i've been trying to make this for like a week i kept getting distracted

anonymous asked:

Ficlet prompt? (If there's already a fic like this lemme know) but Dennis is questioning his sexuality and because Mac is out now, he asks if he can kiss Mac. Yikes it 3am, I'm depressed and starved of macdennis fics help

It was decided that Dennis would be the one to tell Mac that his scratcher was actually worth only $14 (“Your money bought it, you should be the one to tell him,” Dee had explained shiftily after Charlie and Frank ran off - for once, no one was eager to be the bearer of bad news and upset Mac, not on a day like this).

So Dennis sits on the steps in front of Dee’s apartment building, waiting for Mac to come home for the night. He’s probably at the Rainbow right now, Dennis thinks, surrounded by other men just like him, finding comfort in bulging arms and strong jawlines, sturdy pecs and muscular thighs. And doesn’t that sound lovely, being pressed up against a body just like his own, touched by someone who would know exactly where to put their hands?

Dennis sighs. This part of him - the part he usually likes to keep tampered down and filed away, deep into the recesses of his subconscious - has been incessantly loud in his thoughts lately. He’d even go as far as to say that it completely threw off his game with that beautiful cashier he’d tried to D.E.N.N.I.S. these past few weeks - Cassie? Casey? he doesn’t remember anymore. Usually there’s nothing quite like the thrill of demonstrating his value to a new girl to get him off, but his heart doesn’t seem to agree anymore. It hasn’t for quite some time.

“Dennis?” he hears above him, “What are you doing out here?”

He looks up to find Mac smiling down at him. He’s wearing that tacky mesh tank of his, and his chest underneath is sparkling with body glitter under the dim light of the lamppost nearby. Dennis can’t look away.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Sorry to bother you if your not doing it, but if you are can you PLEASE do a short drabble of a modern au kierarktina? Anything of your choice. Great blog btw💙💙

“Are you kidding me?” Kieran punched Cristina’s arm as they drove down the narrow dirt road that led to his house.

Cristina often wondered why Kieran lived in a copse of trees about five miles away from town. He’d gotten enough money from his father when he’d been kicked out of his house, and he could have bought a comfortable mansion. The kind that came with floor to ceiling windows and electronic pads on the toilets.

Instead, from some inexplicable reason, Kieran had decided to buy a cabin and retreat to a place where no one in an expensive suit would come looking for him. Mark had confided in Cristina that that was the reason Kieran had decided to hide. Cristina understood, she’d spent her fair share of time running from people in suits.

Mark, who was sitting in the back seat, leaned between them. “Turn here.” He said, pointing one finger down a barely visible trail to the left. Cristina jerked the wheel of the sleek BMW and the car turned off the path to Kieran’s house.

Kieran placed his face in his hands. The nape of his neck vulnerably exposed. Cristina could tell he was working himself into a sulk.

“I don’t want to go on a stupid road trip.” He muttered. The grass on either side of the car rippled in a breeze from the north.

“It’s not a road trip.” Cristina said, running a hand through her dark hair. “The old pass is probably closed anyways.”

“Yeah!” Mark interjected. “So we’ll drive as far as we can and then try to find the pass on foot.”

Kieran shot them both poisonous looks that Mark and Cristina were immune to. He leaned against the door and stared determinedly out of the window.

Mark grinned and shifted towards Cristina. He was holding an old map that he had found in the library archives two weeks ago. He and Cristina had been planning this weekend ever since then.

Cristina remembered coming to Henrietta in a haze of whiskey doused pain. She’d been shot somewhere in Tennessee. She didn’t remember most of the journey, Emma’s face fading in and out and the back alley doctor that had stitched her wounds. The gas station that Emma had pulled over at and left Cristina. A long text message had informed Cristina that they were being followed and that Emma was leading their pursuers off the trail. No matter how many times Cristina called Emma’s cell there was no answer.

They would have met up in the next town. In the nearest pancake house to the interstate. Cristina waited two days before she saw the news: Daughter of Congressman Found Murdered in Tennessee.

“Jesus that’s not far from here.” The waitress had said, handing Cristina her coffee. Cristina’s entire body had gone numb, her stitches throbbing.

She’d hitchhiked to Virginia. Staying just drunk enough that it numbed her wounds, but not too drunk, she didn’t want to be caught off guard by a trucker who thought he could get his way with her.

Somehow she’d found Henrietta. The town had captivated her in its’ quiet. This is a place where time stands still. So Cristina had stayed, looking over her shoulder at every turn, looking for her mother’s men.

She hadn’t expected to make friends. But on her first day of school a pretty blond boy had sat down at her otherwise empty lunch table. She’d liked his smile so she’d listened to him talk, watching the way his mouth formed vowels and the way his hair curled over his ears.

His name was Mark, and not ten minutes after he sat down his boyfriend Kieran had sat down with Cristina as well.

Kieran was sulky and gorgeous. His hair was dyed in a spectrum of blue. Cristina had long ago mastered watching people, so she was surprised when she got the feeling that Kieran was watching back.

Friends seemed trivial after Emma’s death. Cristina kept reminding herself that she would have to leave eventually, but it was hard to think about the future when she was stargazing in the bed of Mark’s shitty truck.

Days blurred into weeks and weeks blurred into months. There was the time she’d first kissed Mark, in the kitchen after they’d put his siblings to bed. There was the school dance, when she’d danced with Mark and then with Kieran. She remembered Kieran’s lips on hers after he’d told her about his father and the brother who was too fond of knives.

Mark had told Cristina that Kieran fell into self destructive habits around his birthday. Last year he’d ended up in the hospital after jumping off the school on a dare. So now here she was, dragging Kieran into a hopefully distracting adventure.

The mountains foothills were dotted with small shrubs. The grey peak of the mountain itself was blanketed in clouds.

Cristina drove the car until she couldn’t anymore. The narrow road had tapered off and vanished at a worn metal gate, one the government had once put up and then forgotten.

Mark opened the back door and bounced out of the car before Cristina parked. He threw open the trunk and tossed a heavy backpack to Cristina when she joined him. Mark was still holding the worn map. Kieran was still in the car.

He only got out of the car when Mark and Cristina started towards the gate without looking back. Kieran would follow, for all his sulking he wouldn’t let them go on a potentially dangerous journey, not without him.

Mark handed Kieran’s pack to him as they climbed over the gate. The old pass wound up the slope, overgrown with wildflowers. The air smelled like wind that came down from peaks covered in ice and pine trees.

Cristina leaned back, the sun warming her face. Kieran and Mark were walking in front of her. This can’t last. She thought. She would have to run eventually, she would have to change her name and run. She would have to leave Mark and Kieran and they would never know what happened to her.

She shook herself. Today was not the day for this. Today was a day for adventure.

She adjusted her backpack and jogged to catch up, she laced her hands through theirs and squeezed. For now.

staceyunknown  asked:

Hi! Me again! Can't remember if I've asked this before but regardless - are we going to see anymore of LaTroy and Sylvie in upcoming fics? 😊

Hi! 

I don’t think you’ve asked that before, I don’t think anybody has. I originally didn’t plan to have them appear again, but everybody seemed to like LaTroy and his family, so, yeah, we’ll see them again.

I have one that I started but I haven’t finished it, because I wasn’t sure if I liked it. So it ends sort of abruptly, and it’s a first pass, so it’s probably pretty rough, but, I’ll happily share it with you. Enjoy, and Thank You!


LaTroy was sitting at a table in his deli, going through their supply and grocery orders. He had a little office in the back, but it was too easy to let that room eat away a whole day. Nobody wanted to disturb him there — even though he was always plenty glad when they did — so they’d leave him alone and the hours would slip away into numbers and accounts. It was awful.

Besides, he liked to be in the heart of things in case somebody might need something. Please, Lord, let somebody need something. Even if it was wondering where he put the napkins.

Going through the paper costs for the month, he was gratefully distracted when somebody joined him at the table. Glancing up with a smile, expecting his wife, he happiness faltered when he saw Darcy L. smiling back at him. It was months since he’d seen her or James. Just that one time, actually. Then neither hide nor hair of either of them until right now.

“Do you bake your own bread?” she asked without preamble.

LaTroy stared for a moment, not sure she wasn’t a bizarre vision; the result of too many numbers doing weird things to his head. “No. There’s a local bakery we order from. We do some of our own special breads sometimes, around the holidays mostly, and we make probably half the desserts.”

“Cool. Do you cater?”

Scratching at his jaw, LaTroy was trying to figure out what exactly was happening. She came out of nowhere, no greeting, just straight to business like they’d been talking all along. “Sure. Breakfast, lunch.”

“Nice.” She grinned at him and nodded. “Good to see you again, LaTroy.”

Letting out a small, bewildered laugh, he nodded back. “And nice to see you around, Darcy L. You bring James with you today?”

“No, just me.” She kept smiling, but there was something under it now. Like a warning. LaTroy frowned.

“How’s he doing?”

“Good. Maybe better than good. He’s got the property for his dream bar, so he’s busy planning and knocking down walls, as you do. He’s on cloud nine, or whatever the freeze-dried soldier equivalent is.”

LaTroy licked his lips and kept staring, not sure how to respond to that. Darcy didn’t seem to notice.

“So, can you do lunch for 15?” she asked, getting back to their business - the business he didn’t know they had until he was dropped right into the middle of it. Did Bucky ever feel this confused by her? “Or maybe 20? Make it 25. Like, box lunches. You know, sandwich, chips, potato salad, whatever else?”

“Sure,” he replied, trying to work around his bemusement. He pulled out an order book from his pocket. “When are you aiming for?”

“Friday. Is that too short notice?”

“Nah. It’s Tuesday. Plenty of time.” He wrote down a note. “Delivery and setup?”

“Just delivery.”

“Okay. Where we headed?” She rattled off an address in Williamsburg and LaTroy felt his confusion grow a little bit bigger. “Nobody closer?”

“Probably,” she told him with an easy shrug. “But, we’re friends.”

“Suppose we are,” LaTroy muttered, but he wasn’t really getting friendly vibes from her. In fact, it was peculiar how much this little slip of a woman was unsettling him. More than James did, even that first time. “This an office lunch? You want drinks?”

“I’ll handle the drinks. And, no. It’s for the construction crew. A) they have to put up with Bucky looming and hovering, and b) it’s been a couple hot, gross, sucky weeks, weather-wise. I figured they deserve lunch, you know?”

“That’s nice of you,” he said and wrote another note on his order book. It seemed smart right now to stick to business. “Assorted?”

“Yeah. Maybe five of the veggie option if you’ve got one, but the rest, just like turkey, ham, roast beef, corned beef, and whatever your usual build is.”

He dutifully wrote that down then glanced up at her, and watched as her eyes traveled over the deli. It was almost an absent look, not like James and his jumpy eyes. But, he still felt bothered, watched; hell, surveilled.

“You know,” he said as he turned back to the order book, “if you’re worried, I never said anything to anybody about him.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“I do,” she said with a nod and a little obnoxious smirk. “Lt. LaTroy Walker, 75th Rangers. Your CO was way disappointed when you retired so suddenly, by the way. He had big plans for you.”

Licking his lips, he set down his pen and rested his hands flat on the table. So, yeah, this was a warning. Clearly.

“My wife’s dad owned his place,” LaTroy said, explaining his retirement. He wasn’t sure why he felt he ought to explain to her, but he thought mostly it was important right now that they have an understanding. And it helped him keep his temper; her digging into his personal business and all didn’t make him happy.

“He got hurt pretty bad in a car accident. She came back to help the family out. I figured she needed me more than the army did. And I figured I needed her more than I needed the army. We were still dating then, but we got married a year or so later, when her pops was back on his feet.”

“That’s sweet,” Darcy said, and she offered him a genuine smile. “How’d you meet your wife?”

“You don’t know?”

“I limited my snooping to you.”

“Thanks, I guess,” he grumbled. He could see it, he supposed. If she was keeping Bucky Barnes safe, he’d guess she’d want to know who knew about him. It was just what it was that LaTroy found himself uncomfortably on that list of folks. “We met in college. Her family were always real good to me. They had their reservations at first; she’s Italian and I'm—”

“Not Italian?” Darcy interrupted with a guess and LaTroy laughed. Well, she was pretty polite about the snooping.

“Exactly. Not only that, but I’m not even from Brooklyn. I’m from Delaware. But, I guess you knew that.”

She snorted, but didn’t confirm or deny she’d dug that far. “So, how’d they get past that Delaware thing? My grandpa is from here, and of course, a couple friends. You’d think Brooklyn was some sort of Eden on Earth. I’m from California, so, you know, I don’t really get it.”

“It’s still a work in progress,” he admitted with a wry smile. “But, anyway, they were always good to me. Her grandma, well, she loved me more than my own grandma ever did, you know. So, when Sylvie’s dad decided to retire, we worked it so Sylvie and I bought the deli.”

“Nice. A real family business. Is that your son over there?” She nodded to the boy behind the counter, who was smiling at a pretty businesswoman.

LaTroy’s jaw tightened and he stared hard at Darcy. There were limits to how far he was willing to tolerate the intrusion into his personal business. Dante was way the hell off limits.  "Why’re you here? You warning me?“

She looked away from Dante and shook her head. “Not the sort of warning you’re thinking of. Like I’m going to threaten you?”

He raised an eyebrow and gave her a pointed look over. His old army sizing-you-up look. She didn’t flinch away from it.

“I know,” she said with that aggravating smirk. “I’m not much, but I am scrappy.”

“I guess maybe you are,” he said carefully.

“Bucky—”

“Should you be saying that?” he asked, shooting his own look around the deli. It was the second time she mentioned his nickname, and it made him tense up every time. There were three other customers in there and his son. They could overhear maybe.

“Who’s going to notice? Unless you act all weird about it and make them notice you being weird. Relax.”

LaTroy blew out a breath and sat back. She had a point; the name only meant something because he knew it meant something. “Alright.”

“How did you figure it out, by the way? Did he tell you?”

He scoffed and gave her an incredulous look. “That guy doesn’t say anything.”

She laughed. “I know, so imagine how confused I was.”

“I saw a book; it had his picture in it,” he explained.

Darcy took that in and was quiet for a minute, looking thoughtful. “Did you ever play Howling Commandos when you were a kid?”

“Course I did.”

“Me, too. Then I grew up and one day Bucky Barnes sat down next to me. Weird, right?”

“Just like that?”

“Not exactly.” She leaned forward and gave him a very serious look. “Keep not saying anything about who he is. There are people who’d like to get their hands on him; really bad, awful people. I’d prefer they didn’t. Actually, we’d all prefer they didn’t.”

“I get that,” LaTroy agreed easily. Whatever the man had been through, somebody was holding onto him for all that time. And however he got away, somebody was probably looking.

“And I don’t want anybody to come here looking for answers. Bucky wouldn’t want you involved. Not as far as anybody anywhere would notice, you know? That the only warning I came to give, I swear.”

LaTroy nodded slowly and glanced over at his son again. He’d grown another inch or so. If Dante got much taller they were going to have to raise the ceilings. But, no matter how big he’d get, Dante would always be his sweet little boy. “I gotcha.”

“Okay.” She pulled out a card and handed it to him. “If anybody ever comes sniffing around, call me.”

He flicked a finger on the edge of the card. It was just her name and a number. “What’re you going to do?”

She watched him for a second then smiled, an actual smile and not that smirk. “Can I tell you another secret, LaTroy?”

“I guess,” he mumbled, hesitant about this whole thing. “This one need a warning?”

“No. My dad’s coming here.”

“Okay?” How was that a secret? This girl’s brain didn’t seem to work in any sort of straight line.

“We’ve been making a point to have a daddy/daughter date every few weeks. And, I told him about this place. So, he’s on his way now. We’ll grab dinner to go.” And as if that explained anything at all, she kept on smiling and sat back. “I’m serious. Call me. Even if somebody’s looking sort of shifty. Like, you’ve just got a bad feeling. Don’t second guess it. I mean, you were a Ranger, you know the drill.”

“Okay, but, really, what’re you going to do?” LaTroy demanded again. She might know Bucky Barnes, and maybe then by extension Captain America, but … what? They were more set up to help if somebody nasty came around. So, what did she think she’d be able to do? Was she one of those weird aliens they said looked human? Inhumans, right? Was she one of those? That’s the only way he could figure she’d be much help.

“Oh, I’m way helpful,” she assured him. Then she jerked her chin at his order book. “So, are we good for Friday?”

“Uh, yeah,” LaTroy said, and finished tallying up the order.

While he was still puzzling over Darcy L. and still wrapping up their business, the door opened and a man in old jeans and a faded t-shirt strode into the deli. LaTroy glanced up reflexively, as he always did with a new customer — somehow Darcy snuck in on him.

Squinting a little, he took the man in. This fellow might be dressed down, but he was wearing expensive sunglasses, had an expensive haircut, and everything about him said expensive.

He looked around the place, bemused, until his eyes landed on Darcy. “Hey, kid.”

“Hey.” She grinned at him and stood, then waved a hand at LaTroy. “This is LaTroy, he and his wife own the deli. LaTroy, Tony.”

When recognition hit, it was a surreal moment for LaTroy. Part of his brain said that was Tony Stark standing there, but another part of his brain refused to accept the idea that Tony Stark of all people would be in his deli.

Tony’s lips twisted in confusion, like he wasn’t sure why they were being introduced, either, but he nodded. “LaTroy.”

LaTroy got to his feet and offered his hand. “Mr. Stark. It's—”

“Yeah, you’re stunned and amazed and it’s nice to meet me. Got it. Good to meet you, too,” Tony said and gave him a brief handshake. “So, I hear you’ve got some kind of amazing soup? Like, Darcy didn’t shut up about it for a week. It was weird and, frankly, irritating. So, obviously I need to try it myself.”

"My wife makes it. Uh, we’ve got minestrone, tomato, and french onion today.” LaTroy was still processing the strangeness of Tony Stark, and okay, so he was a little slow about realizing exactly what was happening. Darcy said she was telling him another secret, and what she’d do if somebody threatened him, and that her dad was visiting.

Damn. Not just damn, but day-um!

“I’m feeling tomato,” Tony declared and drifted over to the counter.

LaTroy shot her a wide-eyed look and dipped his chin in question. Darcy patted his shoulder and said, “So, if somebody worries you, you’re going to call me, right?”

“Uh, yeah. I will. Promise.” Did she … she just said … Wait, wait. That was Iron Man, and she was Iron Man’s kid, and she knew Bucky Barnes and he’d already figured she’d know Cap. So, she must know all the others, right? So she just said if there was trouble, he could call in the Avengers. That’s what she said without actually saying it, right? The Avengers. For him? For real?

“Cool.” She started after Tony, but stopped and turned back to LaTroy. “You were nice to him, to Bucky. Nobody was kind to him for a long, long time. He told me how you met, how you tried to get him to come in. He wasn’t in a place to accept that then, but he appreciated it.”

“Wasn’t hardly a thing,” LaTroy said with a shrug.

“It was a huge thing,” she said, rolling her eyes at him.

At the counter, Dante was helping another customer and hadn’t noticed Tony Stark yet. That was going to be entertaining when he did. Though, LaTroy thought he should probably scoot on over there and spare his son the embarrassment.

But, before he moved, he asked the girl next to him, voice low, “Why’d you tell me?”

Darcy, who had an amused anticipatory smile as she waited for Dante to notice Tony, too, shrugged. “You kept Bucky’s secret. It seemed only fair.”

“How’s that work?”

“It’s the currency of trust. Right? I pay you back with my own.”

“You didn’t have to do that. I didn’t do it for you.”

“Look, he’s my partner.” Darcy turned away from watching Dante and gave him a very serious look. He didn’t know her much at all, but thought the serious look was probably a pretty rare one; worth paying attention to her, he figured.

“It matters to me that you noticed him,” she continued, “that you cared before you knew who he was, that you cared enough to figure out what was going on with him. And then, after you figured it out, that you still cared. You didn’t have to do that. You didn’t have to care. You didn’t have to wonder about him. And you didn’t have to keep quiet. It’s nice to remember there are good people in the world.”

LaTroy felt both humbled and baffled by her reasoning and could only manage a mumbled, “Man’s a hero.”

“I agree. But, not a lot of other people do.” She let out a long breath through her nose and rubbed at her forehead. “He was a POW for more than 70 years. Brainwashed. They made him do terrible things.”

Licking his lips, LaTroy remembered that article he found online that said Barnes was the man who ripped apart the D.C. SHIELD building. He didn’t want to believe it when he read it, but it made awful sense now. “Hydra?”

“Yes.” With narrowed eyes, she watched him for a long moment. “It wasn’t his choice. He fought them every way he could for all that time. And he’s not that man anymore. He got away.”

“Good,” LaTroy told her, firming up his lips. That was good. Good for him. And to hell with Hydra. How dare they. Monsters. They were monsters for a whole lot of awful reasons — this one just felt personal. “Hope he took some of them down on his way out.”

“Well, that’s an ongoing process,” she said, laughing a little. “But, buddy, let me tell you, it is satisfying as hell to blow up a Hydra base.”

Raising an eyebrow, he looked down at her and asked, “You do that?”

“Once I helped, and once I did it on my own,” she said proudly.

“Good for you, girl,” he praised and clapped her on the shoulder and was struck again by how petite she was.

He glanced over at Tony’s back, and then down to her again. Stark’s kid. His daughter. A beautiful little girl, the man somehow kept out of sight, safe from the world. LaTroy liked to think he was a modern man, but he didn’t think he could let his little girl go do something like that. Actually, he got a little shaky thinking of his boy doing that.

He had to ask. “Don’t take this wrong, but, how in the world does your dad let you go out and do that?”

“Another ongoing process,” she told him with a sigh.

LaTroy frowned for another minute and, finally, Tony was the next costumer up. Dante didn’t realize who he was talking to. Not yet, anyway. But, LaTroy wasn’t entirely noticing now, either. So, how’d Stark’s kid end up in a place where she was blowing up Hydra bases? With her partner Bucky Barnes? Bucky Barnes who, apparently, was the guy who took down the SHIELD building and who —

“Damn. You a SHIELD agent?” he asked in a strangled whisper.

“Who? Me?"she asked, and then laughed.

"I thought SHIELD was gone.”

“It is,” she said.

Dante finally noticed who he was talking to and was giving LaTroy a panicked look, pleading for help.

“Then how—”

“Bucky wanted a bar, I used to bartend in college, and you know, for a little while, seems like a good place to rest,” she said simply. It didn’t really explain anything, but that was probably the point. A gentle nudge telling him to butt out. He supposed he could accept that, she made amends for her poking into his life and he got why. Guess it was his turn to back off.

“Sounds good. I’ll have to come by for a cold one sometime.”

“On the house.”

LaTroy nodded and headed for the counter, ready to rescue his son from having to get Tony Stark a bowl of soup. “So, lunch for 25? Let me ring you up.”

“Make it thirty,” Darcy said, following after him. “They’re hard-working, burly men and women. They get hungry. My partner will eat any leftovers.”

LaTroy noticed Stark make a face at the partner comment and she raised an eyebrow back at her father. “What?”

“Nothing,” Stark grumbled and flashed Dante a grin. “How old are you, kid? Want a job?”

Dante stared for a second before remembering his manners. “No, sir. I have one, but thank you.”

“You sure? I’ve got an opening for an assistant. My last one left me to go be a bartender. What the hell is that, huh?”

“Uh …” Dante shot LaTroy another desperate look.

“I wasn’t your assistant,” Darcy protested.

“You assisted me with things.”

“Tony,” she sighed and kicked his ankle. “I haven’t gone anywhere.”

“Fine, fine, whatever.” He leaned over the counter and gave Dante a serious nod. “Think about it. Give me a call if you change your mind. Give him one of my cards, Darce.”

“I don’t carry your cards on me. Why don’t you have your own cards?”

“If this kid was my assistant, I bet he’d have my cards on him. Pepper always had my cards.” He looked back at Dante. “What’s your name?”

LaTroy, who’d watched the exchange with amusement while he fixed up two bowls of soup, decided his son had been tortured long enough.

“This is my son Dante, Mr. Stark. And he’s seventeen and he’s got school, so there’s no going across town to be passing round your business cards. He’s got a job here and homework he probably ought to be getting to.” He patted his son on the shoulder and nudged him away from the register. “You go on, Dante.”

“Yes, pops. Thanks,” he muttered and his shoulders rose and fell on a relieved sigh. He bobbed his head self-consciously at Stark and said, “It was nice to meet you Mr. Stark. Enjoy your meal.” Then he hustled through the door to the kitchen as fast as his long legs would carry him.

capseycartwright  asked:

“Stop talking. Now.” and I've decided you have to write it because I'm on my lunchbreak and v bored

OKAY

equilibrium
robert/aaron, finn

GENRE: fluff, some angst
WORDS: 1484
SUMMARY: Finn looks uncomfortable and reticent, 
          but he immediately makes a beeline for them. 

The day after Aaron’s court case is withdrawn (citing lack of evidence, but Aaron knows it’s because Finn retracted his statement), Aaron wakes up slowly, feels the comforting weight of Robert next to him on the bed. There’s mere inches between them, Robert’s hair brushing Aaron’s cheek, and he grins, presses a kiss to the crown of Robert’s head. 

Robert’s been supportive beyond the norm the last couple of weeks, refusing to leave, planting himself like a wall between Aaron and anything with the potential to hurt him. Aaron’s ridiculously grateful, doesn’t know what he did to earn such love, such loyalty, but he’s clinging onto it with both hands, refusing to let go. 

It helps that he has a court ordered counselor, helping sort the cascading thoughts and feelings tumbling around Aaron’s head. It’s getting safer to be in his own head. 

Keep reading

wordsofmysoul1878  asked:

Hi! I really love your account and I was wondering if you have any tips for writing? For nanowrimo I've been writing a book and I would like to know if you have any tips when stuck in the middle of a scene? Thank you ❤❤

Ah, yes! Thank you!

Since I haven’t started writing yet, I’m still planning and have a long while to go, I’m going to try and give you my best that i have figured out so far.

If it’s writer’s block-

Many have a delicate way of dealing with it, but I think it’s the type of writer’s block that matters.

If you can’t find something out during research, or you’ve been stuck on something for hours, take a break.

If it’s just a small scene you are reluctant to write, kick writer’s block out on it’s ass. (Excuse me.)

Just push through and write, even if it’s terrible. You can edit later-that’s the good part.

If it’s a plot problem-

Before your write any more, figure out every little detail about that scene before you write it, and throw in the necessary amounts of foreshadowing.

Don’t write a scene if it isn’t important later, if it doesn’t have some kind of purpose. If it’s a scene you can’t cut, but doesn’t have a very large purpose, give it a purpose. Add a subplot, make that scene tie into the story in many ways unimaginable.

If it’s simply a “how to write this” or description problem-

I find what helps me with this is reading a book, just a small scene as similar to yours as you can get. Descriptions can be tricky sometimes, so for example, if you are looking for the perfect way to describe a color, google, “different types of red.” It helps. Or, maybe try a whole new style you haven’t tried before, like switching POV’s, or maybe, if you are writing third person, try first, or vice versa.

If you are having problems bringing the scene to life-

Focus on the details, and the aura of what your descriptions are giving off.

For example:

She ran away from the wolf, as the wind blew through the moon-lit forest surrounding her.

Then, to make it a little ( a lot) better ,

As the winds howled like whistle on lips through the moon-lit trees, chilling her to the bone, she let the desolate sound carry her legs farther and farther away from the wolf she so desperately sprinted from, and closer the stars that rested upon the hill that will signal her escape-if the rolling mounds would only come into sight, she could hope. If only.

Maybe try:

I felt the prickled branches tear into my arms and face as I sprinted, but I wouldn’t stop, couldn’t stop. Everything was a blur, a whistle through the moon-lit trees, the darkness coming from behind. I didn’t let myself think about any of it, or that would be what truly took my life-not the monster, the winds, the stars above, the loss of location-what would end me would be my own mind.

So I ran, and blocked everything, both physical and emotional, out, and kept it far, far away, letting the rustles through the air carry the distractions away towards the canopy above, and me towards the starry sky and glittering hills that would be my salvation in the utter darkness of the forest.

Those are not-in-the-moment scenes, mostly just descriptions of what happened within the chase through the forest, if you wanted to describe every little detail, it would be more like this:

My breathing was a mere rasp, and the jagged gashes in my arms from the thorns bled endlessly, but, despite the barking pains in my twisted ankles, I kept up the blurring pace. I swatted a prickled branch away from my face, earning a searing cut on the palm of my hand. The wind stirred the leaves up above within the canopy, which hid the moon and stars above.

There’s a million different ways to bring a story to life, and give a synopsis on a story even in a little paragraph. Hey, the more the merrier-the more words, the better! Go crazy-readers love it. Don’t get too carried away, though-lose yourself in the words, but stay conscious of how they will sound, and what more information the reader will perceive from even a single paragraph.

If you don’t know what to write next-

Well, what do you think would make the story a little more spiced up? Any more crucial scenes you want to add? Maybe a scene that stands for nothing more but important foreshadowing? Maybe a scene to show character development, or a single chapter that illustrates the characters daily, weekly, monthly schedule? (Most of the time, go by weeks-if you condense a month into one chapter, important details can be missed.)

Here’s an example:

The months went by in a dull frenzy, and nothing really changed throughout the days; she simply went to breakfast, trained for hours, spent a couple in the gardens picking roses, and then back to her chambers.

Laylia could tell the seasons were beginning to change-the leaves slowly transformed from bright green to deep hues of red and orange, and occasional streaks of yellow, and from dwelling on the trees to resting on the neatly-manicured palace grounds. She also didn’t fail to notice the shift in everyone’s mood, from normally energetic, to a laid-back aura filling their presence.

It’s mostly a don’t-forget-the details kind of thing, I suppose.

If it’s because you have a dislike for the scene-

Well, of course there will be scenes you absolutely hate with a passion-such as characters death. However, it should be alluring to describe it-when you are the one writing, most have an idea for their characters future, so you hold the power.

To write an important, emotional scene such as death, you have to take the power away from yourself for a moment. Be the reader-what emotions did the writing spark, what information and current situations did you derive from it?

Normally, I suppose you would take your own power away during the editing process, when the novel goes from messy letters to elegant sentences, but if you are having trouble writing a scene or can’t make yourself move on, try editing it right then and there. Maybe make some changes, or if it’s simply a dislike for how you wrote it, rewrite it.

As a fanfiction writer, I have more challenges than a normal writer-we already have the world and characters established, because the authors did that for us. However, that often makes us forget to continue establishing everything and everyone-that’s what fanfictions are about, write? (You see what I did there?)

So keep that in mind-you are establishing everything, think of it as laying out the base of story, so buildings may be constructed on it.

Now is the time to include every little detail; keep in mind your characters personalities, maybe if they are quiet they are a lot more descriptive, or if they are more openly-expressed, they don’t have as detailed descriptions.

Take the character description types from Veronica Roth-I learnt that from her.

I hope this helped! If you’ve got any more questions for me, anyone out there, I’d be happy to answer them to the best I can at this time in my writing career;)

So, in honor of Fenhawke week:

Day 1: See that fic that’s gathering dust in your drafts? Finish it.

Inspired by the party banter with Anders after A Bitter Pill.


And a Bottle of Rum

“Another round for our table please, Corff,” Hawke said, turning and leaning back with her elbows on the bar while Corff busied himself pouring ale. Maker, she needed a drink. Or twenty. It was their first Wicked Grace night at the Hanged Man since that night that she was oh so pointedly trying (and, thus far, failing) not to think about. She had been late, had lingered pointlessly at home before biting the bullet and making her way to the tavern. As unpleasant as this would be, there was no way she was going to deal with the questions her friends would undoubtedly pepper her with if she was absent.

At any rate, there was no way she could face this, no way she could sit next to him and pretend that everything was normal, that everything was okay, while sober. And her friends were much too set in their ways for her to claim a different seat without incident. So, here she was, waiting for drinks while her friends chatted amicably around their usual table. With the exception of Fenris, who sat, elbows resting on the table, gazing blankly ahead. Brooding, Varric would say. And, she noticed now, Anders, whose scrutinizing gaze was fixed on Fenris. Shit. She did not feel like dealing with another of their shouting matches about mages right now. She began to step forward to preempt the fight she knew was coming, but when Anders leaned forward to speak, though, shock halted her progress.

“I can’t imagine what Hawke sees in you.”

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Hey I've had a Bellarke AU idea... So I was thinking maybe like a high school setting with Bellamy being older than Clarke a picking on her but secretly crushing on her big time? Your blog is ace btw!!

Anonymous said: Could you write a fan fic of Bellamy and Clarke at high school with Bell being the bully/picking on Clarke but falling for Clarke who’s slightly younger? :)


three’s a crowd

Raven groaned, because Clarke, who was standing at the podium at the front of the auditorium as usual, hadn’t even finished speaking before Bellamy shot his hand in the air, leaning back in his seat with his feet propped up on the table she and him were sharing. Because they were all the way in the back, and Clarke’s expression was looking particularly stormy, the entire room quickly turned in their seats towards them, eagerly sensing blood in the water. The Blake-Griffin confrontations at the Student Council meetings were infamous now, and everybody wanted to witness it firsthand. The drama was great for council attendance, and even boosted participation at the normally dull meetings. It was less than great for Raven’s studies, however, because she often used the time during Stu Co meetings to catch up on her chemistry notes, but sitting next to Bellamy, the other senior class representative and her only friend on the council, forced her to stop the secret study sessions, given the amount of attention he had been garnering ever since he had dared to challenge their illustrious council president.

With the focus on her (possibly soon to be former, if he kept this crap up) friend yet again, Raven scrambled to hide her stacks of notecards that she had been making, annoyance rising in her at Bellamy’s poorly stifled grin. Chemistry was difficult, damn it, and Wick was getting more self-righteous with every test that he scored higher than her on. Raven was determined to wipe the floor with him on their midterm next week, so she had risked trying to study at this meeting. Stupid of her, really, because Bellamy was nothing but predictable in his pestering of Clarke. He didn’t have to be so smug about antagonizing her, Raven mused as she poked Bellamy in the side, urging him to rethink whatever he was about to say. Though to be fair, Clarke didn’t have to react so dramatically to his critiques, especially since many of his suggestions were actually good ones. Difference in leadership styles, Clarke had stiffly answered when Raven asked her what her deal was with resisting anything and everything that came out of Bellamy’s mouth. Raven had urged her, for the sake of productivity (and her chemistry-related pride) to consider compromise every once in a while.

Today was apparently not the day when they would overcome their differences, if the angry flush spreading over Clarke’s cheeks and upper chest was any indication, while Bellamy gleefully tore apart her dress code evaluation proposal. Raven considered hiding her face in her hands, not wanting her despairing expression on display for the entire council to see as she recalled Wick’s gleeful grin after their last test. Bellamy and Clarke were like a train wreck though–you couldn’t look away, so eventually Raven found herself watching the verbal tennis match along with everyone else.

Her eyes narrowed when she caught an unusual tension lingering in Clarke’s shoulders as they argued, also realizing there was more venom in Bellamy’s tone today. Her thoughts churned as she watched them more carefully, pondering what had changed. It wasn’t until Finn piped in, sticking up for Clarke, causing Bellamy’s jaw to twitch in anger, that it dawned on Raven: Bellamy was picking on Clarke because he liked her.

Feeling equal parts horrified and amused, she choked, spiraling into a coughing fit, but not even that was enough to distract the pair. Clarke just shot her a concerned look before sliding another glare at Bellamy, and Bellamy passed over his water bottle without even the slightest break in his latest diatribe. As she gulped down the water, Raven’s mind spun at her discovery. The dick, she thought in fond disapproval, because while Bellamy was her friend, he was also massively immature, if he was going about antagonizing the girl he had a crush on. 

After she finally recovered from her shock, Raven began to grin, because oh boy was this going to be fun. She scribbled out a message on a scrap of paper and passed it to Bellamy, poking him repeatedly before he quickly glanced down at her note:

Why don’t you just ask her out already, loser?

Bellamy scowled as he read it, and his expression darkened even further when Clarke used his momentary distraction to move onto the next topic on the agenda. Huffing in defeat, he flicked the note between his fingers for a few moments before setting it down and writing a response.

I did. She said no.

Raven snorted because the idiot, earning her a pinch on the arm from Bellamy as she wrote back:

Were you a dick about it?

The way his shoulders slumped told her all she needed to know. Noticing the uneasy and unfamiliar tightness in his shoulders, though, she bit back the flippant comment she had been about to make, instead opting for one last message:

Try again.

Bellamy pursed his lips, shrinking even further into himself, but the thoughtful, almost vulnerable expression on his face meant he was actually considering her suggestion. Satisfied for the moment, Raven turned her attention back to her notecards, letting Bellamy stew and Clarke proceed with the meeting, trusting the both of them to keep it civil for the last forty minutes at least. 

Surprisingly, Bellamy kept his mouth shut for the rest of the meeting, and Raven sighed happily as she packed up her things, having reviewed more of her notes than she had expected. As she walked up the aisle of the auditorium, Bellamy shuffled along behind, his pace growing slower as they got closer to the front, and to Clarke. With a quick glare back at him–you helpless loser–she also slowed down, lingering in solidarity as the rest of the council members filtered out into the hall. Finally, when it was almost just the three of them left, Raven darted for the door, out of the corner of her eye seeing Bellamy, tense and nervous, approach an apprehensive Clarke. The fact that they were awkward and silent, instead of angry and yelling, had her smiling as she slipped out, wondering if there was hope for them yet. 

Raven wasn’t one to leave anything to chance though, so when the auditorium door closed behind her, she flicked the deadbolt shut, figuring some time locked away together in private would do both them, and the council, endless good.