzalil JESUS

• “YEAH IT’S LIKE DO MY BALLS EVEN SMELL?”

• LAUREN SINGING THAT ONE PART IN INTO THE NIGHT IN CHEST VOICE H E L L Y E A H

• the “light that flame” sequence

• the one guy in the band who has two vital lines in the show “time is frozen now” and “did you see that spark upon the wall”

• when smelly balls looks at the flame and says “what is that, a man?”

• in the night belongs to us when jemilla sings “I” while the tribe sings “we”

• choreography in climate change omg omg

• lauren’s super sassy flirty dancing throughout the whole show

• keeri’s supreme love of animals

• jemilla & zazzalil’s two completely different reactions to clark wrapping his arms around them

• “it’s grunt to see you too, grant!!”

• the slide noise when grunt holds up his self portrait

• when grunt asks emberly if he can paint her and it’s the most pure thing in the whole world wtf

• emberly’s lil dance in paint me aw

• “we TRUSTED YOU ZAZZALIL!!!” “who the fuck are you?”

• chorn & smelly balls brotp for life

• “emberly, you just shat out a fire.”

• “well, well, well, look who was wrong!!!”

• clark preaching from the band

• the whole song “together” jfc sorry it’s so gay & pure and i love everything about it

• ba-dum ch everytime schwoopsie says her own name

• when they’re petting snarl and the band starts playing the night belongs to snarl but in a major key

• snarl saying “tell my wife trunkell i love her” as he dies

• chorn’s weird body suit

• how much do u wanna bet they were having a “who can make the ugliest face” contest when chorn taps their foreheads. lauren & brian won

• IN “CHORN” WHEN THEY RESTATE THE THINGS THEY SAID IN “WE ARE PEOPLE NOW” BUT NOW INSTEAD OF “IN THIS TIME, WE DONT KNOW WHY” IT’S “AND IN THIS TIME, WE FINALLY KNOW WHY”

• those high notes jamie hits in chorn!!! get it!!!

• jemilla’s line “they need you as much as me” which could be interpreted as “they need you as much as they need me” or “they need you as much as i need you”

• jemilla & zazzalil proposing at the same time and then ducker marrying them seconds later

Into You [Side to Side Pt. 2]

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

Request(s)(Ooh boy here we go):

  • Wow! I loved your Peter Parker imagine. Pleeaaassseee do more of those because damnnnn
  • side to side is soo perfect akhjjkfjkas im in love pls write another part
  • Park 2 for side to side?
  • Can I please get a continuation to side to side. Please!!! I loved it, could it be the smutty continuation please ❤️ Love your writing BTW

Word Count: 3148… I got carried away with this… Sorry/not sorry

Song: Gee I wonder… Into You by Ariana Grande

Summary: You and Peter work out what happened at the gym in the most sinful way possible… by doing it again. Only this time, you get it right.

Warnings: Sinsinsinsinsin, swearing, oral (both receiving), creepy Flash, idk if there are any warnings that aren’t smut related tbh

Author’s Note: I need to specify apparently, both Peter and the reader are the same age. Nothing illegal is happening in this, don’t hate on me. ALSO! This is my first smut ever. Pass me some holy water, y’all this is some spicy shit.

Keep reading

limerence: clumsy → 1

pairing: zach dempsey / reader

genre: part one in a drabble series called ‘limerence’ about boyfriend!zach 

about: not only did you literally stumble into zach, but into his heart as well. 


Your first day at a brand new school couldn’t be going better. You had single-handedly managed to rip your brand new silk dress, lose your class schedule, and make 0 friends in a span of less than 4 hours. 

“What kind of shit is this?” You thought to yourself as you searched the sea of students in the crowded hall for a friendly face, finding none. You needed to ask someone to show you where the science hall was and help you open your locker, but no one seemed to want to give you the time of day. 

There was a tedious familiarity of standing alone in a crowded space, watching people pass you by and feeling like you were merely an object strategically placed to display teenage normalcy. 

The end of lunch was fast approaching and standing feeling sorry for yourself was getting old. With newfound determination you bobby pinned the strap of your dress back on, put the loose tendrils of your hair behind your ear, and murmured a soft, “you got this, kid,” under your breath. 

You had spotted a girl dressed in a vivid daffodil colored sundress and you made a beeline straight towards her. Consumed by your sudden sense of purpose and thoughts of how she looked like a beacon of light in the cold murky waters that was the student body, you hadn’t noticed a certain tall basketball player was about to cross your path. 

With a small gasp of surprise you butted straight into his side, swaying backwards and tripping over your feet. A small groan of defeat left your lips as a small ache developed on the bridge of your nose. 

“Hey are you okay?” 

His voice was like deep, rich, smooth chocolate and laced with such genuine concern that it almost seemed to quell the dull twinge of pain on your face. Wanting to see if such an alluring voice had an equally alluring face you looked up and damn it did. 

You could feel your eyes involuntarily widening and the once leisure pace of your beating heart turn rapid. You swept over the gorgeous expanse of his face, committing the slope of his nose and the smooth flesh of his pout to memory in case you never had another chance to be at such close proximity to him. 

“Not trying to be rude, but i’m pretty sure we lost this staring contest a long time ago.” His words brought you back to reality and an uncontrollable blush coated your cheeks, you were sure he could feel the burning heat of them. 

“Actually you lost, i’ve been staring for how long?” Is all you could muster, trying to mask your embarrassment with humor. The beautiful stranger let out a small chuckle, a sound so lovely it brought a smile to your face.

“So long I think you broke a record just now,” he responds playing along. “The dudes from guinness world records should be here any minute now.” 

You pretend to look around the halls in search for them. “Good. They’re not here yet, I still have time to prepare my acceptance speech.” You both laugh at your comment and you can’t help the bubbling giddiness you feel from the silly exchange of words with him. “You’re funny, whats your name?” 

“Y/n.”

“Nice. I’m Zach.” You had never thought a name could be this hot until now. Wanting to prolong your time with him, get your stupid locker open, and get to at least one class without being late you asked, “Well Zach, besides helping me break world records would you mind helping me with the glorious task of opening my locker and taking me to the science hall? You will be rewarded generously.” 

His coffee brown eyes look off into the distance, pretending to ponder over your offer. “Lead the way.”

Your lips turn up in a content smile, walking over to your locker with a spring in your step. “My combination is 0-8-24.” 

You watch as his lithe fingers spin over the lock, opening it on the first time with a satisfying click. “There you go.”

You try not to gape at how quickly and simply he opened it, you had stood there before for a good 10 minutes without any luck. “I swear I know how to open lockers, this one just didn’t like me.” 

He smiles amused at how adorably your eyebrows furrowed, expressing your distaste at the rusty blue locker. “Well now that this is opened, whats my reward?”

He takes a flirtatious tone, insinuating that he has a certain something in mind. 

“Well that depends, what do you want?” Your words come out breathy as he steps closer to you. He laughs lightly at the sudden change in your tone, the once ringing voice now soft-spoken. 

“A date,” he responds in an indifferent tone that is more suited to say just buying some stuff or gonna go out for a walk. You raise your eyebrow at his request, faking your cool composure. 

“Take me to the science hall and submit a one page essay about why I should and I might just consider it.” 


hello! this is the first time i’ve ever put one of my works out there and i’d really appreciate any feedback anyone has :-) 

sleepyhead

this was an anonymous request, hope you like it love!

Word Count: 1000+

Rating: PG

You couldn’t help but chuckle as you scrolled through your Instagram. 

“What’s funny?” Joe asked, looking down at you. You were on your back on the couch, your head on his lap, his fingers running through your hair. You passed your phone to him, showing him Caspar’s Instagram post with Maddie. 

“They’re so cute,” you said, reaching up to toy with the strings of Joe’s hoodie. 

“We’re cuter,” Joe smiled at you.

“I know,” was all you said, but Joe knew you well enough to read what you didn’t say. He took your hand, kissing the back of it gently. 

The two of you were a very open couple when it came to each other, but not when it came to the rest of the world. Joe wasn’t really one to share his personal life, and that included you. You understood it, of course. After seeing all the hate on Maddie’s profile, or any girl who could possibly have any connection with any of the boys for that matter, you didn’t have to question why Joe wanted to keep your relationship a secret. 

That didn’t mean it didn’t suck though. From no PDA in the vlogs to no social media posts, it was hard to keep up with sometimes. Joe was Joe, but Joe was also thatcherjoe, and not being a part of that side of his life was almost like missing a big part of him. Sometimes, you just wanted to post a cute picture of your boyfriend. All the thoughts made you feel selfish, so you never brought them up, but Joe saw right through you anyways.

“I wish we didn’t have to hide either,” he murmured to you. “I’d show you off to the whole world if I could.”

“You can you know. I’m sure I’ll develop a tough skin,” you replied.

“You shouldn’t have to.” His voice was sharp, and you tread carefully.

Keep reading

3

Contest entry for @kittin12376 / @direstraitscomic ! This wasn’t supposed to be so extra or so immensely massive but jeez louise what a fun character! I love dragon-like beasts sm,,, 

Have an Elly + details bc omg the resolution on this thing

-an old love of mine (i)

Request: Hello there, I just wanted to know if you got my previous request: Could you please write a Jon Snow imagine the reader grew up with the starks and formed a romantic relationship with Jon during that time, but she had to leave winterfell because her father married her off to some northern lord (one of the reasons why Jon decided to take the black), fast forward to Sansa and Jon trying to gather allies for battle of the bastards, they meet again and they realize their feelings only grew

a/n: hope you enjoy the first part!


“Married!” the outrageous cry of disbelief rings clear and high throughout the room. It seems the syllables are the only sounds for moments after, for the great and hulking lord that sits before the raging woman remains silent and tight lipped. 

Sons had been hard to raise alone. Daughters were harder. 

The theory had proven correct when his daughter had been born wailing and thrashing into the world, the whole of Torrhen’s Square and possibly the entire north witness to her rage. She was fearsome to behold then, a small and tiny thing full of her mothers despair. And now was the same; discontent and unadulterated anger flashing in her eyes and the light of the candles hanging from the walls bouncing off her face and making it all hollow lines and sharp angles. 

There is an anger in her that is both wild and beautiful, and is something Lord Tallhart has been witness to only a certain amount of times. But it is not common for members of his house to hide such carnal rage within them. She should not be so familiar with such wildness. Perhaps being raised among the Stark children has finally made her into one of them, and now she holds in her an undomesticated vexation akin to a wolves. 

“I will not be married father!” she is pacing now and the clink of her boots and the steel sword by her hip ring off the stone walls of Lord Tallhart’s chamber. Y/n had never been content with posing as a lady, and her attire that would rather be suited to a male made that fact all too clear to any one who set eyes on her. But her hair is still kept long and her face is far too beautiful to be kept behind the walls of Winterfell. 

“You are a Lady and therefore you will fulfill your duty and marry a Lord. I have received almost close to thirty marriage proposals and suggestions from every corner of the North, and even one from Lord Randyll Tarly who suggests a fine and strapping young son Dickon as a husband for you” his words are quick and rough, and they do not comfort her in any way but rather irritate her further. 

“I will not be sold to someone named Dickon! Or anyone for that matter” she is a graceful whirl of thick hair and clinking steel as she rushes towards her father who sits watching with eyes that are dimming with age each day “please father, you can’t make me. I want to stay here at Winterfell” 

“You can not!” the words are harsher than he had intended them, but there is a truthful anger in them that he knows he has been holding back. His daughter may be young, perhaps a year or two younger than most are when married, but a union with someone of high birth is almost paramount at this stage. 

Jon Snow watches with those black eyes that are deep with a love Lord Tallhart can not bear when he sees him watching his daughter, and it is this reason he must sell her off to someone of legitimate birth. Jon is not the only one who has a deep buried desire that seems to radiate from ever crevice of his being when he eyes y/n. Tallhart’s daughter seems to reciprocate the feelings that the Stark bastard all too plainly displays while in crowded rooms and beneath weirwoods at prayer; their eyes always meeting no matter the place. 

“This is my home, and I belong here!” y/n cries, the barrier between childishness and maturity blurring as she yet again becomes a little girl in front of him. He wishes she were small enough to cradle and kiss and young enough to believe in stories and in her fathers promises. But she is not a child any longer but a woman, graceful and beautiful and fearsome to look upon and she must fulfill her duties. 

“Torrhen Square is your true home, and when you are married some castle or holdfast will be your new one” her Lord Father tells her and there is a flash of something so sad within her eyes that he is reminded of her mother all too painfully. 

“I never asked to be raised here, but you brought me here for Lady Catelyn to foster alongside Robb when mother died and when you went and fought with the King. You made this place my home by sending me here” she tells him, a dangerous softness replacing her tone of anger that had previously seeped her words with rage “but I do not wish to leave it” 

“If it pleases you I will let you read these letters” her father gestures towards the now crinkled and folded letters that are covered in different scrawls all in black ink. Y/n can notice some of the sigils that are marked on them with wax, and some are too obscured for her to recognise, but she does not care. Names and sigils and house words do not matter to one that is already in love and marriage proposals are altogether shunned from her mind if it is not one from the only man she wishes to marry. 

But you can never marry a bastard.The words are seething and sharp as they are whispered in her ear by her demonic, stalking conscious and she imagines a cloaked and hooded figure standing behind her with a cutting grin put there by her inner torment. 

Jon Snow is all that matters but he is all she can not have. He is what the gods promise all maidens and what her mother would have wanted for her since he is so gentle and honest and good. But the gods have not listened to her prayers in years and her mother is dead. She can not imagine clearly her face anymore and can not begin to remember if Jon Snow would have been the type of man her mother would have wanted by her daughters side. 

“I do not want to read them” her voice is rough and thick with Stark stubbornness. Sometimes she thinks the direwolf is the real sigil of her blood, but then she is reminded when everyone calls her Lady Tallhart, and whenever her father reminds her. Perhaps wanting to be a Stark so much is just another commonality she and Jon share; another lie they can convince themselves of every time they kiss. Like how they convince themselves they’ll somehow end up as man and wife. 

“It would ease your mind a little if you were to read them, my dear. Some of the young men sound promising, if you were to read them yourself then you could choose more easily” 

“I do not wish to choose any man because I have already chosen someone” there are tears upon her cheeks now that trail from her eyes in the utmost betrayal. Her eyes weep sadness from them as a weirwood weeps its blood red sap, but unlike a weirwood tree the person before her weeping eyes is not bowed in prayer. He is a raging figure of a lord; a shadow of the kind eyed man she used to cry for whenever he rode to battle. She will not weep for this man however; for his eyes are filled with too much rage. 

He stands now, rough and huge hands placing flat on the table as they push himself from his chair. His shadow is large against the stone walls as the candlelight throws it against the grey and white like paint on an artists canvas. His eyes are bright and dangerous and she is suddenly filled with a great desire to stare at them as hard as she can manage, but he is much better at it than she is. 

“I will not have you choose any man without my consent, and especially a man with such low birth as the one I know you are thinking of. You defy me by consorting with him in the godswood night after night to play out whatever fantasies you may still cling onto. You loved him as a child, I saw that I did, and I regret not stopping it sooner. But boys and girls tend to strike up feelings at that age that often temper with maturity. I recall young Robb once declared you his true love at the age of eight, but that changed and I had hoped Jon’s feelings would have too” there is a kindness in his tone at the end that contests with the anger on his face but she does not stop staring at him with discontent. 

“But they haven’t” she tells him, her words wavering and flickering just like the candlelight as it burns around the room. Her fathers shoulders slump then and his grey eyes narrow as they drop to look upon the heavy oak desk that is littered with her marriage proposals. 

“No they haven’t” Lord Tallhart once again looks at his daughter, her ethereal beauty magnified by the light of the room, but the sword at her hip contests with any claim she has to ladylike traits. 

“Bastard or not father, I love him” she is pleading now she knows, something that she detests more than crying in front of people but is yet another thing she is doing as she feels the hot tears leak from her. She wipes them hurriedly from her face but it is of no use, they come as fast as she rids them “I won’t love anyone else” 

“Your mother did not love me, she did not love me for many years in fact. She bore your brother out of duty for our marriage and even after he was born I could tell she only loved me a small measure for making her son. I loved her from the moment I saw her, red hair and a smile men would kill for and a heart just as sweet” he does not look so grim and formidable when he talks about her mother, and it softens her somewhat to hear it “but she did not love me, not until Benfred was four and was taken with a fever and was almost lost to us. I stayed with her by his bedside for almost a fortnight, and after that she loved me something terrible. What I am trying to tell you is that you may not love the man you are married to but you can learn to” 

“I will never learn to love any other man” her words are ice; the very frost that coats the grounds of Winterfell and it is hard and dangerous and everlasting. Winter has come in the shape of her promise, and she knows as she looks at her father, that she can never take it back. 


a/n: this is short and jon isn’t in it yet but he will be! more parts to come! and please send me in requests. at the moment I only write for Jon, Robb or Jaime so send requests for them please!

anonymous asked:

Can you please write something going wrong with betty and she passes out in the blue and gold and Jughead worried and stuff thanks ❤️

It was the heat. That’s all, it was just so hot that her head was feeling a bit more …spinny than usual, It was heading into summer after all and the school was so crowded there really was no space to breathe.

“I just need to sit.” Betty mumbled, her stomach twisting painfully, good that’s how it was supposed to feel, the empty feeling? That was supposed to be there, she hadn’t eaten in two days and she could already see the definition starting, her hip bones jutting out just so. Pretty soon she would look as good as Cheryl, she would be as thin as Veronica.

It had started off at the beginning of the month, a thoughtless comment made by one of the airhead cheerleaders named Ginger

“Well maybe Jughead likes it like that, I’ve heard some guys have a thing for bigger girls.”

She wasn’t supposed to hear it, she also wasn’t supposed to hear the murmurs of agreement from half of the cheerleading squad, but she did. The hurtful words sticking in her brain like chewed up gum. So she stopped, stopped eating the burgers she loved so much, took a total of two sips when Jughead bought her milkshakes, stuffed her lunch into the pockets of her coat and deposited it in the trash can when no one was looking.

The beautiful blonde had struggled with her weight nearly her entire life, just when she thought she had it in control, just when she was finally squeezing into a size three jean, this happened. Well, she would fix it, that’s all, she would make them look twice when they called her fat, no one would be able to call her fat, not if she was skinny.

And the head aches? The constant hunger pains? The mood swings? They were worth it. They would all be worth it when Jughead saw how good she looked, when he could finally be proud of his girlfriend, he’d want to show her off and everyone would be jealous that he was dating such a smokeshow. She kept those thoughts at the forefront of her mind when the dizzying migraine pierced her temples causing her to clutch the sides of her chair, knuckles turning white.

Of course Jughead chose that exact moment to walk into the blue and gold office, his usual lazy stroll stopping abruptly when he saw his girlfriend clearly in pain and holding herself up against the office chair.

“Betts?” He whispered

Betty looked up, her vision suddenly blurry as she went to stand

“Hey Juggie.”

Then everything went black, the last thing she heard was the dark haired boys frantic cries as he raced to catch her.

Betty woke up to the smell of antiseptic and scratchy sheets against her back, her hand trapped in something familiar. Pulling herself up slowly she instantly recognized the feeling of Jugheads hand in hers as he moved to help her sit up straight.

“Thank god.” He whispered, burying his face into her hair as he pulled her close to his chest.
Betty finally let herself relax into her boyfriends arms, the stress of the last month easing instantly when she felt his lips on the top of her head.

It was quiet for a moment before Jughead broke the silence

“What’s going on Betty?” He pulled away, gently lifting her chin with his fingers and peering into her eyes, concern evident in his stormy blue ones.

The tiny girl in front of him broke down, her lip trembling and tears pouring from her eyes.
“I don’t know.” She whispered, her voice cracking. “I was doing so good, I.. wasn’t even pushing my limits. I’ve seen people go longer without eating, I just thought..”

Jughead cut her off immediately
“Not eating? Why aren’t you eating? Since when haven’t you been eating?!”

Betty glanced down
“About a month now. But look at me, I’m thinner already! I’m almost a whole two sizes down, even my cheerleading uniform is big on me, just a little bit more…”

Jughead pulled away, looking her up and down, something dawning in his eyes.

“I should have seen it, I should have noticed. This is my fault, I’m your boyfriend! I should’ve been there for you, how could I let this happen. You’re so.. tiny.” His whole face was contorted in pain and guilt.

Betty sighed and gripped his hands quickly
“It’s not your fault! It’s no ones fault! It was just the heat, I’m doing fine.. you said it yourself I’m tiny now. That’s a good thing.”

Jughead shook his head his hands coming up to cup her cheeks
“No Betts, it’s not. You’ve always been tiny. And I don’t care if you’re not. You’re beautiful and I love you for you, you mean everything to me it doesn’t matter how much you weigh. I love the Betty who challenges me to French fry eating contests but I also love the Betty who tries to get me to eat vegetables” his nose scrunched and Betty couldn’t stop the tiny smile peeking through on her lips “the point is I love every piece of you. I don’t want you to change who you are at all, you’re so beautiful and I should tell you that more often. I don’t want you to look like any of those girls, I want you to look like Betty Cooper because that’s who I love, big or small.”

Betty sniffled and nodded slowly
“I think I need help Juggie.” She whispered

Jughead dropped his forehead to hers
“We’ll do this together, I’ll be there with you every step of the way.”

Betty nodded again and pressed her lips to Jugheads in a slow kiss.

Suddenly someone blew their nose to their right, glancing over the young couple couldn’t help but laugh. The elderly school nurse was nearly weeping at the heartfelt display she had just witnessed

“I’m sorry! But that was just beautiful!”

Jughead smiled, wrapping his arms tighter around his girlfriend

“Yes she is.”

Just Fine // Jung Hoseok

the prompt: could I have a prince Hoseok scenario (similar to the jungkook one)?

words: 3611

category: fluff + minimal angst

author note: here’s snarky!reader and sunshine!hoseok bc it’s cute to me. also a cameo of jin’s scenario in there bc i figured they could be a part of the same story

- destinee

Originally posted by sweaterpawsjimin

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I started this tumblr blog quite reluctantly after I deleted all social media because the mainstream digital communities I was facing gave me immense anxiety and I saw it becoming a contrived popularity contest for so many i knew… I needed a break in order to regain focus of who I was and stop comparing myself to other people. I’ve always loved writing, it’s my everything, and a friend suggested I create an outlet to share my work. And now here we are, just over a month later and 1,000 of you wonderful beautiful inspiring remarkably gifted souls are following me. I am in such utter shock that I can’t stop smiling and checking my phone to see if it’s really real. I love you all. Thank you thank you thank you… endlessly.

♦: Slow dancing // Iwaoi

no one asked for this but I wanted to write it ¯\_(ツ)_/¯


It’s calm. Soft.

They’re in the kitchen, standing side by side at the sink. Tooru’s got his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and is cleaning the last few dishes, arms a little blotchy from the hot water.

There’s music spilling from the radio on the counter, soothing and light, and Tooru is humming along and swaying his hips ever so slightly, brushing against Hajime’s from time to time.

Hajime takes the plate that Tooru holds out to him and begins to dry it, small smile teasing at his lips.

It’s so calm, somehow, like a moment taken out of the usual rush of their lives. It’s nice.

The evening sun filters through the window to their left, bathing Tooru in soft, golden light.

Hajime’s hands still and he finds himself watching him, drawn to his glow like he’s always been, from the moment they met, years and years and years ago.

He’d been blinded, back then. Tooru was never quite as ethereal, quite as unbelievable as Hajime perceived him at first - he soon learned that his friend cried messy, heavy rivers, that he could rise and scream and scorn and hate with more passion than Hajime had ever seen in anyone.

But that’s what makes him perfect, Hajime thinks, in these tiny, soft moments he gets to share with him. He gets to stand beside the hurricane and watch him conquer - but Tooru has so many more sides that no one else knows.

Like the way his face softens when he smiles, the genuine, real and happy smile that reaches his eyes and makes Hajime want to pepper his skin with kisses. Or the way his body arches under Hajime’s fingers - he knows just where to touch, to kiss, how to love him right until he comes apart beneath him, blushing and breathless and elated. The way he’ll lean into Hajime or embrace him at the most unexpected times; on the couch, waiting in line at their favorite café, meeting with friends… or when they’re out shopping, for a walk, in the shower, or on the roof, with a blanket of stars spread out above them.

Hajime takes all these moments and treasures them, holding them close to his heart. It’s his, his, and he couldn’t be happier.

“Iwa-chan?”

Tooru’s voice brings him back - he’s holding out the last plate, eyebrows raised ever so slightly. “You still with me?”

Hajime lowers his hands, setting down the dish and the towel he’s holding and leaning in, closing the distance between them and pressing a chaste kiss to Tooru’s lips.

Tooru blinks, and then a smile breaks across his face. “What was that for?”

Hajime smiles, too, and shrugs. “…’cause I can,” he says, turning his attention back to the half-dried plate.

From the corner of his eye, he sees Tooru’s still watching him, and his smile lingers.

“Iwa-chan,” Tooru says finally, quietly, lowering the plate back into the water.

“Hm?”

Hajime turns back to him, and is met with another kiss, a little more firm and determined than before. He chuckles into it, and Tooru lets out a tiny, elated laugh.

“…dance with me,” he says, then, and holds out his hand. It’s still wet, but Hajime honestly doesn’t care right now, even as the droplets that start trickling down his arm when he links their fingers, tangling them together.

“‘m not good at dancing,” he says, because he feels he has to - but he already knows he’s going to cave, because it’s Tooru who asked. He’s already pulling him close, anyway, like it’s an instinct, and bringing up his other arm to Tooru’s waist.

Tooru smiles like he’s won (he has) and steps in close, until their chests are only inches apart.

“…sure it’s not just cuddling you want?” Hajime whispers, pressing their foreheads together. But of course he’s hopeless, already gently starting to spin them around, in time with the slow song washing over them from the radio.

Tooru huffs out another laugh, and it’s like it lights up the room. “…can’t I have both?” he asks, with a grin that says he knows he can.

“Idiot,” Hajime says fondly, before closing the distance and kissing him again.

Tooru beams. “It’s more fun this way.”

“…you like seeing how helpless I am, huh.”

At this he rolls his eyes, taking a step to speed up their pace just a little. “Think you got that backwards, Iwa-chan.”

Not wanting to be outdone, Hajime tightens his grip around Tooru’s waist and tugs him closer, making him squawk in surprise.

“It’s not a contest,” he mumbles. (Not really, anyway.)

“It’s not?” Tooru parrots, feigning surprise. “But I’m sure I was winning! I definitely love you more, Iwa-chan!”

“Highly unlikely.”

“Positive.”

“Impossible.”

“Oh, yeah?” The corners of Tooru’s lips are twitching upwards, he can’t hold it back for very much longer, but Hajime forces a serious expression onto his own face.

“Yeah,” he says, “I’ve been hopeless since the beginning.”

Tooru’s grin is radiant, breathtaking, and just as hopelessly gone as Hajime feels. Warmth spreads through his chest.

“Me, too,” Tooru breathes, leaning in so he can rest his head against Hajime’s shoulder. Almost on instinct, Hajime untangles their fingers and runs his hand up into Tooru’s hair, lazily tousled and messy, the way Hajime likes it best.

“There’s no way you win this one,” he mumbles, breathing him in. “None at all.”

“Then we’ll have to settle for a draw,” Tooru whispers back, nudging Hajime’s neck with his nose, “‘cause I love you ridiculously much. More than anything, or anyone.”

Hajime squeezes him close at the waist. They’ve stopped moving, with Tooru backed up against the counter behind him, dishes and towels forgotten by the sink.

“Endlessly,” Hajime tells him. “More every day.”

He feels the euphoria building in both of them, chest to chest, heart to heart. Too close, almost, but intoxicating. He’d do anything to keep this for the rest of his life.

“I love you,” Tooru says, muffled and into his shoulder, voice breaking just a tiny, tiny bit. “I love you, Hajime.”

He’s never heard anything more perfect.

“I adore you,” Hajime whispers back, unable to keep from sounding too choked up.

“Aw,” Tooru says, teasing, like he hasn’t got tears prickling behind his eyelids. “Are you crying?”

“Shut up,” Hajime mumbles, with no real impact. “Shut up and come here.”

“I’m already here, Iwa-chan.” He squeezes Hajime’s waist for emphasis.

“Closer,” Hajime says, like there is such a thing. Closer. Closer, closer, closer.

Tooru tightens his grip, and oh - there is.

What’s missing is close enough.

“…kinda doesn’t feel like enough, right?” Tooru mumbles. Always right there with him.

“‘S okay.” You’re right. But it’s okay.

“I get it though,” Tooru whispers, “promise. I know you. I know you.”

I know what you’re feeling. I feel it, too.

Hajime smiles, lips brushing Tooru’s temple. Yes, he does. He’s the only one who does.


ao3

(if you liked it, consider letting me know? reblog, leave a comment? talk to me!)

lee jaeyoon as your boyfriend

request: anon: SF9 Jaeyoon as boyfriend ?

genre: fluff & slight smut

warning: swearing

author’s note: gender neutral !!!

this is purely based on my own personal opinions. agree or disagree, either way, enjoy!


Originally posted by sf9creators


- Another one who’s very handsy

- Totally an ass man

- CONGRATS !! You did something worth celebrating!

- A “good job” kiss from Jaeyoon?

- An “I’m proud of you” hug?

- Nope. You get a pat on the ass.

- But it doesn’t really bother you

- Cause you’re all over his ass as much as he is yours

- ”Y/N, do these pants make my butt look weird”

- “Why do I even like you…”

- KING of cheesy pick up lines/puns

- The serious look on his face makes it 10x harder not to laugh

- He doesn’t give 2 shits about being discreet when it comes to skinship

- Members around?

- Members no where to be found?

- Either way - he’s hugging you and grabbin the booty

- Aegyo contests happen all the time

- So much so that the other members wanna throw up just watching the two of you

- I feel like he’s a big fan of pet names

- “Honey”

- “Yeah, Jae?”

- “Nothing, I just like calling you honey”

- Would turn into the most adorable man you’ve ever seen if you were mad at him

- Raising the pitch of his voice

- Praising you like it’s the last time he’s ever gonna see you

- Cupping your face in his hands, forcing you to look him in the eyes

- He LOVES LOVES LOVES it when you sit on his lap

- Because your ass is on his crotch ?????

- Who knows

- CUDDLING ENTHUSIAST !!!!!!!!

- Reading a book? Nope, now you’re cuddling

- Scrolling through twitter? Psych, you’re cuddling

- Trying to catch up on sleep? Bitch, I think the fuck not - you’re cuddling with Jaeyoon now

- The kind of cuddling where you’re facing each other, and you’re pretty much trapped in a giant hug

- Your face in the crook of his neck and his chin on top of your head

- And as soon as you both find comfy positions, he let’s out this cute, little satisfied sigh that meLTs yOuR HEaRt

- K time to switch it up a bit,,,

- When Jaeyoon’s in the mood you BeST be ready for heaps, and heaps of winking and lip biting both yours and his

- His voice will drop a few octaves

- His movements become slower, and more precise

- And he’s DEFINITELY got the whole “sultry eyes” look down to a tee

- Tbh I bet Jaeyoon is a switch

- When he’s up for it, good luck… because you’re goin all night long, no mercy

- But if his schedules a bit full and you know he’s tired, you’ll gladly hop on the saddle and let him sit back and relax

- But even if he’s on bottom, he’s still pretty much the one in charge

- He says jump, you say how high

- You best believe he’s using those vocals for something other than singing, lemme tell ya that much !!!

- After sex cuddling is a guarantee

- But this time, it’s usually spooning

- He’ll wrap his arm around your torso and drag your body across the bed until your back is flat against his chest

- Where he will continuously shower you with tiny kisses

- And whispered I love you’s

- Until the two of you doze off into a deep sleep

Dating Grayson Dolan would include...

↬ pizza dates ALL the time

↬ adventures at 3am just because

↬ random facetime calls while he’s on tour because he misses you.

↬ hand kisses

↬ neck kisses

LOTS of pda (mostly holding hands)

↬ him calling you “babe”

↬ him taking naps with his head on your stomach

↬ ethan always making fun of you guys

↬ random staring contests no matter where you two are

↬ butt grabbing/slapping/touching

↬ singing (terribly) together to the radio on road trips

↬ i love you’s 24/7

↬ him staring at you while you’re doing homework together

↬ him thinking you look adorable when you’re concentrating

↬ taking funny-face pictures literally all the time

↬ his parents ADORE you

↬ you being best friends with cam

↬ him being super protective and not afraid to show it

↬ fans being jealous of your relationship cuz you guys are #goals

↬ your laugh being his favorite thing so he tries to make you laugh all the time

hope you enjoyed, this was not requested :))

BTS reaction to you being drunk

Hello! Can I request how bts would look after you if you was drunk


Jin

Originally posted by missbaptan

Jin-Eomma would make sure to give you some food to balance the alcohol. 

“Here, Y/N, eat this!”


Suga

Originally posted by beui

Yoongi would be the type to rub your back and hold your hair as you’re throwing up in the bathroom.

“Are you okay?”


J-Hope

Originally posted by jeony

He’d be drunk with you, exclaiming his love for you by dancing and being a lot of skinship. 

“Don’t forget, Jagi, I love you~”


Rap Monster

Originally posted by jungkook-e

Holds deep conversations with you somewhere outside, where you can look at the stars, as blanket covering you both.

“The stars look so beautiful tonight.”


Jimin

Originally posted by bwipsul

He’d smile like this as your drunk mumbling as he put you to bed, crawling in besides you.

“Goodnight Y/N~”


V

Originally posted by armyfanclub

Plays drunk games with you! From staring contests to board games, he just wants to play with you, while being a giggly drunken mess.

“Funny face contest, go!”


Jungkook

Originally posted by dabbingjungkookie

Tries to get you to agree with things you wouldn’t agree with when you’re sober…

“So Y/N… can I-” “No.”


Just to let you know… I am 2 followers away from 500 followers… and I have a special surprise if I hit that 500… ;)

CoAi/Shinshi dating headcanons:
  • slightly insulting pet names for each other 
  • nerd activity time sadly surpasses make out time 
  • that’s my shirt you’re wearing
  • remind me why i’m dating you again because you’re a pain in the ass sometimes (most of the time) 
  • bets over who does the dishes
  • are you sassing me or flirting with me honestly i can’t tell the difference anymore
  • tickle fights (there will be blood
  • coffee overdose
  • “No” fifteen times a day, no context 
  • I’m so happy and not at all jealous (right..) when you cheer at Big Osaka’s games / go on a friendly date with Ran
  • loads of hand holding 
  • i didn’t sign up for this but fuck it i’ll do it for you
  • both being disgustingly proud of each other like ‘yea u see the arrogant conceited asshole over there? that’s my guy/girl and they’re a genius’
  • parenting time with the Detective Boys, both being horribly biased towards Ayumi who gets all the extra sweets
  • finishing each other’s sandwiches every five sentences
  • endlessly staring at each other “is there something on my face ??”
  • being touchy at the crime scenes everysingletime (holding hands!!) and megure takagi etc are just like *roll eyes* 
  • accidentally got too close because i dont know the concept of personal space but are we gonna kiss or what ??
  • patience level testing 
  • sarcastically saying “i love you" 
  • wholeheartedly saying "i love you" 
  • wake up calls at shit AM "hey are u awake cuz I’ve been thinking…” / “well i am now”
  • this is not a contest but ur cooking skills suck worse than mine ??
  • we were having an in-depth convo about some random thing after dinner how come I can hear birds chirping on the window right now?? holy shit?? where did time go ?? hello ?
  • you asked me to ‘come over’ in a mysterious tone, no context. honestly I don’t know if ur up for hooking up or a two-person science conference but here u have me i’m yours babe

So, I finally have a chance to report on TLOS6 Cincinnati visit. The first thing my 10 year old said when Chris came out was, “Boy, he’s short!” I cracked up laughing because he actually does look shorter than on TV and online. I couldn’t help but think of all the fanfic stories where we have him so tall. LOL!

I think the number one thing that stood out to me is that he genuinely enjoys doing this. He has to be exhausted with all the travel and book signing, but you’d never know it. He walked out on stage and just lit up. That was lovely to see. 

It’s also obvious that he really enjoys the kids. The costume contest, the Q&A, the trivia - he really seems to enjoy every moment and really appreciates his fans. 

Last little note that I just have to share. One of the kids asked how he came up with Froggy.  Chris explained that growing up, his grandmother had a frog magnet on her refrigerator along with lots of family photos. Every time he and his cousins would go over her house, they would move the magnet around on the refrigerator placing it over the faces in the pictures. One day one of the cousins placed the magnet over his uncle’s face and the uncle had on a suit in the photo. The cousins all  thought it was hilarious to see this frog in a suit so they kept it there. Thus, Froggy was born. Contrary to other stories floating around certain sections of fandom ; - )

Out of the Frying Pan (33/?)

And the look on her face was enough to make the little air he’d managed to pull into his lungs rush right back out again – teeth pressed into her lip and eyes narrowed, blinking quickly like she was trying not to cry.

This was his fault.

“Ok,” Emma repeated, knuckles turning white as they gripped her phone tighter. It vibrated again. “So, uh, I guess I’m going to go.”

AN: A massive thank you to @laurnorder who makes this better every single time she looks at it and @distant-rose who is just dominating academia while still making beautiful aesthetics and reading my words. They’re the best. 

Hanging out on Ao3 and tag’ed up on Tumblr

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I feel like I need this down somewhere so I don’t end up forgetting.

At the Jared lounge on Sunday, he asked if people had questions or just something to say to start it off. A few people raised their hands, me included, and he nodded at the person sitting next to me (who had previously asked me to smile and if I was alright - thank you, person). I was… very relieved, because I was suddenly second-guessing my entire existence and decided to never raise my hand under any circumstances again, since what I was going to say was stupid and I needed to not. My next thought - and I fully confess I wasn’t listening at all at this point - was that fuck, if he remembers me from last year, he sure as hell isn’t going to forget that I raised my hand next to the person he’s looking at, either.

And alas, he asked me next, so I had to actually say what I’d already decided not to. It was easier than trying to convince him that I didn’t actually want to say anything after all, anyway.

So I thanked him for what he’d said at his panel on Saturday about LGBT rights, in response to question about Sam’s sexuality. I can’t remember how I said it, other than that I suddenly stumbled a lot with my wording, but being a completely hilarious person and not a downer at all (dictionary page for downer literally has my photo on it), I ended it up with

“Unfortunately, I wasn’t there to hear you say it in person, because I was stuck with Jensen.”

Asylum 16 was split into two halls, and the Js had their solo panels at the same time. On Saturday, Hall 1 opened up with Jensen’s panel, while Jared was having his in Hall 2. Most guests didn’t seem to be aware of it although I did get the impression that the Js were, but we couldn’t move between the halls to pick our panels, so in essence, I had been stuck with Jensen - thus.

And man, Jared cracked up. +1 to life achievements. He offered me his condolences, being the one “stuck with Jensen 9 months a year”.

Then, being absolutely golden, he recited his answer so I could hear it from him in person, looking me in the eye through it. He said that he thinks Sam is straight, but that he’s 100% for lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender rights. Instead of referring to the groups by letters, he spelled each out, which, as a trans* person, I’m extremely thankful for - there are no words for how much it means to hear that the person you look up to and love accepts you and supports you so explicitly that there’s just no room for misunderstanding or doubt about it.

He pressed that he doesn’t understand why it has to be so controversial, because to him, supporting LGBT people is the exact same, or makes as much sense, as supporting straight people - there should be no difference, because people are people. He repeated that a few times, seeming rather frustrated about the fact that in our society it isn’t obvious that LGBT people are people just like any other, and that others still contest equal rights based on a person’s love or identity.

Also, since I haven’t seen anyone point this out, Jensen crashed our lounge a few minutes before the end. Jared was answering an attendee’s question about AKF rather personally when Jensen popped up in the doorway, looked in and waved at us. The lounge greeted him while Jared was frozen in the position he’d been in answering the question with this “oh, you” smile on his face, never turning around to acknowledge him in any way until he left the doorway, being herded away by the staff to get ready for the photo ops.

A second later, he appeared in the doorway again, peeking in with just his head and then suddenly grabbing himself by the throat and dramatically pulling himself away.

So. Jensen Ackles, ladies and gentlemen.