i'm so mad i'm not even going to try and fix this coloring

anonymous asked:

I'm sick and can't sleep and finals are next week and I'm so stressed out :( Can you write what Carlisle would do if he were here?

This is so late, and I am so, so, so sorry. I was trying to get through finals myself. Consider this little drabble a gift for working so hard and making it through another semester. I’m proud of you. x

“Darling, I really think you should-”

“Carlisle, I’m fine,” you huffed out a breath of irritation, which was undoubtedly mixed with the germs and bacteria that were the source of your current state of misery. One of the sources, you thought as you glared at the cluster of papers scattered around you on the bed.

When you noticed the surprised height of his eyebrows, you sighed. “I know you’re trying to help, but I just have a cold, Carlisle, I’m not dying. Go tend to your actual patients and let me study.”

He frowned, obviously dissatisfied with your dismissal. “You need to sleep, you’re quite insufferable when you’re sleep deprived.”

I’m insufferable?!” your throat scratched at the exclamation, and you coughed a few times before continuing. “You bundled me up in so many blankets last night, I thought you were prepping to put me in a tomb!”

He didn’t even try to hide his smile, his golden eyes twinkling in delight at the memory of you squirming beneath the layers upon layers of cotton. “You looked adorable though.”

You groaned, crumpling one of your study guides into a ball and chucking it in Carlisle’s direction, though he easily caught it without shifting his gaze. 

“What-” he caught another one, which only frustrated you more. “What are doing?”

“Stop catching them!” you grunted, throwing another paper ball into his hands. “Get out and let me study!”

“How are you going to study when you’re throwing all your material at me?” the amusement in his voice made you pause, and once you realized what you were doing, you cried out in frustration.

“See! Your excessive smothering has officially driven me mad!” 

“I think it was your excessive studying that did that.”

Next were the pillows, which he blocked just as easily while his laughter filled the room, along with your sounds of frustration mixed with coughing fits. You didn’t stop until you felt the pressure of cool, scratchy fabric colliding with your face, the pillow falling into your lap after skewing your hair.

You blew a hot puff of air, the long strands hanging in your face dancing with the short gust, allowing you to see Carlisle’s smug face.

“Are you satisfied?” he asked, suddenly right next to you on the bed and reaching out to fix your messy hair.

You swatted his hand away, rolling your eyes when he simply dodged the gesture and started reorganizing the strands.

“Are we done braiding each other’s hair so I can get back to studying?” 

“Be nice,” he mumbled and pulled on a lock of hair as a warning, smirking at the small noise you made in the back of your throat in response. “Hm, I like the sound of that.”

You laughed despite your vexation, hitting him in the ribs as he chuckled along with you. “Don’t be dirty, I’m mad at you.”

“You’re not,” he pressed a kiss to the top of your head after your hair was fixed. “You’re just stressed out. I understand.”

You watched him pick up the paper balls and unroll them, and you held your hand out to take them once he had them in a pile.

“Uh-uh,” he shook his head and smiled playfully, holding the papers out of reach. “You’re going to take a nap, and I’m going to rewrite these notes for you since you destroyed them.”

When you went to object, he held up a finger. “And after you have a nice, long nap, I’m going to help you study. Understood?”

“Carlisle, I don’t have time for this, I-”

“Love,” he sighed. “You know this isn’t healthy, you need to give your body a rest. You aren’t going to retain anything when you’re this sick and tired, please just listen to me.”

When you stayed quiet, he took it as a win, smiling softly at your pouting face.

“You’ll thank me later,” he murmured, pressing a sweet kiss to your warm, clammy forehead.

You hummed a disbelieving mhm, which made him grin and lean close to your face.

“I promise, you won’t be anything but completely and absolutely sated tonight,” a mischievous flicker danced across his honey-colored eyes, as he snuck his hand up to tug at another lock of hair.

The little whine that passed your lips left him beaming as he retreated from the bedroom. “We definitely need to explore that.”

You took the pillow from your lap and whipped it at the back of his head, pursing your lips when he ducked out of the doorway laughing. You shook your head, smiling to yourself and falling back onto the mattress. It wasn’t even two minutes later when your heavy eyelids fell and you finally drifted into your overdue slumber.

anonymous asked:

About nursey/dex Do you think it's a little weird that we as a fandom compare their struggles/debate who has it worse? Ik it's different when talking through the lens of characters but sometimes it feels like this fandom is arguing over whether it's harder to be poor or harder to be black? which kinda seems off to me like they're different struggles/hard to quantify. I was just curious ur opinion cuz u seem v smart/well spoken to me but don't feel like u have to respond if u don't want

hey, good question. i’m glad you think highly enough of me to ask me, dude. i got really long and rambly about this answer, and i’m pretty tired, so sorry if it’s somewhat unintelligible.

in my opinion, i don’t think it’s that anyone necessarily wants to talk about this kind of thing just for kicks. like, no one’s going, “wow, let’s debate whether jack in the nhl or bitty in the deep south is in a more homophobic environment!” just for the hell of it, or because they want to pit the people who love those characters against each other. that might be a more comparable example to what i think you’re asking me.

to me, the nursey/dex privilege discourse exists in fandom because of patterns in the fandom moreso than the details of the comic itself, and the patterns of the fandom are a direct result of the world we live in. fandom is made up of people, and no person lives in a vacuum; by extension, fandom does not exist in a vacuum, unaffected by the world.

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Her Hand to Hold

Captain Swan AU: An argument with her ex, six blind dates, and a smashed car window are all the things Emma Swan needed to make her year better. Then she meets him.
Words: 8,000+
Rating: T
Warnings: None
Read on AO3 or FFN

Everyone was sad yesterday so I tried to write something to hopefully help. 

“Stop. Just stop,” she spat, backing up so far that her legs hit the coffee table, anger bubbling over. “You don’t get to come back after six years – six years! – and whisper sweet nothings and have me fall back in your arms! It doesn’t work like that! You made your choose, Neal, you made it abundantly clear that you couldn’t stick around…” 

His face fell, but Neal stepped closer anyway as if his proximity would make the passing years better. “Emma– Emma, please! I–” 

She doesn’t give him another glance, sidestepping out of this bubble that he created and throwing open the door. “No, just get out.” 

“At least let me see–”

“No, no.” She made an effort not to scream the words, the rest of her seething inwardly that he had the gall to… to ask to see… When Emma herself had never even touched, never even held. 

“You can’t–”

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