i'll fix this but then i have no idea how

Ezarel, what are you doing here ?

Gardienne… I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since that kiss.

Without saying anything else, he approached me and kissed me with fury before laying me on the bed.

I couldn’t control my feelings toward Ezarel. My hands explored his entire body, cherishing each part of his skin.

I tore off his clothes one by one, letting myself be totally submerged by my own passion…

And him too was burning under my touch, gently lifting the hem of my nightie.

(i have literally no idea how to translate this entire sentence im not familiar with smut terminology.)

I only wanted one thing : to let myself be consumed by this burning desire.

(then gardy wakes up)

anonymous asked:

Drabbles!!!! Lance wants to get some flowers for his long-awaited date, Keith, so he goes into a flower shop to find a nice bouquet. Except one catch, Lance is very allergic. Like, needing-an-inhaler Very Allergic


The date’s been coming together as smoothly as the final pieces of a puzzle displaying a stunning, complex image. Keith and Lance’s relationship had been rocky, for better lack of words. Many assumed they would never be able to work past their differences to even be friends, yet they pushed against all odds, and Keith made the move and asked Lance out once the two had sealed a friendship for a few months. 

Lance, of course, had been over the moon when Keith asked, and since then, he’s been plotting the perfect date. All that’s left is to piece together a beautiful bouquet from the local flower shop then he can pick Keith up and whisk his date off to dinner and a movie. 

When he opens the door to the flower shop, a small bell chimes over head, and moments later, Shiro pops up from behind a shelf of vases. 

“Hey, Lance!” 

Lance has only known Shiro for a few months, but he’s fond of the guy. Shiro’s the type of person who is incredibly easy to talk to, and the two had become quick friends. 

“Hey, Shiro. What’s up?” He asks, rubbing absently at his nose as a soft smile plays at his lips. 

“I should be asking you that,” Shiro says, motioning toward Lance’s outfit. “Finally got the big date with Keith?” 

Lance nods, sniffling quietly as he starts further into the store, fingers ghosting above various flowers. “Yep! I wanted to pick out a bouquet for him.” 

“That’s sweet,” Shiro says, voice gentle, earnest. “You want any help?” 

“Nah, I’ve got this,” Lance says as he leans forward to closely examine a cluster of red roses. He knows red is Keith’s favorite color, but he’s not sure if roses would be too forward of a gesture. He straightens his back with a slight cough that has him frowning and rubbing gingerly at his throat. 

He was feeling fine before, more than fine, yet there’s a persistent itch building in the back of his throat. A brief flash of hot panic shoots across his mind, bringing with it vivid images of childhood days in the hospital after severe allergic reactions that triggered his asthma, but, he thinks to himself, shutting down all memories, it’s been years since he’s had a bad reaction. 

Don’t these things fade away with time? 

He clears his throat and continues picking through the various flowers, but the itch at the back of his throat begins to burn and grow until he’s turning away to cough into the crook of his arm. He figured one or two coughs and he’d be fine, but the second he starts, he can’t stop. It’s almost as if his lungs cannot take in enough air against a massive, burning lump clogging his throat. 

“Lance? Are you okay?” 

Looking toward Shiro is a struggle for Lance’s eyes are filled to the brim with tears, but he can still faintly make out the older boy’s worried features. He shakes his head and wraps one hand around his throat. “Can’t,” he wheezes out around rattling coughs. “Breathe.” 

“Shit! Okay, hang on!” 

Lance nods, watching against hazy vision as Shiro storms to the front of the store. His legs buckle, and he’s slumping toward the floor with harsh, dry coughs that seem to never end. 



Lance looks up from his spot on the back of the ambulance to see Keith racing toward him, face deeply flushed and chest heaving as if he’s just run straight from work. 

“Keith,” Lance starts as the boy gets closer. “What-”

“Are you alright? Shiro called me and told me everything! What the hell were you doing in a flower shop if you’re severely allergic?” 

Lance’s gaze finds the cracked pavement of the small parking lot once more just as his shoulders slump enough to have the small blanket that’s draped over his shoulders slip down some. “I wanted to get you flowers for the date,” he mutters. 

For an endless moment, Keith is silent, but Lance cannot find the courage to pull his gaze back up. He’s so sure that this sealed his fate. Why would Keith want to be with him now? Why would-

“You’re insane.” 

It’s not the words that have Lance snapping a quick gaze up, it’s the light tone laced with concern. “You aren’t mad,” he says, voice forming a statement and not a question. There’s nothing displayed across Keith’s face that shows anger in the slightest. 

“What? No. Jesus, Lance. No. I’m just worried.” 

The sincerity in Keith’s tone has Lance’s eyes welling with tears. He struggles to form words, but luckily, he doesn’t have to because Shiro is walking toward them with a bouquet of red roses in his hand. 

In an instance, Keith spins on his heel and promptly blocks Lance from the flowers. “Shiro, what-”

“They’re fake.” 

Lance leans over to peek around Keith’s protective stance. “What?” 

“We have some fake flower in the back,” Shiro explains, handing the bouquet to Keith for inspection. 

Lance shifts his gaze to the fake flowers in Keith’s hands. “Thank you,” he whispers, and Shiro offers a quiet nod before taking his leave. 

“How about a date in tonight?” Keith suggests, thumbing a fake rose as he turns back to Lance. “I can cook you a nice dinner than we can watch a movie.” 

Lance doesn’t want to admit the exhaustion that’s settled over him after this whole ordeal, but Keith can see it without having to ask. Both know Lance wouldn’t make it through the dinner and movie tonight, not after an asthma attack of that severity. 

Nodding, Lance slowly slips off the back of the ambulance, abandoning the small blanket in favor of finding Keith’s hand with his own. 

“That sounds nice.” 

Some Nameless babes enjoying a sunny day in the greens together with some affectionate bugs, made specially for @cherrytisane ;;;u;;; <3
It’s sort of a get well gift, inspired by the adorable fic Niro made for Namelessweek’s flower prompt and you can find that fic right here ~ >u<

anonymous asked:

It makes me crazy to see people saying that Niall is free and making his own decisions. Especially after Louis spelled it out during JHO promo. He is allowed to be a typical loveable Irishman who likes golfs. And nothing else. I consider him the bellwether. His image is so easy to unpick. The minute he has a scandal that isn't buried under a ton of cement, or has a girlfriend, a date or stands next to a woman like he knows what he's doing without the sun retracting it. I'll know it's ending.

Hi, anon. I’m not sure what Louis spelled out during promo, so I can’t speak to that. However, I’m intrigued by the idea that Niall is the bellwether… His biggest scandal so far seems to have been that he pissed in a corner, so I can see your point.

Also, can I add that it makes me crazy how this part of the fandom often sees Niall as the nonsexual little brother type in the band? It makes me want to scream. He wrote “Temporary Fix” for God’s sake.

(I think this is why I’ve been more interested in writing Niall-centric fics lately. He’s so often written in as the happy-go-lucky side character with no real depth in Larry fics. He doesn’t even get laid the same as the other men in OT5 fics. Grr.)

stop saying “holidays” or “winter” when you mean christmas. changing the word doesn’t do anything, it’s just disingenuous and proves that you don’t know what the real problem is. 

the problem isn’t the word, it’s the culture of christian supremacy and the assumption that everyone is and should be okay with christmas being absolutely everywhere, with our non-christian holidays and traditions being lumped in with christmas as an afterthought, with having to beg for scraps and simultaneously pander to christians ourselves for fear of the accusations of a ~war on christmas~!!! 

the problem isn’t the word christmas, and if you’re talking about christmas, by all means please say christmas. but if you’re doing a concert, or a party, or a WHATEVER, stop and consider why everything about it revolves around christmas?

stop and consider why you think throwing the dreidel song onto your playlist takes it from a christmas playlist to a holiday playlist, stop and consider why your “winter” imagery is red and green and reindeer and other things that are inarguably christmas territory, stop and consider why you can’t frame chanukah in any other terms than “jewish christmas” and you have literally no idea what kwanzaa is

and more often than not the answer is because that’s how you were raised, that’s the society into which you were enculturated, that’s everything you’ve ever learned, and now you have to work on unlearning it.

you can’t secularize the season by changing the word, you can’t magically make it not a problem, you just have to think critically and be a little more sensitive to other people’s perspectives.

You don’t realize how much he ruined you until you start talking to someone new. You do not realize how much you miss the way he talked to you, the way he took care of you, until someone else tries to do those same things.
You will think about the fact that you miss the way he was always there. You will think of the way his presence always calmed you and the way his touch lingered on your skin whenever he was gone.
You don’t realize how much you fucking ache for that familiarity, for the way you were comfortable and how normal it felt to love him. You don’t realize it but you look for it in everyone, and it keeps you up at night that you haven’t found anyone that can make you feel like he used to.
You don’t realize any of it till you meet someone new and think, oh god, maybe he could be someone that stays. The worst part is that you hardly recovered from the way the last guy tore you apart. The worst part is that it terrifies you to think that you could get attached to someone like that again, because it felt like you pinned your heart to your sleeve only for the needle to break through the skin. The idea of loving someone the way you loved him makes you sick because you never thought you’d ever have to find someone else to begin with.
—  You realize that no matter how many new band aids you use or how many times you try to fix it, some wounds just don’t stop bleeding.

Leelu is less than impressed with Samson’s new outfit 

(based on this fic)

(I’ve never drawn clothes before idk how clothing folds work at all)