i should really read these things through before i repost them

House Rules (M)

Originally posted by nnochu

Summary: Frustration over recent political changes sets you off, and your loving husband helps you see the error of your ways.

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Smut

Word Count: 7,492

Warning: Dom!Yoongi, husband/wife relationship, teasing, punishment, edging, ass play, dirty talk, political themes

A/N: I could probably add more warnings. Rest assured, this is not vanilla. Enjoy!

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Boku No hero Academia Light Novel No.2 Translations

t/n: I overly underestimated the difference in Japanese syntax structure to that of English, and it was honestly so hard trying to translate it in a way where it’d make sense, but not stray too much from what the original writing was trying to portray?? idk but, nonetheless, I’ve come to discover my enjoyment through translating ^_^ though I’d just want to point out my Japanese is far from native, I’m terrible and have become absolute poop over the last couple months, so please when reading, please understand and excuse grammatical errors, mistakes etc. 

I also want to mention that updates or translation won’t be frequent or anything :( as I’m doing this alongside my thesis atm, but will make the effort to update parts/chapters when I have time.

and last but not least, if you can, please try to refrain from reposting and, or at least credit this post! but yeah, thank you very much and I hope you enjoy! ^_^ <3

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Fun fair with the Family - Batmom x Batfam (REPOST please READ the explanation right under the summary :-( )

Summary : Batmom decides to take her family to the fun fair…She quickly realizes it might not be her best idea ever.

(My masterlist blog here : https://ella-ravenwood-archives.tumblr.com)

Repost because, and this time I really don’t know how, the original post got erased…BUT I had it backed up for once. So here. FUCK. Hum. Sorry. But it had almost 100 notes, and comment people left I didn’t even had time to read because the story simply disappeared…I’m a bit bummed out right now…Is it too much to ask if you could like, reblog and comment again ? I kinda feel bad, it’s not my style to ask those things…I’m so sorry for that, but it’s a bit discouraging, to write something, and to see that apparently it was liked, but to not know who liked it, what were the comments etc etc, especially since this time, I didn’t do anything, the story simply disappeared…Anyway, hope you’ll enjoy, and re-enjoy if you already read it :’-(

__________________________________________________

Not even an hour in, and you know you made a huge mistake bringing them here. All at the same time. They were going to be the death of you, so much energy…But it was just so rare that you all had some free times at once…You just wanted to spend some time with them.

It all started so well though.

*******************

You woke up in the best way possible : with your Bruce’s lips trailing kisses on your neck, shoulders and back, his arms wrapped around you. You shifted around, and before you could say anything, he kissed your temple, the corner of your mouth, slowly putting butterfly kisses on your face, to finally kiss you on the lips.

You melted in the kiss, and squeezed his large frame against you, your arms struggling to wrap around him. Damn that man was big. When he pulls away, you can’t help but grin at him, and he gives you the smile he only reserved to you. A real, pure smile. You nuzzle his neck, and he let out a contended sigh.

-You’re alright ?

-More than alright my love, as always when you’re here.

-My sweet Broosh. You know what I mean.

-I am alright. Not even a single bruise or scratch. The boys are too. Calm night.

-I like those.

-I like you.

-I love you.

-Oh yeah, that too. I love you (Y/N).

-Well, here’s for our morning’s cheesy ritual…We probably should get up.

-I have the entire day off.

-Oh ? Well then, what’s the hurry right ?

He smiles once more at you, and you crash your lips on his, climbing on him to straddle him. One of his hand tangles itself in your (H/L) (H/C) hair, the other goes to your waist and his grip is almost bruising. He cannot stop himself, you always had a strong and immediate effect on him…He rolls on top of you, and you wrap your arms around his neck, your legs around his waist.

-What’s the hurry indeed.

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Hi there (: Before reading this post, I recommend sitting down with a hot mug of tea/coffee and a packet of biscuits because this post is going to be quite long!
I stumbled upon one of my very old blogposts from my fetus blog and there was a very extensive “study + exam tips” post, so I thought I’d repost it on here with some of the information tweaked (that is, fix up my grammar mistakes and make the language sound somewhat more sophisticated and structured):

EXAM TIPS:

Making notes:
Every exam that I study for, I always write a set of notes and summaries. Personally, they’re quite useful for me because as I write notes, I also remember what I write. It depends on what types of study methods you prefer but for note-writing, here are a few tips:

  • Making it visually appealing:
    I recommend writing notes in a set of different colours and font sizes since it’d be easier to remember. For example, write all the main headings in capital with a highlight, and write the subheadings in red.
    By using a wide range of colours, you’re able to remember and visualise it easier later on.
  • Picking out what to write:
    Something that I struggle with whenever I write notes is choosing what to write. I’m a major word-hoarder, meaning that I’ll write everything in my notes, which is really bad since it’s not actually summarising. It’s more of copying the text word for word. Over the past few exams, I’ve learnt that in my notes, I only need the “super” main points like topic sentences at the start of each paragraph in a textbook. In text book paragraphs, most topic sentences summarise everything that will be discussed in the paragraph. Don’t go through the trouble of summarising everything because the rest of the paragraph will most likely contain examples, context, and definitions. I recommend taking small notes on these and expanding on the topic sentence.
  • Media, images and diagrams:
    As the saying goes, “a picture is worth a thousand words” and in notes, that is quite true. Diagrams and charts can show the same amount of information as two or three paragraphs of text. In my notes, I always aim to draw as many colourful diagrams, charts and cycles as possible. Since they’re colourful, they’re easier to visualise and remember during the exam and also, the points in which you’re meant to be studying are basically explained in diagrams.

You’ve written notes; now what?
Well, after writing notes, you’ve got to start studying them. I find it good to find points that you have no clue about, and remember and practice those.

  • Create/Take quizzes:
    A great way to see how much of the content you’ve remembered is taking or creating quizzes. During 8th and 9th grade, I remember creating tons of quizzes for myself about the points I was meant to study. The questions were very general but they did help me to remember my notes. I recommend creating them on Powerpoint and scrolling through the slides to quiz yourself. If you aren’t bothered to create quizzes, there are always many online. Tons of educational websites have quizzes about a wide range of subjects from maths to science. At my school, my teachers used to give us past exam papers to do. If possible, you can always ask your teachers for those, or search for some online. I recommend marking down the questions you get wrong, so you can study them later.
  • Read through them:
    Another studying technique is also skimming through a section of your notes then reciting them aloud to test your memory. 
  • Study with other people:
    Your classmates are probably cramming and studying for the exam like you are, so wouldn’t it be a good idea to study with them? I recommend joining Skype calls or chats with your friends who are also studying. It’s a good way to share and examine content, as well as learn new material.

How to prepare for your exams:
Okay. Now this section, I learnt through ALOT of experience. When it comes to preparing for exams physically and mentally, I absolutely suck at it. But through experience, I’ve learnt essential things that you should do to prepare for them.

  • Get enough SLEEP!:
    I 100% recommend you get a full night’s sleep before your exam.
    I used to stay up until 3 or 4am just writing notes, reciting them and repeating the procedure over and over. I would only have 2 or 3 hours sleep, having to wake up at 7am to prepare for school. The hours leading up to the exam were torturous. I was tired, groggy, and couldn’t keep my eyes open. Not to mention, I was also in a grumpy and foul mood since I was too tired. When the time to actually do the exam came around, I remember my mind just going blank as I sat there and tried to remember my notes. But I couldn’t! Because I was way too tired to remember anything!
    So yeah, get a good night’s sleep!
  • Eat all your meals!
    Back then, I used to skip meals frequently since I couldn’t afford to lose or waste time that could be spent studying. So I would go from the afternoon till the next morning with little to no food or meals. Thinking back, that probably was extremely unhealthy since I’d go to school with no food or energy in my system.
    I recommend taking regular food breaks, just to get your energy back up, and to make sure that you’re staying healthy!
  • Study early!
    Most people lose sleep and don’t eat because they have NO time at all. Study early and write your notes early for your exam. It definitely pays off in the long run and you don’t have to stuff up your sleeping patterns at all. I believe starting to write your notes when you get your assessment notification is good. It may be hard to start, but remind yourself that it’ll be beneficial in the long run!
  • Calm yourself down:
    Most people, including myself, panic or develop extreme nerves before an exam due to a number of reasons. The main one would probably be the idea of failing the test. I believe eating some food, drinking something warm like tea or coffee, and just ignoring the fact that you have an exam are some good ways to calm yourself down or cope with the knowledge of having an exam. It’s easier said than done, but trust me, once you persuade yourself that you’re prepared, and that you’ve studied as much as you possibly could, you’ll be much more calm.
    Talk to some friends about an interesting or controversial topic in the media. Or repeat to yourself that you’re going to get it over and done with, and then you’d be able to relax. 

Those are some of the study + exam tips that I’ve learnt from experience for studying for exams and coping with the bucket of nerves that come with it.
Good luck studying (:

[Nervous Greetings and Secret Meetings - Remus Lupin x Reader]

I have rekindled my obsession with the marauders and I cannot stop writing about them so here’s this little one shot that I decided to write at like ten o’clock tonight. I hope you enjoy it!
Word Count- 1641
Warnings- None
Please don’t repost/plagiarize

***

The first time you met, you were hiding behind the sofa.
You had just arrived back after a long night of studying and you collapsed in the common room. It was your fifth year at Hogwarts so late-night cramming was a regular thing; staying holed up in the library, with blotches of ink covering your fingertips and small papercuts littering your hands.
You dropped your bag beside the sofa and fell onto it, burying your head into a pillow. You screamed into it, the soft fabric muffling your sounds of frustration. You had spent four hours in the Library and you still hadn’t managed to master the theory of the Patronus charm. You weren’t like the Ravenclaws who could memorize theory and perform the spell without any difficulty. No, you were a Gryffindor and were more about the doing aspects of learning.
But, sadly, it didn’t seem to be working for you that night.
You jumped up off the sofa when you heard bumps and grunts coming from the corridor. You hid behind the furniture, clutching the same pillow in your shaking hands. Suddenly, the portrait door was flung open and in strode the marauders.
Well, kind of.
Potter and Black stumbled over the threshold, giggling like children. Their cheeks were rosy and they held a bottle of firewhiskey in each hand. They had large grins stretched across their faces and you squeaked, peeking over the top of the sofa at them.
“Aww, look who it is! It’s little Y/N. Why are you hiding from us, Love? We don’t bite,” Sirius taunted and your cheeks darkened. You stood up and shuffled away from them as they walked towards you.
“I think she’s a little bit scared of us, Pads,” James slurred and your eyes widened. Holy shit they were drunk off their asses. Where were Lupin and Pettigrew when you need them?
It was as if the two boys heard your prayer, as Remus Lupin burst into the common room, a drunken Peter thrown over his shoulder.
“James! Sirius! Bloody hell leave her alone,” Remus sighed, walking towards the three of you. James and Sirius turned their blank stares on him before bursting into a fit of giggles. Even sober you could barely stand them, but drunk? Oh boy, that was another story.
“Ohhhhhh, Moony likes Y/L/N!!!” James giggled and your face flamed. You looked down at your feet as they continued their taunting and Remus started pushing the three drunken Marauders towards the staircase that led to the Boys’ dorm.
“I am so sorry about them,” Lupin said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. You nodded before grabbing your bag, about to head back up to your dorm. A hand grabbed your wrist and you swiveled around. “Wait! Um- I don’t really want to go back up to the dorm and try to baby the guys to going to bed, so, would you like to stay with me for a while? I promise I’m completely sober,” You chuckled and let him lead you back to the sofa, both of you taking a seat on the opposite end of it.
“So, tell me about yourself.”
***
It had gone from glancing at each other in the corridor, to meeting in the common room after curfew. You two met up every other night, if not every night. You talked about the book you were reading, to the spell you were working on in charms.
And, unfortunately, that brought you back to your struggle with the Patronus charm.
“I just can’t seem to get the hang of it. Flitwick said just to pick a happy memory and focus on it and the rest of the spell should come as easily as a walk in the park, but it doesn’t seem that way to me,” You sighed in frustration, throwing your head back against the soft cushion on the sofa.
“You need to think of the happiest memory you have. Not any old one you can think of will do,” Remus explained and you rolled your eyes, practically screaming ‘I KNOW’. “Let me help you, at least.”
“Fine,” You agreed, standing up from the sofa.
You pushed the sleeves of your blouse up your arms and pulled your wand out of the pocket of your robes. Remus stood up and stood behind you, placing on hand on your hip and the other on your wrist.
“What the-“
“Just trust me.”
You fought the urge to lean back against his chest as he told you to think of the happiest memory you had. You scoured through your mind, looking for a memory that could be classed as happy enough.
And then you thought of the time you first started talking with Remus in the common room, all those weeks ago.
You remembered how you stayed up to four in the morning just getting to know each other, before retiring back to your dorms when you said that the drunken marauders would have already fallen asleep by then.
The memory gave you a warm fuzzy feeling in your stomach and you could barely hear yourself saying the incantation, Remus guiding your wrist in the direction of the casting pattern.
A wispy silver wolf cub burst from the end of your wand, bouncing around the room. You both watched in wonder and amazement as the cub tripped over its own paws as it ran towards the two of you. You chuckled as it nuzzled against Remus’ hand before fading away into thin air once again.
“How…” Remus trailed off staring down at you in confusion.
“I was surprised that I was able to cast it too,” You chuckled, stepping away from him when you remembered how close the two of you were.
You gasped in surprise as two hands gripped your waist and pulled you towards him, lips being placed on yours. You froze up for a minute before wrapping your arms around Remus’ neck and kissing back hesitantly, a faint blush lighting up your cheeks.
“So…”
“So…” Remus replied with the same thing, his lips ghosting over yours as he spoke.
And that’s where it all started.
***
You and Remus met up in secret for the next few months, due to you not being confident enough to talk to his friends comfortably again after the little ‘incident’. You weren’t sure if they were any better sober than they were drunk.
“They’re alright, you know. Just a little bit…loud,” You winced at Remus explanation and he chuckled, his side shaking against your shoulder as he had an arm threw over you.
“Loud is an understatement,” You snorted.
“Okay, so maybe it is.”
You looked around the library and froze when you heard chuckles coming from behind the book case. Remus followed your gaze and he frowned, his nose scrunching up slightly. You bopped him on the nose and held a finger up to your mouth, telling him to be silent. He nodded, a light blush on his cheeks as you both stood up and walked over to the book case.
“Ohhh, get in there Moony.”
“Be quiet or they’re going to hear us.”
“They’re too caught up in their little romance to pay any attention to us, Padfoot.”
“Wait, where’d they go?”
“What do you mean, Wormtail-oh shit,” Sirius winced as Remus glared down at him, all humor gone from his honey brown eyes.
“Can you three not stay out of my business for once in your lives?” Remus growled and the three marauders shrunk away from his furious glare. You had never seen the sweet boy so angry, you didn’t even think he could possibly have a temper to put to his name.
“If you maybe told us about it earlier then we wouldn’t have to stalk you like love struck teenagers,” James rolled his eyes.
“You almost scared her away the first time, why would I chance it again?!” Remus exclaimed and you put a hand on his shoulder and pulled him away slightly from his friends in case he lashed out at them.
“Calm down, it’s fine,” You whispered and his shoulders slumped, a sigh filtering out between his lips.
You stood beside your boyfriend and grabbed his hand, facing the three of his friends with a bright smile on your face. Sure, you had never thought that you would be properly introduced to his friends that way, but you were going to make the best of the shitty situation.
“Hi, I’m Y/N Y/L/N,” You held out your hand and they took turns shaking it, their mouths lying wide open.
“Are you okay?” Remus asked you, a hint of fear in his eyes and you nodded, standing on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek.
“They aren’t as intimidating as I first thought,” You chuckled, turning back to face his three friends. “Let me see if I’ve got this right; You’re Prongs, you’re Padfoot, and you’re Wormtail?” They nodded slowly as you pointed at each of them respectably, confusion in their eyes.
“So you told her?” Sirius asked Remus, his mouth dropping open when he shook his head.
“She figured it out. I think she said, ‘Your nicknames are a bloody big giveaway, wolfie’.” Remus said, chuckling fondly at the memory. “So, no more secrets?”
“I think it’s safe to say, yes,” You sighed, leaning into his side.
The marauders then left you two alone to study in the library and you reflected on the past few months.
No more secret meetings, you thought, grinning to yourself. Maybe things will work out better than I first thought.
And they did.

Shitty Treatment by 5Star and Staffmember at Comicpalooza

 I’m going to post this separately because I do feel that it needs to be heard, and I want to express this.  However, I am going to keep this as a separate post from the highlights of the convention:

Things started off about as bad as they could have gotten - my wife suffers from anxiety and depression and is really succeptible to panic attacks.  For the most part, cons have been incredibly theraputic for her - and a way to feel more confident with both crowds and herself.  We’ve been taking some proactive measures to help bolster that, including our therapist suggesting and writing a letter for her to take with her to conventions explaining the situation and asking for allowances for entrances/egresses when necessary.  My wife has been having a lot of issues especially lately with a relapse thanks to a change in medication when the manufacturer for a generic brand of her wellbutrion changed (SERIOUSLY - tangentially, if you are someone on a wellbutrin generic and had it change lately, and have been having a crash - LOOK INTO THIS!  We only put a pin on the source of this after hearing stories from other people.  Generics only have to be within a 20% margin of the name brand to be FDA approved, and wellbutrin is notorious for having had issues with generics in the past because the name brand is prohibitively expensive and not covered by pretty much any insurances).  We were looking forward to the con as that carrot to help lift her up after having been going through a bad crash and starting to make steps with things finally begining to improve again.  

She gets the most anxious especially coming in - and that’s exactly where the problem happened - a particularly nasty private secuirty guard form 5 Star Security not only refused to assist, refused to even look at the letter (“I don’t have to look at that”) but when my wife began to freak out at being talked down to/nastily rebuffed, the woman escalated issues, got up in her face and threatened to “bust up your face” - and when she understandably was freaking out, not backing down when I tried to get space between them, and my wife practicaly begging for assitance and needing to go above her head to report this harassment/violation of all kinds of ADA situations, said “I guess you do need help because you ARE a crazy bitch”. I was floored and my wife was realy, really hurt - to someone suffering from a mental disorder, that kind of slur when you’re needing help is deeply insulting as well as invalidating and dismissive.  

If that was’t bad enough, after medical assistance was called over to help her get down from her panic attack, one of the high-up con directors was called over (who came when we said we -needed- to talk to someone with the con who was in charge of security) - Peggy Kay -  not only refused to believe us (because, of course, the security guard lied about the incident) - but also refused to even fucking apologize on behalf of hte con - which really, is what we were looking for.  We even _said_ that that is what we were looking for so we could attempt to move on from this incident.  She refused to let us speak to her superior, claiming that she was as far up as it would go.  The only person at the incident remotely helpful in trying to de-escalate other than the medical technician was a legit police officer who actualy had some kind of training with working with people with mental disorders, and who spoke with us afterwards, helped reassure us, and escorted us to where we needed to go after that.

We about left the con at this point - it was so jarring, and it was exactly the kind of experience that my wife especially has always had anxiety about happening.  We ultimately decided to push through based on certain aspects being nonrefundable, and a few things that we honestly hoped would be worth it later in the day, but this didn’t drop.  We really wanted some kind of resolution - the con, beyond the incredibly disrepctful security company and the eye-rolling and refusal to accept responsibility or even try to apologize of the con manager.  Even if - IF - she hadn’t believed us - any kind of service industry should cater to wanting your /guests/ who paid a lot of money to attend your event to have a good experience.  

We weren’t able to find any kind of resolution to this until Sunday - and this really, really put a turd in what otherwise would have been a stellar convention.  I did everything I could to help my wife re-center, feel taken care of, and supported.  I was furious at the staff - not just because of the incredibly belligerant action of the secuity guard, but outright refusing to believe what happened (I witnessed it, I was right there,  I KNOW what happened).  My wife spent many hours in the hotel room  - really having a hard time shaking past having been seriously triggered, skittish when she was out, hand-wringing and I could tell looking over her shoulder and scared she’d run into the people who were so callous.  And it’s frustrating, because all in all, all of the con volunteers, everyone who worked the con who was there because they loved fandom - were wonderful.  The convention center is beautiful and the only con I’ve been to lately that is actually spaceous enough to accomodate the crowds - which is such a rare and valuable commodoty - especially when you are working with people who get really nervous with the reallllly tightly packed crowds.  

On sunday, we needed to find some kind of resolution before we left - and ultimately, after stirring the pot and looking for management to talk to about the incident - Peggy turned up again stonewalling us and eyerolling - and when we said we needed to get her name so we could file some kind of report about the treatment she said “I welcome an inquiry” nastily and flipped her badge around to hide her name.  Fortunately I had looked before she flipped it, so I am certainly putting that out there as much as I can.

However, after speaking with a very nice gentleman who represented the convention center, and a very NASTY and dismissive head of 5 Star security at the center (who said, in a nut shell, You filed your report - I read it, and I don’t belive you.  I’m not going to apologize, I’m not going to do anything) we fortoutously ran into the operations manager, DJ,  speaking with Peggy - who identified himself as her boss.  We spoke with him aside, explained the situation - how hurt we were, how mistreated we felt by Peggy and 5 Star Secuirty.  He was apalled, listened, and apologized.  Asked what we needed and we said genuinely - that’s what we were looking for - some kind of understanding - an assurance that the issue would be investigated - that the mistreatement of fans an people with disabilities would be accomodated.  Especially because there is such a stigma against people with  invisible disabilities.  

I have heard that the convention was recently sold by the original organizers to a company who typically runs the sporting events in the city, and it shows.  Many of the other staff and volunteers have had issues with the new management and dealing with sportsball bros is a whole different situation from working with groups of fans of comics.   And this just feels to me to be yet another example of abyssmal service trends that has been cropping up more and more lately :(  

Please, feel free to repost this and share because people need to understand how affecting this is to people trying to overcome these kinds of obstacles in their lives.  And if anyone who reads this and was at Comicpalooza and saw what happened, PLEASE contact us because 5 Star refuses to believe us that this happened and I know at least two people came up to us after the incident and saw it.  If you can signal boost it for that, it would mean a lot to us.

Recovered Jonsa Fic#17:

Another fic repost!

wewillgotothewindsofwinter:

I need Littlefinger to tease Jon about his inappropriate feelings for his ‘sister’. I need LF to panic as he sees how close Jon and Sansa are. I need LF to dwell in despair because Jon is so much like Ned and Sansa so much like Cat and it’s history repeating for him all over again. I need LF to try something stupid. And I need Jon to punch him in the face. Basically I need LF to suffer. Yes, that would be nice. 


The bastard apologizes to her, and Petyr wants to scream.

The bastard apologizes and promises her: she’s his heir, she’s his regent, she’s Lady of Winterfell and Lady of the Dreadfort, essentially making her his most powerful vassal. She’s queen in all but name. 

Never has there been a more humble king. Never has there been a more attentive, doting, brother.

Petyr can tell that Sansa can’t hate him. Maybe there’d been a chance, but the bastard brings her to every bloody council meeting and before long, she’s named Hand. Before long, she’s attending more meetings and hosting court without him, and any time a single person questions this, they are shut down. 

The jokes begin. “King Jon rules the North, and Princess Sansa rules King Jon.”

Petyr can’t help but remember the last time that he heard a saying like that. It was about Tywin Lannister and his wife, Lady Joanna. 

Petyr watches them closely, when they’re together, which is too often.

She doesn’t freeze up when he leans toward her or touches her. She smiles for him. They are both people who laugh and smile seldomly, but they laugh and smile when around one another.

Petyr watches the bastard. He watches him when Sansa takes her leave. As she walks away, the bastard watches her. And Petyr sees it. There it is. The longing.

And he sees more. He sees the jealousy.

Lord Cerwyn is a lad of eight-and-ten. Not especially handsome, but well-made. And he has a meek, honest way about him. The sort of man Sansa could and would eat alive, and never fear. Though he cried Jon Snow’s name and declared him king, it’s clear that though it is Jon he serves, it is Sansa he worships. He watches her with lovesick eyes, stammers when in her presence, watches her from a distance. 

The new King in the North loathes the lad. He shouts at him when Lord Cerwyn drifts off and stares at the princess. He questions his courage. He challenges him to matches in the yard, and thrashes him without mercy.

He loathes Petyr as well. More than once, he’s suggested Petyr return to the Vale, and leave Lord Royce as ambassador. Sansa has told the bastard everything. And since King Jon was crowned, he’s done everything short of banishing Petyr to keep him separated from the princess.

When a few leal vassals made noises about seeking Princess Sansa’s hand for one of their sons or brothers, the bastard shuts them down with the iciest of stares.

When vassals mention their young, unwed daughters and sisters, the bastard shuts them down with the iciest of stares.

The new king doesn’t flirt, doesn’t smile. He only smiles for his sister. He only confides in his sister. His very movements revolve around her presence. When she enters a room, he stands. When she moves to the table, he pulls out her chair. When he sees her on the arm of another, he swiftly moves to take her.

Sometimes, Petyr catches him gazing at her hair, and he can tell the bastard is fantasizing about taking it in hand, stroking it, seeing it lie upon the surface of his pillow…

Petyr knows these looks. Many of them mirror his own.

Many of them mirror the brief interactions he witnessed between Ned Stark and Catelyn. Catelyn, only smiling and relaxing when she gazed upon that simpleton of a husband. Ned Stark, his surly face relaxing upon seeing her, his hand flying to wind that red hair about his fingers. 

One of the most painful moments in Petyr’s life was watching Lord and Lady Stark kiss. It was love between them. 

He’s witnessed a private moment between the bastard and Sansa. The two of them, standing in the godswood, facing each other. The bastard kissed her forehead. And despite the surrounding snow, despite how much younger the two are, Petyr flashes right back to that day in King’s Landing when Ned Stark jokingly chided his wife about her temper and their lips joined…

He knows what he must do. Because he can no longer suffer this. He can no longer stomach this. He will not have it happen again. No. Not again. 

But he must be sure. He cannot act too foolishly. He must have it confirmed.

His confirmation comes soon enough. And it is bitter.

Catelyn’s second boy reappears: crippled, snow-covered, making odd, cryptic statements. Petyr witnesses the reunion. He compares and contrasts how Sansa and Brandon interact with how she and the bastard treat one another. It. Is. Not. The same.

The boy loves his sister madly, can barely stand to let her go, but he does not look at her the way the bastard does.

Even worse: Sansa adores her little brother, she holds him with utter desperation, she cries, Petyr can’t remember the last time he’s seen her so happy as she embraces her little brother. But her affection for Brandon is markedly different from her affection for the Bastard.

Petyr is sure she doesn’t even realize it yet. And he knows. He knows he has to act now, before she does.

So later that evening, he gambles. Sansa is fussing over Bran, and Petyr discovers that the King in the North has departed from the castle, journeyed to the godswood. Petyr follows him.

He’s never spoken to the Bastard alone. Barely spoken to him at all. But now is the time.

He enters the clearing. The bastard’s back is to him. All Petyr really sees is hair and that bloody fur cloak, identical to Ned Stark’s. Sansa made it for him. She’s never made anything for Petyr. He wants to rip the cloak off the bastard’s shoulders and make him burn it.

Instead, he speaks. “Late hour for prayer, Your Grace.”

The bastard’s form tenses up, and he turns slowly. 

“Contemplation, Lord Baelish,” he says rigidly, his eyes narrowed, his lips pressed into an uncharacteristic sneer. “I have much to contemplate.”

“Aye, I imagine. It can’t be easy for you. I imagine you must feel rather conflicted.”

“What do you mean?”

Petyr smiles. “On one hand, you have your brother back. On the other, Sansa will once again be put aside.”

There’s a flicker in the King’s eyes, and Petyr realizes that the stupid bastard hadn’t even considered that. He grins.

“I mean, as a trueborn son, Brandon’s claims come before hers. So she’s no longer your heir, no longer Lady of Winterfell. Just as she lost her brother’s crown to you, she’s lost her home and place in the succession again to her little brother. It simply isn’t fair, after all she went through, all she did to get her home back. Perhaps if she’d become queen, there’d be no issue, but alas… Her chance of securing any rights were lost when you answered the Northern Lords’ call. And once again, she must step aside.”

King Jon’s mouth falls open for a second. He reddens. “I will… I will issue a proclamation tomorrow. Sansa remains my heir. She remains Lady of Winterfell.”

“I’m sure your little brother will appreciate that, no doubt. It is complicated, isn’t it?”

The bastard’s guilt is painted across his face. “I should have named her queen that day.”

“Oh yes, I can see your desperation to make her a queen,” Petyr replies, stepping closer, “I’m sure your little brother will appreciate that.”

“I—” The bastard scowls. “What is it you want, Littlefinger?”

Petyr is loving how easy this is. It’s so delicious he barely even flinches at being called “Littlefinger.” The bastard is as much a simpleton as his father. “Me? I want to make up for past mistakes. I gave Sansa up to an unworthy, perverted match before. I let her fall prey to licentiousness and abuse. I will be damned if I allow it to happen again.”

He gives the bastard an earnest, determined, challenging look. Inside, though, he smiles.

The bastard steps back, and Petyr knows. He sees it. The king in the North stammers. “I don’t know what you mean. I intend to keep her from such things, Littlefinger.”

“I don’t think you can be trusted to do so.”

“That means a lot, coming from you.” The Bastard spits.

“I’m not the man lusting after his sister.”

There. There it is. The bastard’s face is a mask of terror. Oh yes, Bastard, I know.

Now, Petyr glares. “Don’t deny it, Jon Snow. I have seen it. I know the truth. You may like to play the good, honorable, humble soldier, but just like your father before you, you can’t ignore your cock. I’ve seen the looks you give Sansa. Not exactly the sort of looks appropriate for a brother, are they?”

The bastard fidgets. He glares. “How dare you?!”

Petyr comes close. “You may have fooled Sansa so far, but you can’t fool me. I bet every woman you’ve ever desired has had hair the color of blood and bright blue eyes. I’ve sold enough whores to read any lusts I encounter. I’ve dealt with men like you. Lords who came to my brothel seeking girls who looked a very particular way, then encountering them with their families at court, and discovering their lady sisters bear striking resemblances to the girls I sold them. Discovering that my clients look upon their own blood with the sort of longing I now see in your eyes whenever they fall upon the woman who exemplifies everything you never had.”

“Shut up.” The bastard chokes out. But Petyr doesn’t.

“Perhaps when you answered the call of your vassals, you thought that taking the Stark birthright would be enough. But it wasn’t, was it? Taking the North from Catelyn Tully’s children isn’t enough. No, you need to take her lovely lady daughter, the perfect princess who looks so much like the woman who would never be your mother, you need to take her. You need to lay her upon the sheets of Lord and Lady Stark’s bed, the bed where your father and his lady wife made all of those trueborn children deemed more worthy than you, and make Sansa yours. Take her, claim her, defile her. Make her as incestuous as the mad queen in the South. Make her yours. Take everything. You burn for her. For your sister. You’re every bit as sick as a Lannister.”

The bastard’s hand on his throat is as satisfying as it is painful, as is the sensation as Jon Snow slams him up against the trunk of the Heart Tree. He flashes back to that day with Ned Stark, outside the brothel. Starks. Quick tempers. Slow minds.

But this time, he’s going to keep his Tully girl from them. He will. He will. Jon Snow won’t kill him. He knows it. He’s too honorable.

He actually hears the crunching from his nose against the bastard’s fist before the pain of it registers. But the pain does hit. And Petyr feels twinges of doubt. Maybe the bastard isn’t that honorable.

He bites his tongue, literally and figuratively. But even more frightening is the bastard’s smirk. The bastard isn’t supposed to be smirking.

“Not a Lannister,” hisses the bastard, “Like a Targaryen, actually.”

By his tone, Petyr realizes that there’s something to this, and he’s almost afraid to ask what. But he does. “What are you talking about, Bastard?”

The bastard grins even further. “Bran arrived today with some interesting information. Information that has since been confirmed by Lord Reed, who was with Eddard Stark when Lady Lyanna died. As it turns out, I’m not Lord Stark’s bastard after all. I’m the product of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen. You haven’t heard, because Sansa doesn’t trust you. And that eats you up, doesn’t it?”

Petyr is out of breath, and not just from the blood and cartilege clogging his nasal cavities. “Wh—wh–what?!”

“Lord Eddard kept it a secret. But secrets come out. So no, Littlefinger. You may lust after your niece, but I do not lust after my sister.” The bastard’s eyes flash. “Sansa told me what you said to her. Your little dream. You, on the Iron Throne, her by your side. I don’t want the Iron Throne. Or, rather, I didn’t. But I may now. Not because I want to take anything from Sansa or Bran or Arya or Lady Catelyn. No, I’ll do it, if only to take it from you. You betrayed my family, Littlefinger. You double-crossed my father. You killed Jon Arryn and sparked everything that destroyed the lives of the people I loved—”

Petyr freezes. How could he possibly know—?

The Bastard reads his expression and grins. “My little brother arrived bearing lots of fascinating information. And now… I was content to never venture south, to let myself die in the North, fighting, to never, ever act on what I feel for Sansa. And trust me, in many ways, not loving Sansa was as terrifying a concept. 

“Because bloody hell…. I love her. I do. And unlike you, I actually know it’s real love. It’s not some entitled obsession passed from mother to daughter. I look at Sansa, and I don’t see Catelyn Tully. Seven Hells, I see more of her father in her than I see of her mother. But mostly, I see her. I’ve been in love before, Littlefinger. Loved a woman who never offered me anything I felt I was denied. Just a woman I bloody loved. Worshipped. Almost gave everything up for. I know love when it comes, and it’s here again. I am in awe of Sansa, I can believe that this world is worth fighting for, if only because she’s in it. I would die again if only to keep her safe. To make her smile. To make her feel safe and hopeful again. To make her feel even a fraction of the joy she brings me. But I didn’t want to scare her. After what she’s suffered thanks to you, pursuing her seemed wrong. And I’ve believed myself bound for death anyways. And I didn’t care, because if I died fighting the White Walkers, I’d be giving up my life to keep her safe, and would leave her the throne that’s rightfully hers. But you know what? Now I think I’ll live. I’ll survive the wars and come back to her. I’ll give her the throne of the North, then march South with her by my side and take the Iron Throne. I’ll declare myself King in the South, build her a throne of her own, and have her by my side as Queen in the North. And I am going breed a dozen babes into her—- Starks and Targaryens. And we’ll build a world for them and leave them everything you ever wanted. You’ll be a footnote. I’m going to be the man who makes her happy. I’m going to be the man who gives her babes with bright red hair. I’ll take the throne, and keep you alive only long enough for you to see us. Sitting side by side in the Red Keep, my firstborn in her arms. She’ll be happy, safe, loved. And I will give her everything you could only ever take from her.”

Petyr shakes. He sees it now. He sees it. His beautiful dream, gone. It’s not him on the Iron Throne, but this bastard. And he sees it, gods, he sees it. He sees her. Her by his side, babe at her breast, looking upon the bastard in adoration. In love.

“Jon?”

Now Petyr seriously wonders if he’s having a nightmare. Because that’s her voice.

Both men look over, and there is Sansa, hands clasped, as beautiful as a winter rose. Even more beautiful than Cat ever was. The hood of her Stark cloak pulled up around her face so she resembles a little bear cub. She pulls the hood down and that red hair tumbles out.

She comes forward. The bastard releases Petyr. He falls to the ground, landing roughly on the roots of the weirwood. Sansa’s eyes are on the bastard. And she looks… She looks like his worst nightmare: beautiful and in love. 

The bastard looks panicked. “Sansa, I—”

She stops him with a fingertip to his lips. Petyr watches her and marvels. How could anyone look at her and see Ned Stark? She’s Cat. Cat. Cat…

She smiles. “That’s a beautiful dream, Jon. The most beautiful I can imagine. I want it for us. I want you to promise it to me. Even if you have to come back from the dead for it.”

“You… You want it?” He has that dumbfounded expression that was so, so Ned Stark.

“I want you. I want you by my side. I couldn’t care less for the Iron Throne, but us side by side, the babes, the better world we can give them.” 

And she kisses him. Just like Cat kissed that fool from the North. It takes Petyr several moments to realize he’s screaming.

The two break apart, and Sansa looks down on him. There is nothing but pure disgust in her eyes. 

“I have to say, though, My Love, I do agree with you,” she says, her tone mocking, “The Iron Throne does have a certain appeal if it means keeping him from it. I would very much like to give you everything Littlefinger wants.”

Petyr whimpers. She called him Littlefinger.

Before he knows it, he’s being dragged through the snow by his collar. He blacks out, and wakes up to find himself in a dark cell. He’s alone. He’s afraid.

Eventually, a page brings him a plate of what looks like it might have been mutton stew once. The lad is skinny, about twelve, and missing some teeth already. He grins at Petyr.

“I’m ta tell ya, Littlefingah, from the queen ‘erself—”

“—Queen?!”

“King Jon ain’t no Stark, as it turns out. ‘E surrendered the North to Queen Sansa this mornin’. ‘E’s declared ‘imself a lost Targaryen prince instead, says ‘e’s meant to be King in the South, not the North.” The lad shrugs, “But ‘e’s not Old Lord Eddard’s bastard, so ‘e can’t be King in the North. So Sansa’s queen now, and ‘er crippled brother is prince. But that’s not what Queen Sansa’s so eager to know, now. No, she wants me ter tell ya that King Jon is going ta be a King in the North again, in a fashion. She says that she wants you to know that you’ll be let out and given a ‘ot meal and fine new clothes so you can come to ‘er wedding. She even—”

The lad stops, hesitates, then grins, “She says she’s found something she likes after what Lord Ramsay did to her. That you needn’t worry, that you’ll be out of ‘ere soon enough, because the wedding will need to be soon since she’s already started working on giving the North an ‘eir. The North and the South. And she says that after yer let out, and give yer blessing, that ‘the mockingbird will get to spread ‘is wings an’ fly.’ Don’t know what that part is supposed ter mean. But…” The boy giggles. “I know what she means with the first part.”

Petyr glares at the boy. “Get out!”

The lad shrugs. “Alright. I’m not ter be yer guard anyways.”

“Then who is?!” Petyr demands.

The lad gestures with his thumb over his shoulder. “’Im.”

And that’s when Petyr sees the red eyes in the distance. That’s when he hears the growling. 

Bucky² (Prologue)

Summary: You’re a mutant with the power of dimensional, spatial and time manipulation, meaning you can travel to and from dimension, spaces and different times with ease. But one day, when you’re coming back from a particularly long mission, you brought something back that should never have come with you in the first place.

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything that Marvel has created and I certainly don’t own Sebastian Stan.

Warnings: Swearing, angst and some flirting.

40′s!Bucky x Present!Bucky x Reader

||Please don’t repost anywhere or plagiarize||


It’s been such a damn long mission.

I’m glad I’m going back home after this, just a little more information to collect, before heading home. I never realized just how much I’d miss my phone or my laptop or even the shows on TV. 

God, I miss Netflix.

Walking down the hall, my skirt swishing against my calves, I slid into the filing room where all of the Howling Commandos’ reports on their successful missions, I look over to the desk, seeing the most recent report sent in by Falsworth. I bend over the desk, reading it.

After taking the most recent HYDRA base, we couldn’t help but notice multiple anomalies in the sky. We don’t know where they’re from, if they’re natural or if they’re a new HYDRA weapon being tested. Whatever it is, we need to take care of it.’

I sigh, modifying the report flawlessly to nullify that part of the report and I bite my lip, “sorry boys, but that’s no HYDRA weapon. That was my friends, calling me home.” 

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Boys in Plaid || Peter Parker x Reader

i have no excuse for this drabble other than the fact that i love peter parker too much.

this isn’t a sequel to {{beloved season}} since I feel pretty torn about it. on one hand, i feel like it’s gr8 on its own, but on the other hand–

i wanna give peter the happy ending he deserves 。゚(TヮT)゚。

i’ll think about making a sequel later. Maybe it’ll happen sometime in the future but idk bc the original requester never really spoke about wanting it to be a two parter so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

so to make it up for making any of you readers cry with {{beloved season}}, have a fluffy drabble with peter (●♡∀♡)

**I apologize for any grammatical errors since this was all written on my phone. When it’s posted then I’ll make sure to edit it a few more times just in case!**

**dont repost/plagiarize this story. Reblogs are fine!!

warnings: pETER PARKER IN PLAID I REPEAT PETER PARKER IN PLAID!!

———————

[key: =reader’s text

=peter’s text]

boys in plaid are so cute.

really? you think so?

petey, i don’t just think so. I KNOW SO.

so are you saying that you’d date any guy, as long as he wore plaid??

welllll, i do have standards tho. not any guy can date me just from wearing plaids alone.

then what do you look for…in a boyfriend?

hhhhh i can’t believe im telling my best friend this (/ω\) okay what i look for in a bf is that he has to be super sweet with a genuine personality. like, he’s not a lowkey asshole when im alone with him and only a sweetheart in public, you feel???

he has to be like SUPPPEEERR SMART and he has to be willing to spoil me with cuddles and nights spent watching cheesy 80s movies (/ω\)

also boys who wear plaid with jeans and converses are my absolute weakness (/ω\) ♡ ♡

i see…

———————

Peter Parker couldn’t help the wide grin that showed on his face after reading the series of texts between him and [Name]. He could practically feel his confidence skyrocketing to the roof because he finally had proof that he had a chance with her.

Setting his phone to the side, he stands and searches through his closet, picking out all of the plaid shirts that he could find before setting them aside.

Despite how foolish Peter felt about doing this, he knew that it would all be worth it in the end if he managed to have [Name] in his arms.

———————

You go into Midtown the next day with a sluggish walk that usually came with Monday mornings. Internally groaning at having to deal with chemistry and lab first thing in the morning, you unlock your locker and pulled out a thick textbook, your lab workbook, and binder. The weight of each book was becoming uncomfortable against your arms, and you were struggling with closing your locker when you felt someone take away your stack of books from the side.

“Here, let me help you [Nickname].” Recognizing Peter’s voice, you face him, about to thank him when you felt your words die against your throat.

Holy shit, had Peter always been this fucking cute?! The boy was standing next to you, looking positively delectable as he wore a black and red patterned plaid shirt coupled along with a pair of jeans and his signature converses. The fact that he wasn’t covering the plaid shirt with his usual Midtown High hoodie made you see his physique as a whole in a totally different light.

As you stared at him, you were loving how broad his chest was as his left arm seemed to bulge a bit as he carried your books in one hand, making you nearly drool at how his veins were shown on his wrist.

“Oh my god, you’re so cute-” you catch yourself at the very last minute, feeling a deep blush paint your skin when you cover your mouth with your hand. You had just told Peter that he was cute!!! And that was the one thing you were absolutely terrified of admitting.

When you had texted Peter last night about your love for boys in plaid, you had unconsciously (and automatically) described Peter Benjamin Parker in near perfect detail. Only after you had sent those texts did you realize the error of your ways- however, you were confident that Peter was too nerdy to understand your (un)intentional description of him.

But the fact that he was in front of you, (dressed to absolute perfection in your favorite aesthetic) was making your knees weak as you shivered at his proximity. You should have known better, dammit. Peter had been your friend for years now, and there really wasn’t much you could hide from him.

Peter seemed pleased at your embarrassment as he shifted all of your books beneath his left arm. Using his right hand, he gently runs a finger down your face, stopping at your lips before lingering against them, “I’m so nervous right now, and I want nothing more than for you to finally put me out of my misery and be my girlfriend. If the fact that I literally spent some time the night before picking out this exact outfit in a pathetic attempt to get you to notice me isn’t enough proof that I’m already madly in love with you, then I don’t know what is.”

You close your eyes and lean into the palm of his hand when he begins to caress your cheek, “Yeah? Well if the fact that I described you in perfect detail the night before isn’t proof that I’m madly in love with you, then I don’t know what is.”

Peter laughs, the sound making your heart flutter when he leans down to place a quick kiss against your lips, “How about we both put each other out of our miseries right now and become that gross couple who hold hands and kiss all the time?”

You cutely scrunch up your nose before nuzzling Peter with it, laughing while staring into his sweet brown eyes, “I think I’d like that.”

[end]

Originally posted by chrisbeck

Loving: Tom Holland x Black Actress

Requested: Reader is a actress with a small fanbase, she meets Tom they date and she is hit with racial slurs and hate. 

Warning: Racial Slurs…


You were on the set of your current movie waiting for the Director to call for places. You scrolled through your Instagram about shocked at the amount of new followers you had gained overnight and throughout the course of the day. 

You went to Tom’s page and smiled seeing that he posted a picture of you two. You liked it and put a heart in the comments. “Places!” You quickly turned off your phone and walked to your place.


“Tom, man you need to see this!” Haz showed Tom your page. His heart broke at the amount of hate you had received. He felt anger sweep over him as he read through the terrible comments.

She is fucking ugly!

Lol he’s dating a nigger

Fucking Coon

Tom could do SOOO much better!

He had seen enough and decided to call you. When your phone immediately went to voicemail he got worried that you had seen the comments, so he texted you. Love I am so sorry! Please call me!

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anonymous asked:

I WOULD BUY YOUR STUFF JUST SAYING

Anon said: If you make a shop I will buy things. I would kill for stickers of some of your art

Anon said: I would give you all my money for any of your doodles tbh

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Thank you hOLY HECK part of what I meant was that I draw stuff with a too low resolution for most things that aren’t phonecases or stickers or mugs but I can!! Sort through my stuff and see what has a usable shape??? <3<3 please don’t kill anyone tho

Anon said: your bakugou squad art: everything and more!!i really love it

HOLY SMOKES THANK YOU!!!!!!! *O*

Anon said: that one art you did with kuroiro and monoma low key made me ship them and im Suffering

*light yagami voice* just according to keikaku - JK! I accidentally made myself ship it too so we’re on the same boat, I might doodle something for it in the future *wiggle eyebrows*

Anon said: Hi!! I’m not sure if you’ve answered this before (so I apologize if you have), I’m new to the bnha fandom, I’m in LOVE with bakushima, and I was wondering if there were any good fics you would recommend please for that ship???

I think I have a fic recs tag!! but more specifically if you scroll down here there’s a bunch of fics I really really love a lot, most of them are bakushima! Also this is the one that slayed me a couple of days ago, pls read it, and this one and this one too and hooooooly shit this one and UH this one I read a lot of bakushima okay I have no life please don’t judge me

Keep reading

The Harlequin Formula || Peter Parker x Reader

You all know about those short novella like romance novels published under the name Harlequin, right? Well, there’s also many manga artists who often transcribe the written text into a graphic novel form that I just adore reading!

So reading Harlequin comics is like one of the things I do for like, guilty pleasure and stuff because those kinds of comics is super pandering to young women (like me). Sure, a lot of the times the romance seems forced and unlikely to happen, but let me tell you, I read a Harlequin comic last night and the fact that it had a strong heroine who wasn’t afraid of the main love interest AND could read him like a book-

I was hooked.

So this whole story is inspired by the whole “harlequin formula” usually seen in those types of stories and how the ‘reader character’ tries to break them in hopes of finding a genuine type of love.

I hope you readers will enjoy this story ;w; .

warnings: none

word count: 3,300+

**don’t repost/plagiarize this story! Reblogs are fine!

——

When you were younger, you often filled your romantic daydreams with Harlequin novels. You didn’t know what true love felt like and often read these short novellas in order to get a glimpse of how love worked.

It was through these short stories that you learned the following things:

Love is when a demure woman falls for a powerful man.

The powerful man is often a multi-billionaire of some sort who comes off as cold and aloof, but is innately missing something all the same.

And whatever he was missing would always be love, to which the leading lady would offer him almost unconditionally, regardless of how cruel he was to her.

After the end of these novels, you would find yourself with tears in your eyes at just how wonderful the love story was. “That’s what true love has to be about, finding love in unexpected places while following your man to the ends of the earth.”

Each time you would finish a story, you would sigh and fall back against your twin bed, your hair fanning out beneath your head as you clutched the novel to your chest before softly murmuring (as if hoping that the more times you said it, then it would likely come true), “I honestly can’t wait to fall in love.”

——

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7goodangel’s FAQ

( Can also be found at https://7goodangel.tumblr.com/faq )

[This version is made so then it can be easily searched within the blog and be easier for mobile users to find! Will reblog when an update to the FAQ happens! The original page will still be up as well as the post version of it. FAQ is under the Read More to not clutter up the dashboard. Please read this prior to sending questions!]

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7 Letters...

PROLOGUE

| 1 | 2 |

Member - Taehyung x reader , Jungkook x reader

Genre - Angst, Fluff, (future) smut

Warnings - none for this chapter

Word count - 1,936

Summary -  A mysterious person who writes on your skin, an interesting co-worker who is making his way into your heart. A man whose past you need to know and a man who needs to understand your present. In a  journey that takes you beyond the boundaries of time, sanity and love, you are left torn between choices to make and decisions to take.

And no. Not everything was about love. It was also about destiny.

[A/N] - This is my original work and has in no way has been plagerised. If you see a story similar to this that was posted by @bts-things-we-all-imagine please know that I am the owner of that blog and that I have abandoned it because of certain issues. I’m reposting my work on this, my new url and have edited it heavily (cause why not :), but it is all my words and my work only.

Originally posted by ultranicolet

A black lane…..a small bridge……two swords……a ring spinning on the floor…….the painting of an unknown someone….the sound of a flute…a strange constriction cutting your breath….

and you begin to scream.


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anonymous asked:

heyyy can you do where harry comes with his new hair cut and your reaction to it. And one where you both discuss the "daddy" topic and how its so famous now and idk you guys are like discussing it and you kinda get shy and stuff and Harry can't atop smirking.

Rating:  PG-16 ?
Warnings: a little bit of eating if ya know what i mean!
Category: Smutty at the end
Word Count: 2,395
Request:  YES so thank you a million times over.

Note: I don’t know if you wanted me to do 2 separate requests so I guess I figured out a way to merge them together.



11. Still Enough.

There’s a beep from your phone signalling a text message. You pick it up, finding a text from Harry, putting down the bowl of cookie batter, and sliding your finger across the device, you check the message. He’s just letting you know he’s on his way over and has a surprise for you. Your eyebrows raise in confusion, what could that surprise be? It wasn’t any special day or occasion today, and if it was then you had definitively forgotten all about it.

The cookies in the oven are giving your kitchen and living room the best homey delicious smell, as you hand-mix another batch. You were in a baking mood, so you had decided to call your mom and surprise her saying you’d pinch in with some cookies for her brunch tomorrow, and she was glad that you took that chore from her shoulders.

You’re mixing to your hearts content, humming a little tune, when Harry arrives, his usual “Babe, M’here!” ringing through your ears as he jiggles the keys and sets them on the table by the door. He kicks off his shoes as he does every day, setting them by the stairs to take with him later, and undoes a couple of his buttons, feeling more free.
“ Smells amazing” he says coming in the kitchen. You set down the bowl and turn to him ready to greet him, and you’re glad you set it down because when you see him, all you can do is let out a little scream and drop the whisk that’s still in your hand. In front of you stands the same old Harry you know and love, minus the hair you know and love.
Oh my…!
“ Surprise!” He says making goofy jazz hands, a smile so big and dimple so deep, and he looks so young and different. You don’t know if you love it yet, but you know you will, because you love him. Your hands reach to his buzzed sides and the longer part at the top, getting a feel of the new cut, as he lets out giggles at your face. Your mouth is still shaped like an O and your eyes are wide. “d’yeh like it?” he asks a little bit more nervous now, because you have yet to say a proper word about it.
“ Takes some getting used to I suppose?” you say resting your hands on his shoulders after you’re done exploring and feeling the short hair. You look at him, for a long while. You notice his neck, as it seems thicker, and his ears, are so small yet visible. You notice how much more defined his jaw looks, as if that was even possible. It’s a lot to take in, for a lover of his long hair, but you know deep in your heart you’re going to love it. Specially if he lets it grow back.

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Owari No Seraph 108 Fanbook information PART 2

Read part 1 here

Guren Squad 

Guren Ichinose

  • Birthday: 28th August (Virgo)
  • Age: 24
  • Height: 183 cm
  • Weight: 65 kg
  • Blood Type: 0
  • Demon: Mahiru No Yo
  • Favorite Food: Curry

Q: What’s your daily schedule?

A: To play video games. In my highschool days I often played video games with Shinya, Mito, Goshi, Shigure and Sayuri…it calms me down.

Q: What’s your favorite color?

A: bluish grey, don’t have a particular reason for that

Q: What does commander Guren think of Yuuichiro Hyakuya?

A: Mmh..It might sound like a joke, but I actually think he’s a cute kid. Well..he definitely is a very stupid one.

Q: Tell us about your charming point and complexes?

A: Weak point is I easily feel tedious, and charming point? Well, go ask this Sayuri and Shigure for me please!

Q: If you’d get reincarnated what do you want to be? 

A: I don’t believe in reincarnations.


Sayuri Hanayori

  • Birthday: 23rd May (Gemini)
  • Age: 24
  • Height: 165 cm
  • Weight: 49 kg
  • Blood Type: A
  • Demon: Kukuri
  • Favorite Food: the food Guren likes to eat

Q: What’s your daily schedule?

A: To suggest Guren-sama to eat something different than Curry, but he doesn’t want to eat something else.

Q: As a follower of the Ichinose family, what do you want to do for commander Guren?

A: Ahh..uhm, if there’s anything that Guren-sama wishes for, I would do it! No matter what it is…I would even attend him through the night (guard) or uhm talk with him about love.


Shigure Yukimi

  • Birthday: 10th May (Taurus)
  • Age: 24
  • Height: 151 cm
  • Weight: 40 kg
  • Blood Type: B
  • Demon: Kuronagi
  • Favorite Food: Sayuri’s cooking

Q: What’s your daily schedule?

A: To maintain the curse tokens, shade vessels etc. that Guren-sama has used.

Q: Your hair always looks beautiful, Yukimi-san, do you have any secret tips for your haircare?

A: camellia oil. It’s also useful to make curse tools.


Mito Juujou

  • Birthday: 1st January (Capricorn)
  • Age: 23
  • Height: 163 cm
  • Weight: 47 kg
  • Blood Type: AB
  • Demon: Kagutsuchi
  • Favorite Food: Takoyaki / Okonomiyaki

Q: What’s your daily schedule?

A: To play video games! I’m the best from our squad (or not?)

Q: You always wear cute outfits, what kind of fashion do you like recently?

A: Uhm, gothic lolita? I still like it a lot, after I once saw an outfit at a shop window.


Norito Goshi

  • Birthday: 15th May (Taurus)
  • Age: 24
  • Height: 185 cm
  • Weight: 74 kg
  • Blood Type: 0
  • Demon: Kakuze
  • Favorite Food: potato chips, eclair

Q: What’s your daily schedule?

A: If I find new ero-hon’s , I’d go to Guren’s room and put them on his desk, he surely must have read one or two secretly!!!

Q: Playboy Goshi, tell us a few pick-up lines!

A: I could tell you but the success rate is very low *laughs*


Hiiragi Family

I’ll only translate Shinya’s and Kureto’s facts [there are also information about Tenri and Seishiro but due to lack of time I’ll leave them out (for now). If a lot of people are still interested I might add their information later (: ]


Kureto Hiiragi

  • Birthday: 31st March (Aries)
  • Age: 25
  • Height: 187 cm
  • Weight: 73 kg
  • Blood Type: A
  • Demon: Raimeiki
  • Favorite Food: black tea, beverages with carbonic acid

Q: What’s your daily schedule?

A: To do the things, I need to do.

Q: Tell us your favorite motto.

A: Attachment kills people. That’s why I’m a bit worried about Guren. He has a lot of fighting spirit…

Q: We know that your hobby before the world was about to end is fishing. What do you like to do now?

A: Did you know that you’re still able to go fishing. You catch a few monsters. I wonder if we could eat them…


Shinya Hiiragi

  • Birthday: 22nd November (Scorpio)
  • Age: 24
  • Height: 183 cm
  • Weight: 62 kg
  • Blood Type: B
  • Demon: Byakkomaru
  • Favorite food: He likes bread more than rice, especially with jam

Q: what’s your daily schedule?

A: I like to grind coffee every morning, and I often do latte art as well.

Q: I heard that your sworn friend aka Guren likes to listen to Jazz, what genre do you prefer?

A: Uhm, I don’t really listen to music. Oh, Guren likes jazz? The same as Mahiru then…

Q: What is your biggest wish right now?

A: I wonder what…Hmm…I didn’t have many wishes when I was a kid. Maybe I should go search for that jazz recorder?


The next part will be about the vampires (hohohoho MIKA!) I’ll probably post it in two or three days (cause I’m still busy with preparations for my oral exam T_T)


Please do not repost this or claim it as your own. I needed quite a long time to translate these facts. (Reblogs are appreciated)

So recently I see a lot more reposts then before. It might be because if the new fans, new people on tumblr and all that. So here is a little bit of information on why you should reblog and not repost. 

First things first. 

“Wat is reposting?" 

Reposting is when you take an image, art work, graphic, gif… that isn’t yours (Read as; not made, edited, created… by you) and upload it onto your own account. Simple as that. Reblogging is when you press the little arrows on a post, so it goes onto your blog and adds to the notes on the original post. So you’re ‘sharing’ it without uploading it again.

Now, a more prominent question. 

"Why is reposting wrong?”

There are many reasons to why this is wrong. Reasons different for every person, reason people often don’t see as a reason to why this is wrong. Let me list a few.

  • You take away credit from the original poster.
  • It is no sign of respect to any artist. 
  • The same image turns up over and over again in a tag, which is really annoying. 
  • People assume you edited/created the art you uploaded, the original creator gets no credit. 
  • The no credit thing is really a thing to keep in mind. 
  • A lot of work was put into it, even if it is just a gif. Even when it appears as a simple edit to you. People do these things because they want to. Because they like it. Because they feel the need to contribute something to the fandom they are in. And maybe even because they want some recognition and notes. For you to take all of that away, is simply rude and disrespectful. 
  • It actually counts as copyright violation. Something people often forget is a ‘crime.’ I’ll go into this later on in this post. 


So those are just some of the reasons to why reposting is wrong. Now, speaking out of my own experiences, reposters often don’t take this as a reason. They often hold these things up against is, making us, the artist, feel like /we/ did something wrong by pointing out they reposted. It happens all of the time. I’ll list a few things I have come across to, answers people gave me when I politely asked them not to repost, and to take down my graphic/edit. I’ll also explain to why I believe what they said, was wrong. 

“I didn’t stole anything from you, I never even visited your page!.”

This you’ll hear very often when you are dealing with reposters. They probably never even seen your Tumblr. Which still doesn’t give them the right to do whatever they did. There’s a lot of sources to where they could have found your artwork. Think about google images, weheartit, pininterest… and so on. I will list and explain all of these later on in the post. Anyway, it doesn’t matter whether you have visited the website or not, it gives you no right to repost whatever it is you have reposted. 

“But I credited you, look there’s a little link." 

Another thing you’ll often see/hear. People indeed do that sometimes, repost your thing and put a source underneath. Now.. Let me tell you this; mostly the source is wrong and it wouldn’t lead to your original post at all. And second, people don’t care about that. 99% of people on here wouldn’t take a second to check wether you actually created that or not. Especially not when you put a link and still make the source connect to your own page. Speaking about this, reposting something when you actually know the original post makes everything, imltho, even worse. You know where the edit is, you know who made it… Why don’t you just reblog it? Why don’t just just click two times and have it on your blog. Why do you feel the need to go through the entire upload thing when all you have to do is click two times and have it on your blog? I assume people do this to gain notes/followers… And that is rather pathetic and once more disrespectful, because the person who created the thing that has been reposted deserves that credit and those notes/followers. 


"You should be thankful, look it has …. notes now!”

No. We artists should NOT and I repeat NOT be thankful for you reposting our art AT ALL. If anything, we should be offended. Which most of the time we are and we have every right to be. Reposting is not a way of appreciating you love the thing we did, reposting is not something we should be thankful for. 

Those are just some of the most common things I have come across from. Believe me, I have seen about everything by now. I also found, people are incredibly rude when you point them out they have reposted something. I barely ever come across someone who friendly replies. Of course, there have been some. But they really are outnumbered by the amount of times people shouted, called me names or whatever for just asking them to take down MY piece of art. If you want to know a few things; they involve calling my followers psycho bitches for letting me know about the repost, saying I cyber bully, saying I was causing them to feel suicidal. Yes. It really goes that far. 

Recently I found a lot if people putting together gifs/edits that aren’t theirs in a photoset, but claim they made the photoset. This also is reposting. This also is wrong. And so is taken an already edited image and just putting it into black and white. 

Anyway, to carry on, as I said earlier there are a few things people consider as a source, which isn’t really a source. Here’s a list. 

  • Weheartit: This website is probably the worse thing ever for an artist. Basically everything on there is stolen and credited in a wrong way. It gives an easy opportunity to repost things you find on there on Tumblr and it automatically creates a source that goes back to weheartit. Now I know it’s easy to find things on there, but please, keep them on there. They are already stolen once, please don’t do it a second time. So now all repeat after me: weheartit is NOT a source.
  • Google Images: Yeaa, we all did this I guess. Googled our favourite show/ship/anything. You’ll find load of great images, art work, edits… It is alright to save them to your computer. But it is not okay to reupload them. Follow the link you find on google, find out where it comes from and usually you’ll end up on some sort of Tumblr. Yes I know, it takes a /little/ bit of effort. But still not as much effort as it takes to repost the entire thing. 
  • Instagram: Aaah, instagram is like a repost heaven. Or hell. I’d call it hell. If you go through the Sherlock tag on there, you won’t see much original posts. Graphic after graphic, edit after edit gets reposted. On top of it, IG doesn’t come with a good report system like tumblr does. All we can do is ask them, but really. This drives me crazy more then anything. Because people won’t listed at all. As long as they gain followers though things they haven’t made, all is well. Fuck people who spent hours on what they just claimed as theirs. (Just to make sure, that was sarcasm.) 

Well, those are pretty much the main things about reposting. There’s a million more things to it and I could write/complain about it all night, but yea… Let’s move on to things YOU can do to prevent this.

  • Take a second to look at the source. 

Please do this. If you see the source is weheartit, or IF there is a tag/URL on the image you see and it IS NOT the same as the source, please do not reblog it. Don’t spread those reposts, instead either message the original poster OR just message the blog who reposted and FRIENDLY (always friendly. Never hate.) ask them not to repost. If necessary explain them why, they might not know.

  • Find the original post instead of reblogging the repost.

Yeaaaa I know, this sounds like a lot of effort too. And ain’t nobody got time for that, but you would really show your feelings towards a graphic/artwork if you did this instead of reblogging the reposted version. If there’s an URL on the image, you can just go to that tumblr and most artist have a tag for their art on their blog so it’s easy to find. If that isn’t the case, grab the URL of the image (right click, copy image URL) and take it to google images. Once there, you see this little camera in the right corner. You should click that and you’ll get this:

External image


Past your URL there and 9/10 times you will find the original post. 
  • If all else fails, and the person doesn’t have an ask. Please report them to tumblr. Don’t be afraid to do so. Just contact the suport and send the the links of your original post and the reposters. They will take it down. Click here and read more. 

KINGSMAN PROMPT/Father!Harry, Son!Eggsy- Repost

(Some people said they were having trouble reading after the line break, so I’m reposting w/o it. Sorry for the long post!)

               Harry wanted to do more after Lee Unwin’s death. A medallion and the promise for one favor didn’t seem like enough compensation for a life, three lives if you counted the fact that both Michelle’s and little Gary’s lives would forever be altered. But his hands were tied, so he delivered the medallion, took the verbal thrashing, and walked out of the Unwin household with no intentions of further dampening their doorway—at least that was what Arthur believed. Chester King had made it very clear that Harry was to take no part in the Unwins’ lives, but Harry couldn’t turn away, not when Lee’s death had been his responsibility.

           “It’s the risk of the job,” Merlin told him over a pint a week after Harry had delivered the medallion.  “It isn’t all jokes when we ask for each trainee’s basics.”

           Perhaps not, but Lee’s demise should have never happened. Unable to shake his guilt, Harry took to monitoring from afar, watching over the Unwins. Things were rocky for them, and Harry tried to alleviate some of the burden without being too obvious, but it was evident the strain of losing her husband and raising a child on her own was getting to Michelle. Grocery bills lengthened with lists of alcohol. Michelle began a prescription of anti-depressants. It was clear to Harry that she wasn’t coping well, but when the report came in about her suicide, Harry had been taken back.

           He never thought she’d go so far as to take her own life, to leave her only child alone in the world. Harry spent the night in his office, a bottle of scotch in one hand and a picture of Lee and himself in the other.

           “What have I done, old friend?” Harry asked the worn photograph, which was creased down the center and faded. He’d doomed Lee’s only child, the last of his legacy, to be an orphan. What the boy must be going through, to lose both his mother and father in the same year. Did he have family who would take him? Love him?

           The thought choked Harry. There had been solace in watching over Gary and Michelle, to watch over the last remaining traces of Lee. It had been as if Harry hadn’t had to say goodbye.

           Harry sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand, a gesture he’d never do in front of anyone else, and then set both the bottle and photo down. He turned to his computer and did a search of Gary’s remaining family, to see who would take custody of the boy—of Lee’s son.

           It wasn’t good, to say the least; Michelle’s only living relatives was a ninety year-old aunt from Bath. Lee had a sister in the area, but some digging around showed that she lived in the same squalor as Michelle, and if the number of police reports filed were anything to go off of, it was clear her relationship with her husband wasn’t exactly loving. No, neither prospects would do.

           Harry picked up his phone and called Merlin. “I need a favor,” Harry said as soon as Merlin answered.

           “Not even a hello?” He didn’t wait for Harry’s cheeky response. “I suspected you’d be calling. I got the flag for Mrs. Unwin’s death. You’re not going to ask what I think you are, are you Harry?”

           “You know I am,” Harry said with a slight sniff.

           “Arthur won’t like this,” Merlin pointed out, not that he sounded like he cared. As far as Merlin was concerned, Arthur could take a stroll off a pier.

           “He’ll never have to know,” Harry replied, already formulating a plan in his head.

           Merlin sighed, but Harry could hear the familiar tapping of keys. “You owe me,” Merlin stated five minutes later.

           “I know.” And he really did.

* * * *

           As far as anyone was concerned, Eggsy was his nephew, who’d been sent to live with him while his sister was recuperating in the country. If anyone checked to corroborate the story, they’d find reports of Harry’s sickly younger sibling, Victoria, on record. She was ten years his younger, a widow of three years, and had only one child, a Gary ‘Eggsy’ Collins, who was three months shy of turning eight. And if anyone asked about Gary Unwin, well, they were given a sad smile and shake of the head, the universal sign of the untimely end to life in its prime.

           Harry didn’t really know what to do with Eggsy at first. Harry was an only child and the last time he dealt with someone so little had been on a rescue mission in Prague, which Harry really rather not think about—he still had a scar on his hand from where the kid had bit him.

           Eggsy didn’t seem to know what to do with Harry either. He stared at Harry the first night he arrived, confusion deepening his eyes to a shade of indigo. “Who are y’?” Eggsy asked, head craned back so he could look Harry in the eyes.

           “I’m your uncle, from your father’s side,” Harry explained patiently.

           “No y’ ain’t,” Eggsy stated matter-of-factly, bottom lip jutting out stubbornly. “Only got an aunt on da’s side, and y’ was around before. Few months back, around Christmas.”

           Harry’s mouth involuntarily twitched up into a smile. “Clever boy.” Eggsy’s shoulders straightened at the praise, but his determined look never deflated. Harry clamped a hand down on his shoulder and squeezed. “I’m a friend of your fathers, and he asked me to look after you if anything should happen to him or your mother.”

           Eggsy scrunched up his nose. “How come I never saw y’ before that day?”

           “Your father liked to keep his private life separate from work,” Harry answered smoothly and dropped his hand.

           Eggsy’s lower lip wobbled and he dropped his gaze. “Y’ knew my dad?”

           “I did,” Harry said gently.

           Eggsy sniffed and wiped his nose with the sleeve of his shirt. Harry could see him fighting to keep his expression hard, to hold back the fat tears that were pooling in the corners of his eyes, but they rolled down his pudgy cheeks defiantly. Eggsy let out a shuddered sob and dug the heels of his palms into his eyes, futilely staving off tears. “Why’d he leave? Why’d he have to go—why’d mom h-have to…to…”

           Harry dropped to his knees, taking Eggsy’s shoulders in both of his hands, and said, words tight in his throat, “I’m sorry Eggsy. I wish I could change what happened, but I can’t. Know, though, that you’ll never be alone again. I’m here Eggsy, and I’ll always be here for you.”

           Eggsy collapsed against his chest trembling, so small and delicate that Harry was afraid to hold him too tightly, terrified the boy would break beneath his hands. He laid his cheek against the top of Eggsy’s head and held him close, letting the boy cry himself to sleep.

* * * *

           Eggsy loved going to the Estate. It had become his favorite thing over the last three years since he started to live with Harry. He could still remember the first time Harry had brought him there, traveling from the little tailor shop on Savile Row to a giant mansion with an underground lair—because what else did you call it?—via a literal bullet train. How many seven year olds got to say they could do that?

           Even now that he was ten, the wonder of the ride hadn’t faded—in fact, it was greater, because now Harry trusted Eggsy to make the journey himself. Eggsy would travel every day after school from his academy to the Kingsman Tailor Shop, bid Andrew good afternoon, and take the train to the Estate where Harry would be working. He wouldn’t always go straight to Harry, especially since Harry was usually in the middle of something.

           No, instead Eggsy would make his rounds. He’d go and visit the other agents, makings sure to stop by Gawain, who’d have a toffee waiting, and then Lancelot and Percival, who always stopped bickering when he was around. Percival helped Eggsy with his history and Lancelot taught Eggsy how to hold a gun—much to Harry’s displeasure. Eggsy took great pains in avoiding Arthur, who he had decided on his first day of visiting Kingsman Estate, that he didn’t like the older man.

           Eggsy’s last stop before he went off to find Harry—if he wasn’t there already—was Merlin’s office. He loved sitting and watching the tech wizard work on his latest invention. Sometimes he’d even let Eggsy sit and listen in as he instructed one of the agents—other times he’d send Eggsy away, ruffling his hair and promising next time. Eggsy would work on his homework, asking for help even when he didn’t’ need it, just because he liked the attention Merlin gave him.

           Eggsy became a fixed presence at the estate. He stayed there as long as possible, until Harry would finally gather him up and cart him home. The only days he didn’t go to the estate were days he had gymnastics, and even then, Eggsy would usually go straight after practice unless Harry was waiting to pick him up from the gym.

* * * *

           “Pancakes or French toast?” Harry asked Eggsy as the boy slipped into the chair at the breakfast nook. It amazed Harry how quickly they grew. It felt like just yesterday Eggsy had first arrived at his doorstep, only seven years old. Now he was twelve and turning into a spry young man. Gymnastics had filled him out, thickening his awkward limbs with tightly corded muscle. His face was a bit blemished from hormones, and Eggsy voiced his complaint every day about it.

           “French toast,” Eggsy answered. “I’ve seen you fix pancakes. I’m not cleaning up that mess.”

           “Cheeky thing.” Harry chuckled as he grabbed his apron and slipped it on. He went about preparing the French toast, humming to himself as he fixed breakfast.

           “Did you love my dad?” Eggsy asked, after Harry had served the French toast and sat across from him.

           Harry paused, fork and knife poised to cut into the bread soaked with syrup, and gawked at Eggsy. “W-what?”

           “I saw the picture, the one of you and my dad,” Eggsy said, biting into a piece of toast. He chewed, and the seconds it took for him to swallow felt like eternity. Harry could hear his thundering heart between each smack of teeth. Eggsy swallowed and cut another bite. “You were looking at him like he was the world. Like how I see Uncle Percy look at Uncle Lancelot when he thinks no one is looking.”

           Harry set his fork and knife down, drawing in a deep bracing breath. Over the years he hadn’t thought much of Lee—hadn’t allowed himself to think of him—but that didn’t mean that his feelings hadn’t lessened. He still cared fondly for the man. “Yes, I did,” Harry said, carefully, as if he were picking his way across a landmine—and perhaps he was. He’d never addressed the subject of his sexuality with Eggsy, never really considered it. What would the boy say?

           “Did he love you?” Eggsy asked, continuing to eat his breakfast, carrying on the conversation as if they were discussing the weather.

           “I don’t know,” Harry admitted—and perhaps that had been the most tragic part of their relationship, the fact that he’d never know what had existed between himself and Lee.

           “I think he did,” Eggsy said after a moment of mulling over the food in his mouth. “He trusted you with me, didn’t he?”

           Harry smiled and nodded. Neither brought the subject up again, but the air somehow grew lighter, without Harry even realizing there had been a weight to it.

* * * *

           When Eggsy was thirteen he was sent home from school with a high fever. Harry had rushed home from Kingsman estate, transferring the mission he was prepping for to Percival. Eggsy rarely got sick, and over the last eight years, Harry really couldn’t think of a time that Eggsy had ever been this ill, and the thought filled him with a moment of panic, of sheer terror that he wouldn’t be able to take care of his boy.

           As soon as he looked at Eggsy though, lying in bed, bundled beneath a layer of blankets, his face flushed and coated in sweat, Harry’s instincts kicked in. He took Eggsy’s temperature, then placed a cool flannel over his forehead.

           “It’s okay, my dear boy,” Harry reassured Eggsy when he groaned in agony. Harry stroked damp bangs from Eggsy’s face. “I’m right here.”

           He didn’t leave Eggsy’s side the entire night, even when Eggsy puked up everything he’d eaten that day onto the bed. Harry moved Eggsy to his own bed, which only dwarfed the preteen further, and put the soiled sheets and comforter in the wash. Harry made a batch of his mother’s chicken noodle soup, which he coaxed into Eggsy later, after his stomach settled.

           It was a tiring night. Harry monitored Eggsy’s temperature throughout the evening ready to rush him to Kingsman estate for medical attention at any moment. It was close to midnight, and Eggsy had been dozing on and off for an hour, when Harry finally moved to leave the room. A small hand shot out and latched onto his.

           “Don’t go,” Eggsy croaked from beneath the pile of blankets.

           Harry’s smiled weakly. “Of course not.”

           Harry went around and settled onto the bed beside Eggsy. It had been a long time since they’d shared a bed, not since the first few months of Eggsy’s arrival, and Eggsy had woken up in the middle of the night crying. Harry smiled down at Eggsy, throat swollen with emotion, and he realized that soon Eggsy would be grown and no longer need him, and while he was proud of the man the boy was becoming, the thought left him a little heart sick.

* * * *

           Christmas was a quiet affair at the Hart house. Harry decorated modestly, enough to stir up some cheer, but nothing too garish. He always picked a lovely tree though, a beautiful fur that he decorated with glass baubles and ornaments that were family heirlooms. It was a grand time. Merlin would pop in for visits, and Lancelot and Percival, along with Percival’s niece Roxy, would join them for a big supper. It became a tradition for them all to gather around the holidays. Eggsy loved when Roxy came over, because she was sharp as a whip and the only one his age who seemed to have her head on straight—not many kids knew the difference between an AR15 A4 and a Heckler & Koch HK416 (Merlin’s favorite).

           It was around Eggsy’s fourteenth Christmas, his seventh with Harry, that he realized his slight infatuation with Merlin may lean more towards the crush side, and that maybe, just maybe, he fancied blokes as well as birds. He’d been surprised when he learned you could like both, and he hadn’t thought much of it at first; he knew you could like blokes instead of girls, after all Percival and Lancelot were together, and he  knew Harry fancied men, but he never knew you could be interested in both. Boy did that open up a door for him.

           He got around to experimenting, flirting with some of the lads in his class, but it never accumulated to anything. He even tried kissing Roxy once. Got a bloody lip for that one. She clonked him real good and told him if he ever tried that again she’d beat him bloody—which he was pretty sure she’d already done.

           But on his fourteenth Christmas, Harry got spirited off on a mission, so Eggsy had to go stay with Merlin.

           “I can take care of myself, you know,” Eggsy had insisted as Harry prepared to leave. He jutted his bottom lip in what he was sure a petulant pout and glared defiantly at Harry. “I’m not a child anymore.”

           “If you aren’t, then why are you still making that face?” Harry had admonished. He had stopped in front of Eggsy, a black bag in one hand, and laid his other hand on Eggsy’s shoulder. “It isn’t that I don’t trust you, it’s that I don’t trust the rest of the world. Please understand, son.”

           It was the first time Harry had referred to Eggsy as his son, and any argument Eggsy had building up inside him. He had simply hugged Harry, made him swear he’d come back home safe, and obediently packed a bag of his own to take to Merlin’s.

           It wasn’t the first time he’d been to Merlin’s house. He loved going over to the wizard’s flat. He had all the latest game systems, a killer entertainment center, and some tech that wasn’t even on the market yet. Last summer Merlin had helped Eggsy build his own computer. Merlin’s flat was Eggsy’s second—or maybe third?—home. He even had his own room.

           It happened the third night Eggsy was staying at Merlin’s. If Eggsy ever thought back to the event, it really wasn’t that big of a deal, but in that moment, Eggsy had felt like his entire world had been flipped upside down. Merlin had stepped out of the bathroom as Eggsy was getting ready to go in, a towel slung low on his narrow hips. It was the first time Eggsy had ever seen the man shirtless, and my God did it steal his breath. He’d never seen so many tattoos before.

           “Bloody hell,” Eggsy had gasped, staring unabashedly at the older man. “Wicked ink.”

           Merlin chuckled and ruffled his hair. “Thanks, lad. Don’t tell Harry ye found out, eh? I don’t need him getting onto me about exposing you to something ungentlemanly.”

           Eggsy nodded, unable to tear his eyes away. Merlin’s arms were covered in what looked like intricate Celtic armor. His chest was bare, but when he continued down the hall, Eggsy caught a glimpse of the armor turning into what looked like an intricate network of cables and wiring, as if Merlin’s back had been turned into a machine.

           Eggsy proceeded into the bathroom, a feeling stirring in his gut that he’d never experienced before. This wasn’t like when he checked out the girls or blokes at his school, or when he looked at pictures on his computer. This was something carnal and wild and it left him completely giddy and breathless, and maybe even a little bit terrified.

* * * *

           Eggsy went to the Olympics when he was seventeen and won a gold medal in the Rings for gymnastics. He graduated school, got kidnapped shortly after, and was rescued by a large team of Kingsman led by Harry, who massacred the entire Slovakian mob who dared touch his son. Eggsy proceeded to university (Cambridge, no less) where he went in for engineering, dated on and off for awhile, but never had a serious relationship. His longest one lasted a month with a bloke named Charlie Hesketh, but the guy was a bit of an aristocratic prick, so Eggsy dumped him.

           It was shortly after Eggsy graduated from university that things started to spiral downhill. Lancelot was killed on a mission. It was hard enough to deal with the loss of a man he considered an uncle, but then Eggsy got into a row with Harry over joining Kingsman to fill the spot of Lancelot. It had been the endgame for Eggsy all along. He knew he wanted to follow in Harry’s footsteps, he’d known it since the day Harry had sat him down and explained that he was an international spy. But Harry didn’t want that for Eggsy. He wanted Eggsy to live his life free of secrets, to be able to enjoy life, and experience love and friends beyond Kingsman.

           It would have all been fine if Harry hadn’t been shipped off on a mission shortly after their fight. Harry left, telling Eggsy before he did, “We’ll sort this out when I return.”

           Only Harry didn’t return. Eggsy saw it all happen from Harry’s laptop. He watched Harry lose himself in savage violence. It was one of those gruesome car accidents; awful to look at, filled with so much blood and carnage, but no matter how many times he told himself to look away, he couldn’t. And then that man with the lisp shot Harry.

           Eggsy screamed. He screamed and screamed and screamed. He didn’t stop until he was sure his vocal chords were shredded, and even then he felt a pathetic scream bubbling beneath the surface. He rushed to Merlin’s flat, but when the man wasn’t there, he went to Kingsman estate, a right mess. Merlin held him through the night, his own eyes misted over and red.

           It came to light the next day that Arthur was behind it. No one questioned when Arthur was discovered dead in the meeting room, poisoned. It still was unclear if it was Eggsy or Merlin who had administered the deadly dose.

           When Eggsy went with Merlin to collect Harry’s body, after the V-Day fiasco was done and over with, they discovered that Harry was alive and at a hospital in Kentucky. Eggsy rushed into the room and practically vaulted onto the bed, clutching Harry tightly. He was in a coma, so Harry never heard Eggsy’s sob, “You said you’d never leave me, you promised. I can’t lose another father. I need you.”

* * * *

           Harry made a full recovery, but he lost his left eye and now suffered from chronic migraines. There was a tremor to his hands as well, one that hadn’t been there before, so he could no longer do field work. After a long extensive process, Harry was voted in as the new Arthur. That left two vacant spots to be filled with Kingsman: Lancelot and Galahad.

           Harry bid for Eggsy. Percival bid for his niece Roxy. The training was hard, a lot harder than Eggsy had expected, but he refused to let Harry down. And if Eggsy also used his new position as a chance to flirt with Merlin, well, could anyone blame him? Merlin was a fine wine, and he’d only gotten better with age. Plus, he saw the way Merlin’s gaze lingered longer on him than the other candidates. And there were several times Eggsy was sure Merlin was standing on the other side of the two-way mirror as he showered. If Eggsy was alone, he always put on a show.

           “You know, one of these days you’re going to cross a line with him and then there’ll be no turning back,” Roxy said one night after a long training sessions. The candidates were down to five.

           Eggsy flashed Roxy a dimpled smile and winked. “That’s the point love.”

           She threw her hands in the air and grumbled, “You’re incorrigible.”

* * * *

           Roxy had been right, of course. When wasn’t she right? It was after their second to last test, when the candidates had been narrowed down to three people: Eggsy, Roxy, and a bloke named Rufus. After everyone went to bed, Eggsy snuck out of the dormitory and found Merlin in his office, studiously working away.

           “Ever call it quits, mate?” Eggsy asked as he strolled in, two cups of tea in hand.

           “You’re supposed to be in bed,” Merlin pointed out as he accepted the tea.

           Eggsy shrugged and slipped onto the edge of his desk. “Couldn’t sleep?”

           Merlin rolled his eyes and took a sip of tea. “What are ye doing here, lad? And get off my desk, it isn’t a chair.”

           Eggsy huffed, set his mug down, and hopped off the desk. He retrieved a chair and brought it over, making a show of crossing his legs. He wore only a pair of low riding sweat pants and a tight white t-shirt, which left little to the imagination. “Thought I’d keep you company.”

           “Ye have a long day ahead of ye tomorrow,” Merlin pointed out, setting his mug aside. “Go to bed.”

           Eggsy pouted. “Come on, you use to love it when I kept you company.”

           “That was when ye were eight and cute,” Merlin said, though the statement was softened by a smile.

           “You saying I’m not cute?” Eggsy tipped his head to the side, stretching his neck out to expose a long column of flesh. He didn’t miss the way Merlin’s gaze gravitated to the skin, or how his stare drifted down, lingering on his well-muscled chest.

           Merlin coughed in his hand and turned away. “Ye know you’re good-looking.”

           Eggsy bit back a grin and scooted a little closer, leaning forward to purr in Merlin’s ear, “So you do think I’m cute?”

           “What are you doing?” Merlin asked stiffly.

           “Nothing,” Eggsy said, all the while slipping his hand around Merlin’s waist, feeling the hard contours of his abdomen beneath the jumper.

           Merlin grabbed Eggsy’s hand to stop him. “Eggsy, go back to the dorm.”

           Eggsy paused, brows knitted together. “I don’t want to.”

           “Stop acting like a child.” Merlin shoved Eggsy’s hand away. Tension tightened across his shoulders.

           Eggsy recoiled. “You’re right, I’m not a fucking child. So why are you treating me like I’m one? Don’t pretend that you don’t look at me like you want to fuck me.” He straightened himself, regathering his courage. “I want it, if you haven’t been able to tell.”

           “You’re my best friend’s son,” Merlin snapped, turning to glare at Eggsy. All the look did was make Eggsy want him more. There was something breath-taking in the way Merlin got furious. His gray eyes grew smoky and smoldering, and desire pooled in Eggsy’s gut, running hot through his veins.

           “And? I’m also a consenting adult,” Eggsy pointed out. “Harry isn’t in this equation.”

           “For fuck’s sake Eggsy, I practically helped raise ye. It be wrong.”

           “Tell me you don’t want me, that it’s all in my head, and I’ll walk away,” Eggsy said, hands balled against his thighs. “Because that’s the only excuse I see that has any credit here. Everything else is bullshite, and you know it.”

           Merlin’s jaw tightened, ticking away as the seconds stretched out. Eggsy tried not to squirm as the silence grew louder. He could practically hear Merlin’s teeth grinding. Finally Merlin blew a long sigh through his nose and growled, “You’re going to be the death of me.”

           Eggsy grinned toothily, taking that as a yes, and launched into Merlin’s lap. Their lips crashed together and it was everything Eggsy had thought it would be. When it was over and they were both stretched on the floor, naked and panting, Eggsy’s limbs stiff from the positions Merlin had held him in, bits of tech scattered on the floor, along with a broken mug and paperwork, Merlin drew Eggsy against his chest, one hand tangled in his damp hair, and said, “Your father is going to kill me when he finds out.”

           “Then we best not tell him,” Eggsy said, already sliding onto Merlin’s lap. “Ready for round two, old man?”

* * * *

           Harry found out, of course. Keeping things from him was next to impossible. Harry had a sixth sense for sniffing out secrets. It was almost terrifying. Merlin and Eggsy had barely gotten into a week of their relationship when Harry discovered them. It was after the final test, when Eggsy and Roxy were being initiated into Kingsman. After the ceremony, Harry had clamped a hand on Eggsy’s shoulder and said, “I’m proud of you, son.”

           Merlin came over to congratulate Eggsy on becoming the newest Galahad. They’d only looked at each other, a small smile shared between them, when Harry roared, “You bastard, you slept with him!”

           Merlin immediately stiffened and launched into his defense. “Harry, I can explain—”

           “I’m going to murder you,” Harry growled.

           Eggsy clamped a hand over his mouth to stave off the laughter. “Dad,”—laugh—“I can”—snort—“damn it, don’t kill him—”

           It took Gawain and Tristan to hold Harry back. Eventually things settled down, and Eggsy took Harry aside to talk to him about the matter. He wasn’t pleased, but after Eggsy explained how much he cared for Merlin, and that he’d always been in love with the older man, and how unbelievably happy he was, Harry sighed and conceded. He never could say no to his boy.

           Eggsy hugged Harry tight, whispering to his father, “Thank you, for everything.”