idk man i just had to

ok you know that ‘make the princess laugh and you can have her hand in marriage’ thing?

imagine so many come in.

they try, so hard, to make her laugh.

she just sits there, morose, ignoring every man who tries to coax a smile.

one day she’s sitting on the balcony. she just looks so sad.

of course that little thief tries to make her smile.

a girl who goes through the (semi public) royal gardens every day to pick flowers, even though technically only the royal family is allowed to do that. 

she sees the princess while she’s picking them up to sell on the streets, and she’s just… so sad. this princess needs someone to cheer her up.

and she tries. she’ll do silly dances when she comes in, she’ll bring up frogs from ponds and act out comedies, she’ll make flower crowns and exaggerate just how hard it is.

the first few days, the princess doesn’t even look at her.

then she starts noticing. this girl, trying so hard to cheer her up. she probably hasn’t even heard of the hand in marriage thing, she doesn’t know she’s trying so hard for nothing.

but she does it anyway.

one day, the princess starts talking to her as she does these things. “You do know that it’s useless?”

“What?” the thief says. “No way! I’m going to get you to laugh!”

“The best jesters in the kingdom have tried, don’t bother,” the princess declared pessimistically, staring down at the girl.

Then the thief puffs out her chest, “Of course I am! I’ll find the best jokes, even better than the jesters have found! I’ll… fight a fire breathing dog for them!”

There’s no laugh, but the corner of the princess’s mouth twitches. it’s sad how she thinks she can make me laugh…

the girl keeps trying, for years, making more silly stories and trading flowers for jokes rather than food or money. the princess slowly realizes the girl is getting closer and closer, asking her for responses in knock knock jokes and encouraging her to speak when she wouldn’t respond immediately.

the princess eventually had the girl hanging from her balcony, holding on tight to the rail and feet wedged between the columns, grinning and telling yet another iteration of that already old chicken joke.

the princess has been smiling, slightly, but she mostly just looks unresponsive. the girl is happy, it’s better than looking so sad, like she had been years before.

the girl moves on to puns, pointing at the exotic lunch the princess was eating. “Why do the melons have to go to get married? They cantaloupe!”

“You only know that word because of me,” the princess snarks, but there’s a small smile there, a bit of happiness. This little flower girl, this thief has grown into an amazing friend, a wonderful person who genuinely just wants to help. she doesn’t know of the deal, only nobles and jesters could know, not the commonfolk.

“Well, it makes quite the pun,” the girl says, proud of her joke. a smile! what an accomplishment!

“Say…” she continued, “What would you call a princess who got swept up in conversation a thief?” she pulled a flower out of her pocket, waving it in front of the princess’s face. the princess’s eyes crossed to see the flower before they rolled at the obvious setup.

though, it was interesting that it obviously involved them.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, sighing in preparation for another horrible pun. “What?”

the girl grinned. “A pretty theft!” she exclaimed, ticking the flower against the princess’s nose.

the princess froze for a moment, stunned. she had been complimented a million times over, called graceful by etiquette instructors, been called beautiful by many a suitor, been called wonderful by her mother before… she stopped thinking about that. 

she had never been called pretty.

she burst into laughter at the commonplace compliment, as if she was some sort of milkmaid who had somehow grown up to be good looking! it was ridiculous, the notion, yet somehow it had her blushing all the same.

then she suddenly stopped, realizing what she’d done.

the flower thief was staring at her in amazement, a blush of her own speckling her cheeks. her flower tilted out from in front of the princess’s nose, as if it had it’s own amazement.

“Wow…” the girl breathed. she’d never heard something so beautiful in her life.

The princess was silent, knowing what she had just done. She had just laughed for the first time in years.

The girl may not have been aware of the arrangement, but she was quickly swept up in it. A maid had heard the laughter and burst in, to find the thief and the princess, caught up in each other’s eyes, reveling in what had just happened.

The wedding was beautiful, a flower filled affair, a wonderful nod to how it happened. The king was so happy to see his daughter with someone who made her smile for once, tearing up as they were wed.

The princess’s laugh was still incredibly rare. She still had a hard time smiling. But a well timed joke from the girl– no, her wife– and another flower that had a hidden meaning behind it, than maybe, maybe you would hear it.

After all, the princess had finally laughed with the one she loved.

okay but what if:

 hunk and lance are on a mission one day and there’s not much going except some hardcore girl talk™ and lance is all like “idk man i don’t think I can ever tell Keith how much I like him” then it just cuts to keith and shiro on their mission side eyeing the speakers on their helmets because oh my god did that really just happen?? and a little while later there’s this crackle on lance’s end and just a quiet Keith voice out of nowhere like “I like you too?”

2

nine in the afternoon // panic! at the disco

Summary: During Digestivo. Hannibal prepares himself & an unconscious Will for their final conversation. 

Hannibal carried him inside. Chiyoh offered to help. He was tired, after all. Frozen and bloodied, hair mopped to the side of his face, shoulders tense and stiff from having been tied back. But he refused, a silent shake of his head and Chiyoh backed away. Walked to the field, rifle in hand. He allowed himself a moment to appreciate her. How, wordlessly, she knew. This was something he must do alone.

Will lay slumped in the backseat, arms limp on the floor. Dead weight. Hannibal felt the same strain he had the night before when he carried him, though he no longer had adrenaline fueling his body. He brought Will, slow, up the steps, across the porch, over the threshold, reveling in every second of pain the twinge in his back sent lighting up his spine.

Hannibal laid Will down delicate onto his bed. Careful not to wake him with too much movement. Fearing he might break.

He’d need some time to think. Prepare. More time than Will’s body was unconsciously willing to give, so he gave two gentle flicks to the syringe, a steady gentle pressure on the plunger, and Will’s sleep took on a far more tranquil rhythm. He drifted deeper. Hannibal, finally, exhaled.

He took a step back, took a moment. Contemplated the door. It stood open behind him, winter chill seeping in through the gap. And then there was the car. Chiyoh. The ease with which he could disappear. It was, he knew, the most practical option. He could make his way to the coast and set sail, heading someplace quiet and obscure, somewhere Will would surely never find him. He’d have to leave quickly in order to get far enough. He’d have to leave now. Hannibal’s eyes, resting on the doorknob, flicked back to the bed. To Will’s pillow flattened curls, the iron streaks of dried blood along his jawline.

He shut the door quietly, though he knew Will was sedated. Nodded to Chiyoh through the window and set to work. 

He took care of himself first, Will’s shower rattling to life, blood peeling off him here and there, ripping off soaking bandages. Ignoring, as best he could, the cold and awful weight inside his chest. The feeling of his lungs filling with water. Water stinging sharp against the brand on his back, the burn raw, white hot pain in every corner of his body.

Deep, drying breaths. Hannibal redressed himself, his wounds. Turned his attention to Will. He undressed him as slowly as time would allow, fingers gliding over skin with each gentle tug of fabric. Placed a cloth over what Will would not want him to see, wrestling down the urge to look. He’d never looked before and he wouldn’t now, Will was worth more than that. Although.

Hannibal sat up straight and felt, all around him, a tension. An uncomfortable air of finality. A penultimate afternoon. He looked back down at Will.

This could very well be his last chance to look. Admire.

Still, he didn’t. He did allow himself one thing, though, face in the crook of Will’s neck. A deep, slow inhale. Committing the scent to memory, locking it in its own room near the center of his mind, before he began with the water.

There were parts of Will still caked in blood from days prior, places Mason’s men hadn’t taken care of. Patches of rough blood stuck to the skin on his chest, stomach, spilt from where Hannibal had opened his head. He couldn’t deny the bizarre amusement he felt cleaning up the fallout from something he had inflicted, though of course, with Will, it wasn’t the first time. His eyes narrowed as his musings led him to the terrible realization that this would, in fact, be the last time. 

Dabbing gently with warm water, watching close as beads of it rolled across Will’s hips, dripping off his waist. Hannibal changed the bandages on Will’s shoulder. Cleaned the wound across his forehead. Slow and somehow far too quick. He took his deliberate time pressing Will dry with a towel, dressed him up again in warm and comfortable clothes. Smoothing the hair across his forehead, resting his fingers against Will’s face.

He knew this would be the last time. Of course he knew. The last time his hands would grip his face. The last time he’d lay him down onto a bed. Hannibal closed his eyes and lived, for only a fraction of a second, in a world where the opposite was true. Where these actions were the first of many times.

…It was still possible. A tiny sliver of possibility rested inside Will, the chance that his journey sparked a deeper understanding of the truth of him, the truth of Hannibal. How those truths fit together.

But then there was the truth of the bullet wound in Will’s shoulder. The ugly scar across his head. The reality of their situation sat thick at the back of Hannibal’s throat, cold in his stomach.

This was the last time.

So, he cleaned up. Discarded old bandages, positioned Will comfortably, carried a chair to his bedside. Hannibal flipped to a new page in his journal, pausing to open the levy, let icy dread flood through his veins and into his pen. Worked, diligent, at solving the problem that teacups and time had laid out before him.

2

damn… a corgi would have been so good too. _(」∠ 、ン、)_  but their son is a pomeranian. or a menacing war machine.

2

you know me too well dammit D:<

> *shows up three weeks late with a doodle just because she gave up several times trying to draw legs* yo

> @ rogue: pls change ur haircut son its impossible to draw

2

BOOKS I READ IN 2016Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe by Benjamin Alire Sáenz

All this time. 
This was what was wrong with me. All this time I had been trying to figure out the secrets of the universe, the secrets of my own body, of my own heart. All of the answers had always been so close and yet I’d always fought them without even knowing it. From the minute I’d met Dante, I had fallen in love with him. I just didn’t let myself know it, think it, feel it.

Payback (M)

Jimin x Reader

Warnings: SMUT, light choking, daddy kink, kinda public??, idk man it’s just filth

Word Count: 3,125

Summary:  Park fucking Jimin was sin incarnate, and he knew it too. You have had it with his extra ass on stage, he was always taking some article of clothing off and you were at your wits end. This means war.

A/N: This is my fic, I’m re-posting onto my sideblog.


Your jaw was on the floor after watching BTS’ new comeback stage. As if the low cut shirts, lip bites, sexual lyrics, and all around rudeness wasn’t enough, Jimin decided he needed to up the ante and undress on stage looking like sin itself. Fucker. He knew exactly what he was doing, and you decided he needed to be punished.

Dressing in all his favourites; your shorts, oversized sweater and thigh high socks that always got to him, you headed to the boys’ dorm for a movie night after making sure your coat covered everything. You arrived at the dorm quicker than anticipated, and after being let in by Hoseok and attacked by the boys with hugs, you learned that Jimin was still in the shower. Settling down on the couch you took your jacket off and got comfortable with a bowl of popcorn when you felt several pairs of eyes on you. Looking up, you saw the boys eying your outfit and you smiled to yourself, your plan already working. Jimin walked out of the shower with his hair still damp, wearing sweats and a loose t shirt. He looked around the room and noticed that all eyes were on you, a smile spreading on his face as he met your eyes, then he saw why they were staring and his face hardened.

Strike one.

Keep reading

10

Like my father before me.

thoughts

- every theory of TST just got shattered

- still no kiss wtf i was sure john’s gonna make sherlock breath to breath in the hospital

- john is jealous af 

- they are terrific actors and they are just the best sherlock and watson ever

- the girl was creepy and i don’t really buy that acting idk why

- hudders is my spirit animal, she is THE BEST

- smith&daughter definitely was inspired by trump and ivanka

- john’s fighting kink just went out of control

- mycroft freaking holmes wtf what about lestrade

- the man we both love

- i demand 1,5 hour of johnlock kissing next week

- every value i had is questioned

- i’m scared of forthcoming metas 

making spirits bright

today’s fic: jily celebrity au

(or basically a sequel to the tinder au i wrote back in may)

lol remember when i had about 30 anons clamouring for a sequel to this and i was like ‘um no idk what it would even be about’? well ta-da. here’s a sequel. about nothing. idk man it’s just 2k of fluff.

wc: 2201

ao3 | see more ficmas here

“Did you know that we’ve apparently broken up?”

James barely looks up from where he’s sat on the floor, leaning against her legs as he goes head on against Sirius and they in a FIFA match. She finds it absolutely hysterical that he’s losing so badly when he himself is a world class football player.

“Charming,” he says distractedly, “Is that the Sun again?”

Lily flicks his ear. “No, the Sun said we eloped in Paris a few months ago and we’re awaiting the arrival of our firstborn with bated breath. Honestly James, keep up.”

“My bad,” he says dryly, “By the way, we’re naming our first child Elvendork.”

“I thought we agreed on Bathsheba?”

“Yeah, but Elvendork is unisex.”

“Good point.”

He throws down his controller in a huff when the game ends with him losing spectacularly. Remus comes in first place, and he snickers when he sees his ridiculous pout. Meanwhile Lily just pets him, accustomed to her boyfriend, the drama queen.

It’s only later, when he’s spread out on the couch, his head on her lap while the rest of them switch over to another game, does he ask, “Sorry, who was saying that we broke up?”

Lily glances down at him, still scrolling through her phone. “Oh, the Mirror. Marlene likes to tweet me articles that we’re mentioned in. Apparently the fact that I didn’t go to the last fundraiser with you but went out for milk on Saturday without makeup means that our relationship is on the rocks.”

“How dare you not wear makeup while doing menial everyday things. They’re right, this is the beginning of a downward spiral, Evans.”

He’s still in her lap, glasses askew and hair a complete mess, and she leans down to swipe a quick peck on the lips.

“Yeah, I’m a real embarrassment, you should break up with me.”

Keep reading

yo but what if Chuuya was kind of friends with Odasaku too or they at least sort of knew each other bc both of them spent so much time with Dazai

I mean I think they at least would have had to be aware of each other

and it’s a popular theory that Chuuya was overseas or something during the Dark Era and that’s why he wasn’t in the story at all so what if Chuuya didn’t even know that Odasaku had died and that Dazai had left until he got back

It was just he had been on a mission in another country and he comes home feeling proud of himself and triumphant, only to learn that one of his friends had died and that his partner had betrayed the Mafia and left how upsetting must that have been???

and what’s worse is that Mori probably never even told him the whole story, so of course Chuuya didn’t understand why Dazai left in the first place and he didn’t fully understand the circumstances of Odasaku’s death either

I feel like that makes a lot of sense???

ALRIGHT SO I WAS WATCHING THE FIRST AVENGER RECENTLY WITH MY BOYFRIEND SO OF COURSE I JUST TALKED THE WHOLE TIME ABOUT LITERALLY EVERY LITTLE DETAIL AND FACT KNOWN TO MAN ABOUT MY PAL STEVE ROGERS AND I MENTIONED HOW SAD IT IS THAT STEVE KEEPS EVERYTHING BOTTLED UP FOR THE SAKE OF OTHERS AND NEVER LIKE TAKES TIME FOR HIMSELF AND TAKES CARE OF HIMSELF AND THAT LITERALLY HE JUST LETS HIS EMOTIONS STAY HOLED UP AND NEVER LETS THEM COME OUT AND THEN I REMEMBERED THIS FUCKING JOHN MULANEY THING AND STARTED LAUGHING IN THE MIDDLE OF MY SUPER SERIOUS RANT ON STEVE’S CHARACTER AND I JUST… AGH THIS IS LITERALLY STEVE FUCKING ROGERS. LIKE C’MON HE’S IRISH. IT FITS TOO WELL DAMMIT