if i could write i would but i can't so i draw

Day One: Homesickness

Thought I’d start off @vldangstweek with something that turns from angsty to fluffy, just because, based on the rest of this weeks prompts, it’s gonna get waaayyyy angstier (knowing me, anyway). Everything will be tagged with vldangstweek and any of my usual angst tags (angst, langst, klangst, etc)

Let my children go home, they’re stressed and tired (under a cut for length).


“Come on Lance, one more time! You need to defeat this gladiator before I can allow anyone to go to dinner!” Allura shouted down from the observation deck.

The quiet groans of his teammates filled his head and Lance winced, stepping back to stand his ground against the bot attacking him. His vision wavered over his helmet and his fingers trembled against his bayard, unable to form it because of the close range combat style. He grunted, rolling as the bot dove for him, sweeping it’s legs out from under it and sending it to the ground. Briefly, he heard Hunk’s cheer of encouragement in his comms, and then the bot was back up again, charging at him.

Lance sighed, side stepping the bot and pressing his shaking hands to his head, trying to stop the swimming feeling in his brain, the burn at the back of his throat and eyes, the tightness in his chest. He took a hit, hard, and fell backwards onto his ass, teeth clacking together.

“Dude, seriously, we’re starving!” Pidge called out. “You need to beat this!”

Lance took a shaky breath, shooting a glare at the deck. “You want me to beat it? Fine. I’ll beat it.”

Before the bot could get any closer, Lance whipped out his bayard, transforming it in the process and ignoring Allura’s shouts of this being a hand to hand fight. Within seconds, the bot was in a smoking heap on the floor and Lance was shaking, sweat curling down his forehead. Allura stormed out of the observation deck and onto the main floor, eyebrows furrowed. “That was not the assignment, Lance. You’ll have to do it again.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

Lance ripped off his helmet and chucked it to the ground. When he looked up, Allura took a step back at the ferocity in his face, the tears in his eyes. “I said, no. I’m not doing this bull shit anymore. They’re not either,” he snapped, pointing towards the deck. “You don’t get to treat us this way, we’re the only reason you’re not dead or still in those stupid pods. You called us family, Allura.”

His voice broke and his lip quivered as he stumbled back, shaking his head. “You don’t get to treat family like this. Not when we’re doing all of this for you.”

He swallowed and spun on his heel, storming from the room. Allura hesitated, glancing back at the deck only to find the rest of the paladins and Coran standing behind her. She studied the group, noted the lines on their faces and the bags under their eyes, and frowned. “Do you all agree with him?”

They remained silent for a moment, glancing at each other. Hunk spoke up first, his voice gentle. “Yeah. I do, at least.”

“Me too,” Pidge piped up, staring at the floor and fiddling with her bayard.

Keith nodded silently, rubbing a hand up and down one arm and looking off to the side. Hunk huffed. “Allura, we…I would say we’re homesick, but I don’t know if that covers all of us.”

“We’re Earth sick,” Keith offered. “And Lance…”

Shiro spoke for the first time. “Lance has the most family to miss out of the five of us.”

“And honestly?” Hunk muttered. “You yelling all the time, you pushing him, and us, all the time? No breaks, no relaxation time at all? I’m amazed he didn’t snap before this.”

Allura swallowed. “I’m…”

“It’s okay,” Hunk promised. “We understand, you want to stop the Galra, stop Zarkon.”

“But you have to remember that we’re all volunteering to do this,” Pidge said, fidgeting from foot to foot. “There’s nothing keeping anyone here other than empathy. Don’t give Lance a reason to stop caring, or he will leave.”

Allura bit her lip and glanced over her shoulder. “I should go-”

“No,” Keith said firmly, stepping forwards and resting a hand on Allura’s arm. “We got this. You two go get dinner.”

She and Coran studied the paladins for a moment before nodding in agreement and leaving the training deck.

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so uh, i’m having an emotional crisis since voltron ended and i just?? want more??? i haven’t pined for a series like this in so long ahahaha

so now have that blade-of-marmora!galra!keith + altean!lance au that nobody probably wants feat. eventual mutual pining

Inspired by this art of rachelhuey (thank u for letting me running away with your ideas!!!)

ETA: fic (+the second chapter) is up in ao3 here

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“Darkiplier VS Antisepticeye” is Mark’s Effort to Take Back Control From Dark: A Theory

(Disclaimer: I know nothing about any of Jack’s egos, so this is entirely about Mark’s. Disclaimer 2, Electric Boogaloo: I had my Frosted Mini Wheats like two hours late today, and that threw off my groove, so I’m sorry if I’m less eloquent than usual. Disclaimer III- This Time, It’s Personal: The only reason this isn’t under a read more is because someone told me to do that last time, but they weren’t very nice about it, so now I’m being petty. I’m sorry for being the worst. I still love you guys, though.)

In my last theory, we discussed the possibility that Dark is trying to take back control through more subtle means this time, and that he has a plan that we didn’t get to see during Markiplier TV. He’s been slowly giving hints of his existence in videos, teasing just enough to get people talking. He hasn’t revealed himself outright in any videos since Markiplier TV; he hasn’t denied being in them, either. 

Remember this interaction between @markiplier and @hufflepufftrax?

Mark quickly dispels rumors about Darkiplier when they’re not true. Why, then, would he not clear the air during the chaos of World’s Quietest Let’s Play 4, or any other video that has stirred up the community a great deal more than this photo ever did? The logical train of thought, then, is that these really were Dark appearances and we are supposed to know it. So, if Dark has been going about this so carefully all along, why would he reveal himself by sharing the spotlight in a comedy sketch? The short answer is that he wouldn’t. The reality is… say it with me now… it’s just Mark impersonating Dark!

Yeah, I know, no shock there. You’ve been hearing that since the video dropped. I talked about it when answering an ask, which I’m screenshotting and dropping below for your convenience, because I’m just a nice gal like that.

So now we have to ask, why would Mark do this? If Dark really is starting to take back control, this would be a dangerous time to pull a stunt like this, wouldn’t it? Well, it makes sense when you consider the fact that Mark has all but run out of options. 

Every time Dark is hinted at, the community goes wild. It doesn’t matter how subtle the hint may be- if the lights in the background of a video are red and blue, someone will point it out. Someone will draw him. Someone will get excited. And then, over time, everyone will get excited. 

Even if Mark tried to warn us, it only fueled the fire. Reaching out for help, trying to tell us that Dark is here– it is exactly what Dark wants. So Mark now has to try a different tactic. The only way that Dark can lose at this point is if he loses his allure to the viewers, and the only way to do that is to use his own method against him: Dark is pretending to be Mark, and now Mark is pretending to be Dark in order to discredit him. More specifically, he’s trying to get Dark out of the way, impersonate him, and make a fool out of him. That sounds… familiar, doesn’t it? Have we heard that somewhere before?

What if I change up the tense a little and word it a bit more like this?

“Pushed aside. Replaced. Mocked.”

Originally posted by rubies-and-oaktrees

That rings a few more bells, doesn’t it?

When we put all of these things together, a picture starts to form: Mark kept Dark at bay for years by making him a joke, but then he made the mistake of letting down his guard. Letting him back in. Now, Mark is fighting back using the only method that he has ever known to work. Why wouldn’t it this time? Making silly edits, taking over Mark’s twitter with edgy, emo poetry… it was enough to dissuade the community last time. So what could make it fail now? How could humor no longer be sufficient to drive Dark away?

The key difference this time is that Dark is not simply a wisp of a presence like he was years ago. He can’t be laughed off anymore. He is here. He is real. He is powerful. He does not like to be mocked, and this action from Mark will most definitely have consequences.

And the blame for that, really, falls on all of us. As Mark said all those years ago, we made Dark real.  Back then, he had to resort to humor to keep Dark at bay, because none of us would listen to him when he warned us. Now, history’s repeating itself,  but the outcome isn’t so sure this time. We learned nothing in the process. Now Dark has become too strong, because we, the viewers, keep letting him back in. Mark tries to tell us that Dark is here and we are thrilled about it.

So, really, the question isn’t, “Why would Mark do this?”

The question is, 

Why didn’t we listen?

anonymous asked:

I have a character who is a thief, and for squeezing-in reasons she can't have anything but leather armor. So, what weapon would she carry around in case she gets caught by any full-armor-wearing enemy? I was thinking a Misericord? Thank you!!! *hug*

I feel like we’ve covered this before. A dagger isn’t going to do much when you’re fighting against an armed and armored guard. For that matter, neither is the leather.

If your character’s going to be going up against guards who are armed with sidearms (maces, swords, whatever), going after them with a dagger in a straight up fight is suicide. A knife fighter needs to get much closer to the target than a swordsman. This means they need to get past the sword. Against any competent, or even semi-competent combatant, trying to rush past the sword will end with your character impaled.

The obvious solution to carry a sword of your own, isn’t necessarily an option either, because 99% of the time, it’s just going to get in your character’s way. It will hit things, get snagged, make noise, and this will draw the attention of those same guards your character is trying to avoid.

If they wanted to make good on killing people with the dagger, then their best bet would be coming in from behind, when the guard doesn’t see them, and slitting their throat. However, this will cause other problems.

Your character is a thief, they’re already a part of the underworld that can easily draw the ire of the people who run their world simply by stealing something too prominent or important. This is a classic genre hook for a reason.

If you have a thief slipping off with a few gems or baubles and getting out undetected, that’s just a thing that happens. It could have been the servants, it could have been a mistake, or it could be any number of other possible scenarios.

However, if you have a thief slipping into homes and killing people, that will make the setting’s elites feel unsafe, which will lead to them pushing the city guard to crack down on the underworld. At that point, your character will put her allies in danger. Remember that old cliche? “No honor among thieves.” When the city guard is kicking down doors, and kneecapping fences, it’s not going to take long for someone to offer up your character’s name, if only because they hope it will let them walk out of their cell with one or two functioning limbs.

It’s worth remembering, if anyone in the setting’s underworld, knows she’s the one who started this, they will hold her directly responsible for bringing the guard knocking through their door, and ruining their livelihood.

As I mentioned earlier, a classic genre hook is a thief accidentally stealing something ridiculously valuable. It may be an ornate artifact with ties to some eldritch power, it may be documents that implicate their victim in some conspiracy, it may simply be a piece of absurdly valuable jewelry. In any of those cases, it can result in a similar crackdown, no dead bodies necessary.

Any competent thief is going to know they should avoid drawing too much attention to themselves. They can still get into messes like this unintentionally, but if a guard spots them, it is far safer for them to run, and escape, rather than stand and fight.

If your character was an assassin, then, yes. I’d say taking a few daggers, a garrote, and maybe a few other fun little party favors is a good idea. The basic thought with fighting guards would be the same, take them out without giving them any opportunity to fight back, or avoid them entirely. That said, assassins are an entirely different animal, they don’t rely on persistent contact with the setting’s underworld the same way thieves do. They just need to get paid, they don’t need to fence what they’ve stolen, or keep appraised of what the City Watch is doing, or stay coordinated enough to avoid tripping over each other on jobs. An assassin just needs a client (who isn’t necessarily part of the underworld) and tools (which they may be buying through legitimate channels and modifying on their own). They may still bring heat down on the underworld, and make life miserable for the city’s thieves, but they’re much more insulated from that world than your character would be.

I mentioned earlier that leather armor might not be a good choice for your character. It won’t do much to protect your character from a guard, but that’s not the real problem. The big issue is that it will announce that your character isn’t just part of the background. Under the best circumstances, a thief needs to be able to blend into the crowd and disappear. If they’ve got a cloak, a dagger hidden away, and a few deep pockets, that’s going to be much harder to spot in a crowd than someone wearing armor.

Beyond that, if your character is climbing or squeezing into places, the leather will just be more weight to move around, and more bulk to pull through tight spaces. Granted, it’s not a lot of weight or bulk, but if her goal is to remain undetected, then it’s not doing her any favors.

Carrying a dagger is a good idea, but not to use as a weapon. Knives are very useful utility items, and that’s no different for your character. It can be used as a weapon, but it’s something your character would probably want to avoid unless they were desperate.

So, stab them in the neck and run like hell, I guess. Or, you know, don’t bring a knife to a swordfight.

-Starke

On the subject of writing about thieves, or a criminal underworld, in a fantasy setting, the first thing that comes to mind are the Fafhrd and Gray Mouser stories by Fritz Leiber. If you’ve never heard those names before, they’re really worth taking a look at.

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2

Before, she would have jumped at the sudden and unexpected pressure of someone’s hand on her waist, but nearly half a year in an 18th-century French court has taught Rose to adapt, if nothing else. (Her French is as abysmal as it ever was without the help of the TARDIS, but the court is graciously willing to overlook such things on behalf of the savior of their uncrowned queen.)

Still, Rose smiles as she dances, even if her partner can’t see it. “Someone’s awfully familiar today,” she teases (in mutilated French); probably it’s Henri, a little tipsy from the king’s finest wine, but he’s not half-bad to look at. “Feeling a bit grabby, are we?”

“Oh, you know me,” replies a soft voice behind her, in English, and it’s all Rose can do to stop herself tripping over her own feet. “I’m a hands-on learner.”

Rose’s heart leaps in her chest, hammering madly against her ribcage in time to the music and the steps of her feet below. Over a hundred days since she last heard that voice anywhere but her dreams; of course, she recognizes it instantly. Her grin is so wide now her face could almost split with the size of it. She squeezes her eyes shut, giving silent thanks to any gods that might be listening. <

(The impulse to stop in her tracks pulls at her, demanding her to spin and throw her arms around his neck and maybe never let go, but some part of her is afraid to—maybe she’s wrong, maybe it isn’t him, or it’s a dream, or if she looks at him, she’ll break the spell. So she keeps dancing.)

“And?” Rose prompts, insinuating her hand over his where it rests against her waist. “What have you learned?”

“That your French is atrocious.”

“Rude,” says Rose, but she laughs. She squeezes his other hand, the one leading them around the ballroom along with the rest of the courtiers. “It’s been five and a half months, and that’s all you’ve got to say to me?”

His grip on her waist tightens. “No, actually, it isn’t.”

“Aww, did you miss me?”

“Do you know the kind of trouble you could have gotten into?” he asks, his voice suddenly curt. “The damage you could have caused? Probably caused?”

His sharpness startles her, but Rose shrugs it off. “Don’t worry, I didn’t—”

“You have no idea what you did or didn’t do,” he hisses. “Weakening the integrity of this timeline, exposing everyone to the possibility of Reapers, compromising the safety of everyone here—”

“You mean Reinette,” Rose replies coolly.

“She’s part of everyone here, isn’t she? Or are you so thick that I have to spell that out for you, too?”

Rose laughs again, but the sound is shaky and thin this time, a scoff. “Why, hello, Doctor, it’s nice to see you too! Don’t ask about me, thanks, I’ve been doing just fine in the land of scratchy underwear and no plumbing.”

“I told you what would happen if that time window was smashed, Rose,” he continues as if he didn’t hear her; he’s so quiet Rose can barely hear him over the flutes and harpsichord and drums, but she can still make out the strain in his voice, the bite to it. “I was very explicit. I couldn’t have been clearer. So I’m struggling to understand—and that’s quite a feat, struggling to understand something with a brain as impressive as mine—why the hell you thought jumping through that window was a good idea.”

Twisting in his grasp, Rose cranes her neck to look at him, finally, and there he is, all furrowed brow and tight mouth and eyes glittering with anger, and god, if she wasn’t so irritated with him right now, she just might kiss him.

“That’s what you were going to do, isn’t it?” she asks instead.

***

Next: Part II | Part III

anonymous asked:

your writing is amazing, and i was just going through it all again when I say you were doing drabbles!! Just finished rereading It's Complimentary!! I love it so much!!! For the drabbles could you do “I don’t do hugs.” and “Everyone keeps telling me you’re the bad guy.”. You could do it separate or together I just would like Virgil to be the focus. I can't wait to read through the drabbles you do!!! They will be awesome!!!

a/n: ahhhhh, thank you!!! <3

7. “Everyone keeps telling me you’re the bad guy.” and 56. “I don’t do hugs.“

warnings: mentions of previous parenting issues, swearing, self-deprecating thoughts, insults, mentions of fighting

Virgil hears the creak of the porch behind him and tenses—Patton’s come looking for him. Well, whatever. What the fuck does that matter? What can he possibly say to make Virgil any unhappier than he already is? Oh, I’m disappointed in you, kiddo or now, now, I expected better from you, or—or even maybe we should call your caseworker.

Whatever. Virgil doesn’t fucking care. At least if Patton sends him back to the group home he won’t have to put up with Patton’s other foster sons anymore. (And he is so terribly, terribly sick of dealing with them—especially Roman, that fucking airhead.)

But Patton doesn’t huff, or sigh, or even speak at all. He simply sits down beside Virgil on the porch steps, a couple of juice boxes in his hand. He offers one to Virgil, who narrows his eyes and shrinks away until his shoulder is pressed hard into the porch railing and snaps, “I don’t want your fucking juice, dickhead.”

Patton should definitely shout at him for that, but he doesn’t. Instead, he sets the juice off to the side and leans back on the palms of his hands. They sit in silence for a solid five minutes, staring out at Patton’s yard as the sun sets over it—it’s scattered with foam swords and plastic shields, tiny model trains, colorful toy dinosaurs, and a pair of unsolved Rubik’s cubes. It’s a house built for a family, and every part of Virgil recoils from living here. (Except, perhaps, the foolish part that utterly and entirely craves that pure belonging.)

When the silence becomes too much for Virgil to tolerate, he scowls at Patton and says, “Are you just gonna sit here all night or what, man?”

And Patton goddamn smiles at him. It’s not his usual smile, though. It’s not sunny and warm and blisteringly bright. No. This one is softer, quieter, and—and sadder. “I want to talk, kiddo.”

Virgil rolls his eyes. “Get it over with, then.”

Patton takes a deep breath and stretches his legs out in front of him, an image of picturesque relaxation. Virgil doesn’t trust it for a second. “I’ve already spoken to Roman about what happened, but I’d like to hear your side of the story before I say anything.”

“Roman was being a fucking jerk and I got pissed and I hit him.” Virgil shrugs, but tension is a tight cord running through him. What is Patton going to do to him? He hit one of Patton’s sons—one of his real sons, one of the ones who’s been with him for years, one of the ones who isn’t—isn’t Virgil, isn’t a blemish in their perfect little family, isn’t unnecessary and unwanted.

“Roman did admit that he said some mean things to you,” Patton says, nodding slowly. “It’s okay if you were angry. It’s okay if you are angry. But Virgil—”

Oh, there is was. But Virgil, I still have to punish you. But Virgil, hitting is completely uncalled for. But Virgil, you’re a fucking violent moron and we’re giving you back.

“—hitting isn’t a healthy was of expressing that anger,” Patton finishes, and that doesn’t comfort Virgil any. “You really hurt Roman.”

Virgil’s shoulders hunch. He hadn’t thought it was that bad. He’d just socked the dumbass in the jaw when he kept yammering on and on about how fucking great he was, and how very much Virgil paled in comparison. There’d only been a little red mark.

“Not physically,” Patton continues, and that grinds Virgil’s thoughts to a halt. How the fuck else could have hurt Roman? “Physically, he’s fine, although I know being hit did hurt him for a little while. I meant emotionally. He’s feeling a lot of things right now, just like you are. I won’t betray his confidence with me, but maybe you could talk to him later—once you’ve both calmed down.”

“No way.”

Patton inclines his head but lets the subject drop. They’re quiet for a while longer, and Virgil’s fingers are starting to tremble. What the fuck are they doing here? What is Patton waiting for? What is Virgil supposed to do? Should he sit here and brood in silence like a moody brat, should he snap and insult Patton like a jerk, or should he try his hand at sucking up and try to get back into Patton’s good graces?

It’s not something he’s ever contemplated before. Usually, he couldn’t care less about where he ends up or what his foster parents think about him. They’re all temporary, anyway. Everything is temporary. (Except, of course, his constant fear and loneliness—just his luck, really.)

But Patton is different. Not by much, but by some. He talks to Virgil instead of forcing him to stand in a corner or stay in his room or—or other things. He doesn’t ruffle Virgil’s hair if he leans away, he doesn’t sigh and roll his eyes if Virgil overreacts, he doesn’t give Virgil those sad, disappointed looks when his grades aren’t as good as they should be. He’s different, and that’s new and it’s scary and at times it’s stupid, but—

Virgil grinds his teeth. But nothing. “So when are you sending me back?”

Patton glances at him, surprised. “Back?”

“Yeah. Back to the home. Keep up.”

And Patton lapses into silence again. He draws one knee up up to his chest and loops an arm around it, staring hard at the grass where it’s being ruffled by the gentle breeze. Some awful, terrified thing writhes in Virgil’s chest as he waits until finally Patton says, his voice low and quiet, “Everyone keeps telling me you’re the bad guy.”

Virgil doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t. “Yeah, well. Big deal.”

“I don’t think they’re right, though. You’re not a bad guy, you’ve just been dealt a bad hand in life, but Virgil—Virgil, if you’ll let me, I’ll do my best to change that.”

That startles Virgil into silence for a moment, and he shoots Patton a wary look. What?

“I want to give you a good life here. I want to make this place home for you.”

“But?” Virgil says, scowling.

“But nothing.”

Virgil opens his mouth to speak, then shuts it again. What is he supposed to say? He needs to think of a witty retort, he needs to spook Patton away with his barbed tongue and bitter sarcasm, because this is all impossible and ridiculous and—

“Can I give you a hug?”

Virgil recoils. “Fuck no. I don’t do hugs.”

“Okay.” Patton nods. “How about a high five?”

“No.”

“Fist bump?”

Virgil stares at him, dumbfounded. “No?”

“Handshake?”

“Are you an idiot?”

Patton shrugs. “No, I don’t think so—and you aren’t either, Virgil. You know hitting Roman was wrong, so I don’t expect you to do it again. How about you come inside and we can talk about some better ways to express our anger, okay? The mosquitoes out here are starting to really bug me, if you know what I mean.”

Virgil rolls his eyes—Patton is really stupid, sometimes, but sometimes—

Sometimes, maybe, that’s not so terrible. At least it keeps Patton from yelling at him. Sighing, Virgil pushes himself to his feet and grabs one of the juice boxes Patton’s left sitting on the porch. (He ignores the surprised smile Patton offers him with steely determination. He doesn’t do it to make Patton happy. Why the fuck would he do that?)

The two of them step back into the house, and Virgil sips on his juice and listens to Patton ramble and make idiotic jokes and (for a brief, temporary time) finds himself okay. Not happy—he’s rarely happy—but okay, and that’s more than he used to. He can only hope that it’ll last. (It won’t, but—but he can hope, dammit.)

Lights On

Anonymous asked: can you do an first meet encounter? it can end however you’d like!

A/N: I kinda combined this with the one where someone requested more smut?? Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: swearing, smut, oral (male receiving)

Originally posted by justcuchu

The cool summer nights were one of your favorite things about life at the moment. You made it a habit to come to this park and sit on the swing, sketching a picture out in the dim lighting of the moon. 

It calmed you, being able to watch people as dusk fell over the park and they began packing their things to go home. Soon enough, you were alone in the park and added shading to a drawing of the worn down park bench across from you that you had started a couple days ago. 

The chains that held the swing up creaked while your legs pushed your body back and forth, swaying softly with the wind. 

You heard rushed footsteps, causing you to slam your sketchbook closed and turn your attention to the sidewalk in front of you. 

Your heart was in your throat, suddenly aware of the creepy situation ahead of you. 

The footsteps walked in front of you, tripping over the raised concrete on the sidewalk. You held back a giggle, immediately stepping off the swing set and rushing to the person. 

“Are you okay?” You said, putting your hand on the stranger’s arm while they groaned in pain. 

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Used to This - Part II

Overview: You’ve lived with the Winchesters for years as a fellow hunter, and everyone has always stayed well in the friend zone. What happens when nightmares come haunting and Dean offers to help? Will things change, or is it all in your head?

Characters: Dean, Reader, with special guest appearance by Sam

Word Count: 2,524

Warnings: Nightmares, crap motel blankets, cold feet, language, and FLUFF

A/N: I thought the first part of this was just gonna be a drabble. Then it turned into a oneshot. Now it’s turned into a mini series. Oops. Blessings bestowed up on @wheresthekillswitch and @hannahindie for fixing my letter errors and giving me all the encouragement. And Lee is the whole reason this second part even exists, so thanks to her for demanding more.

Read: (Part 1)

Cold. I noticed it in my toes first, a sharp sensation that had my feet stretching down in desperate search of my quilt. Chill bumps prickled my legs and quickly traveled up my spine and down my arms. An involuntary shudder briefly shook my shoulders. Where are my damn covers?

A sensation of blissful warmth tickled my memory, and in one quick flash it all came back to me. My eyes snapped open, my chills long forgotten as I blinked and waited for my pupils to dilate. The cold had already answered my inquiry, but my adjusted eyes confirmed it; Dean was gone.

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anonymous asked:

Could you do a blurb of edging with niall? Like him denying your orgasm multiple times until you can't take it anymore. Love your writing!!

Inspired by this

There really is no way to apologize for falling asleep during sex.  No words to even start the sentence to segway into an apology for that.  And being that Niall prided himself on being an above average lover in every sense of the word, that made it even worse.

When Annie tried to start talking all she heard was the grumbly, testy voice Irish accent as he ranted about it.

“Niall, It’s been a rough week.”

“A rough week?!?!?”  He asked as his mouth fell open, “Rough enough that ya fell asleep underneath me?  Seriously?”

“Niall-”

He turned on his heel, walking out of the room with his finger pointed in the air,

“Like I’m boring or some shit…I’ll show ya how goddamn boring I am.”  He grumbled as he walked out of the room.  He turned around with his finger in the air, “I’ll have ya know that every woman I ever been with says I’m the best they ever had.  EVERY woman.  EVER been with.”  He turned to leave the room again shaking his head, “Unbelievable.”  He turned around again, this time with his finger pointed into his chest, “I’m a good…no great.  I’m a GREAT lover.  And you’re over here fallin’ asleep like you’re in fuckin’ math class.”  He turned back around, “You wait…we’ll see who’s fuckin’ boring.  Better start prayin’ to some God…cuz your ass will be sore for a goddamn month when I’m done.”

And that was that.  He left Annie staring at him as he walked upstairs to their bedroom, never to be heard from again.  Or at least, not to be heard from for another week.

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Blue Skies

A/N: Happy Birth @snogfairy! I know I missed it last year but look!! I made something! Fantasy and everything <3

Avian!AU

Pairing: Nalu, Fairy tail

Words: 4506

Rating: T

Part: Oneshot (Angst) (Fluff)

Lucy loved flying.

She loved the feel of air whipping through her hair, of the strain on her back muscles as she rose herself high enough to find a current she could rest on, the crisp scent of pure oxygen that swirled above the clouds.

He favourite part of flying, however, had less to do with the act itself and more with the company.

“Bet I could reach that cloud that looks like an upside down cat first!” Natsu called, wings beating steady and strong as he held his position beside her. His wings were coloured like flames, yellows and oranges shimmering in the down of his feathers and close to the arch of bone that structured them, reds a rich jewel tone at the tips of his feathers with blacks and greys scattered along the outer layers like hidden shadows in the forest they played in.

“And what do I get if I win?” Lucy asked, grinning at her best friend’s challenge. While Natsu may be fast, Lucy was faster, not weighed down by a seven-foot wingspan and coiled muscles. Lucy’s wings were much more modest in length, only six feet across, but she knew they were beautiful in a way that was unmatched in her hometown. They were pure white with a soft golden undertone from the down feathers, silver tips of her outer feathers reflecting light and creating a glow that surrounded her like a halo in the moonlight.

Or at least that’s what Natsu had told her that one night they had stolen a bottle of strawberry mead from the guild kitchen and had picnicked along the edge of the lake under the light of the stars.

“I’ll fix all damaged boards and doors in your roost, but when I win you hafta cook for me for a week!” Natsu crowed, circling Lucy in an effort to expel his growing restless energy.

“My roost is damaged because you keep crash landing in it,” Lucy pointed out sourly, following Natsu’s movements as she kept her face towards him as she talked. “I mean I leave the window open every night, how you keep overestimating your landing is beyond me.”

“So you do leave it open for me,” Natsu leered, rising slightly so he could look down at Lucy. She felt heat crawl along her neck and she pouted at being caught. Stupid boy.

“Go!” Lucy shouted instead, allowing herself to drop slightly into the current below them and get a quick boost as she shot towards the cloud Natsu had pointed at.

“Cheater!” Natsu howled, following quickly on her heels. Lucy kept her arms close to her sides, laughing as Natsu cursed her loudly, voice barely carrying through the air rushing past them, words lost to the wind. Time blurred as they raced, Lucy’s heart pounding and sweat starting to bead on her temples and hairline, whipped away before she could fully register their creation. Lucy saw Natsu start to crawl into her peripheral, his eyes glinting with competitive joy and challenge. She swore under her breath, pushing herself to beat harder and cut through the air before her, weaving through different air currents and timing her beats of her wings for the most energy gained, every decision made in a millisecond through reflex alone.

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anonymous asked:

I know you have already done a lot of the ship posts (and they are all phenomenal and accurate af) but can you pretty please do Jesper and Wylan from six of crows/crooked kingdom? Xoxo <3 <3 I can't get enough of your writing tbh! Your such an inspiration, dude. <3 <3 <3 <3

I’m SO sorry this took so long, you’re such an absolute sweetheart and also christ I’ve never been called an inspiration before holy.. god

also heck i love wesper this is a treat

SEND ME A SHIP AND I’LL TELL YOU… 

who is more likely to hurt the other?

don’t.. do this

they’re genuinely so good neither of them would ever TRY to hurt the other, and they’re both so tender and apologetic if they ever do. I think I’m gonna have to say jesper though just because. he’s still a little stirred by his addiction (to trouble! to bringing two guns to a gun fight! to gambling! to love!) and he’s got some jealousy and sensitivity baked into him, bless him. I feel like he’d run a risk and break Wy’s heart by accident, a little bit

who is emotionally stronger?

a genuine toughie bc they’ve both survived and persevered so MUCH. I think in terms of immediate reactionary instincts, Jes is better at letting bad vibes roll right off of him. He’s made of smiles. He’s trouble and a good time rolled into a waistcoat. If you insult him he only gets stronger. Wy was raised in silk and champagne but he was raised BY an absolute monster so. he’s a very bruised peach. criticism pierces him v easily. Though in a more fundamental way, wylan has fashioned his past trauma into a shield. by the end of ck he’s building himself new emotional strength with his bare hands

who is physically stronger?

ohhh man. They’re both noodle boys. Wylan is too smart for exercise. Jesper does his fighting at a 20 metre distance from his target. Jesper is bigger than wylan but most of his size is gangly and delightful and awkward. I think jes could probably still beat wylan in a pinch, but I’m more caught up in how funny it would be to see them try to fight it out

who is more likely to break a bone? 

man I’m tempted to say jesper just bc he seems like he would be…… brittle. I think he gets into scrapes a lot. I think wylan starts to get into p frequent scrapes by nature of being the sixth crow. I think the both of them are so busy worrying about each other’s fights that they neglect their own and trip off a building or smth

who knows best what to say to upset the other? 

I think wylan can be a nasty piece of work when he’s pissed enough. like he may be a silk eared puppy but he’ll chew your shoes and track mud around if you forget to feed him. jesper doesn’t have a malicious bone in his body man, I think he’s a sarcasm queen and a joker but he’s definitely not mean

who is most likely to apologize first after an argument? 

I think jesper’s constantly assuming he did something wrong and he sits down with wylan 100% serious like ‘babe.. im so, so sorry. I never wanted to be the sort of person who made you look sad like that, we’re past that, I truly made a promise–’ and wy would be like ‘what no I was sad bc a screw on my flute is loose and I couldn’t practice today’. but also yeah if it’s a serious fight they make up in a rush, and they laugh at themselves, and they use their energy for something better

who treats who’s wounds more often? 

here’s the thing about the crows man, they’re always sustaining minor injuries as a team and it’s a win if they live, right? All I can picture is the roar of activity when they pull off a job and they come back limping and bleeding and swearing and crowing w joy, and jes and wy take their seats opposite each other and clean wounds, kiss foreheads, smooth back sweaty curls, squeeze hands, make promises. the routine, u kno

who is in constant need of comfort? 

uhhh both of them (it’s always both my guy jot that down). Wylan has 16 years of shitty imposed self loathing to unlearn, and traumatic experiences all over him. jes has lost a lot (including his mom) and he struggles with addiction so like. yeah they both need comfort. they both wake up w the phantom feeling of a mother’s arms around their shoulders. they’ve both seen the very worst of humanity. They’re just two nervy, high stress kids trying to figure things out

who gets more jealous? 

lmao WYLAN VAN ECK did y’all read his scenes in crooked kingdom that boy is NOT SHARING. he glared real holes in kuwei’s head guys. jesper tbh is a terrible flirt and a HANDFUL and wylan is happy. to have his hands full. no one else.

who’s most likely to walk out on the other? 

mmm nahhh

who will propose? 

u bet ur ASS it’ll be jesper. Imagine wylan’s blushing face…… he’d do it for that alone. tbh there’s probably a point in their relationship where jesper’s outrageous flirting isn’t enough to get that pretty blush from wylan like he’ll roll his eyes and shove jes in the shoulder and w/e but they have to have increasingly ridiculous conversations about kinks or w/e until that blush comes out. jesper’s like ‘dang. guess I gotta step up the romance. what’s the most romantic thing? marriage? marrying wylan? son absolutely where do i sign’

who has the most difficult parents?

lmao lm a o lmaooo Lmao LMAO lmao

who initiates hand-holding when they’re out in public? 

I feel like depending on the social climate of Ketterdam, hand holding might not be on the table?? especially for two criminals associated w the bastard of the barrel like idk man I can’t picture it. they don’t want to draw attention to themselves (well i mean. jes wants to. but they can’t). I think they’re all about sly glances and the most obvious smirks you’ve ever seen, and brushing shoulders!! brushing shoulders are their makeouts

who comes up for the other all the time? 

they’re always together man bf’s that blow shit up together and live together stay together so like they rarely have the opportunity to talk about each other. howEVER jesper probably mentions his boyfriend in the middle of a hand of poker w an inappropriate smile or gushes to w/e prisoner he’s breaking out of jail or makes Kaz’s day weird by trying to confide in him

who hogs the blankets? 

wylan is exhausted w luxury and jesper is a child who wants to be held so he rolls over and then over again so that wy always wakes up to a lapful of boyfriend and a roll of blankets and he has to wait for jesper’s heavy sleeper ass to arise so he can get up to pee 

who gets more sad? 

booooth – jesper is understated sad with a side of unnerving frowns, wylan is a wobbling mouth and clenched fists. Sometimes they stay in the Wylan Van mansion and lock the doors so the maids can’t come in, and they bring the lavish decorative pillows into a heap on the carpet and feed each other sweets and rub each others backs and laugh and laugh the darkness away. wylan sketches. jesper poses. there’s scheming & kaz impressions. jesper is a storyteller and he imagines out loud what nina or inej are up to at that very minute, controlling gravity and hearts and the sea and their lives 

who is better at cheering the other up? 

see above ^^ they both go pro at the comfort olympics. Jesper is that little bit better though. He’s a sweetheart with all the right words in his pockets. He knows how to chop wylan’s dad down like the overgrown dead tree that he is. he knows how to flirt a smile onto wy’s face. he maybe lacks delicacy sometimes, but he’s so fun and wholehearted and warm that he can’t really go wrong

who’s the one that playfully slaps the other all the time after they make silly jokes?

this is canon y’all, jesper is a lecherous bastard and wylan is equal parts disdain and delight. he absolutely will slap a boy

who is more streetwise?

god bless wylan but he knows a hell of a lot less about the streets than jes. He’s learning fast by the end of ck, but he’s still very sheltered in a lot of ways. Jesper has a few years under his belt, and he’s.. like tbh he’s a part of a gang so. He’s seen a lot. He’s participated in a lot. He has a pretty steep list of kills, same as every other survivor out there. He’s detached from the deaths but he’s been on the other side of a lot of bullets that have crumpled people up and thrown them in the trash. He knows his business, too. He knows Ketterdam. Well. Wy knows the half of it Kaz wants him to see.

who is more wise?

Wylan is utterly brilliant and Jesper is wholeheartedly here for it. What was that line again? ‘you’re cuter when you’re smart’? Wylan can think his way out of just about anything, the world belongs to him. jsyk

who’s the shyest? 

Wylan absolutely what a sweetie. I mean a lot of it stems from unfortunate self esteem issues and a history of being burnt but a lot of it is pure soul deep candy sweet embarrassment and not knowing what to do w his own cute face. He doesn’t know how to deal w people a lot of the time. he knows sheet music & formulas. he does not know how to look at a boy with beautiful lips all curled up at him and not pass out

who boasts about the other more? 

jesper is loudmouthed usually and he’s that much more loudmouthed when he’s in love, catch him talking to anyone who will listen about wy’s stupid face 

who sits on who’s lap? 

jesper would definitely try it, don’t even test him, he would fold all his crane limbs into wylan’s lap and say ‘hello peaches’ and wylan would have to slide both of them onto the floor to escape his embarrassment. on a good day, jes’ll scoop wylan into his lap and he’ll feel quiet, for a while

“Can’t Sleep”

A crack SnowBaz fic for the Carry On Countdown

“Why are you still up?”

Simon froze.  He’d assumed Baz would be asleep by now.

“Studying,” he mumbled, “in the library.”

           Baz didn’t say anything more, so Simon tiptoed across the room and into the bathroom to get ready for bed.  His head was swimming with essay nonsense.  He hadn’t expected Penny to keep him there that long.  And anyway, he’d figured Baz would still be who-knows-where and wouldn’t be in the room to see him come in.

           A few minutes later Simon emerged from the bathroom and flopped onto his bed.  Baz seemed to be asleep, or at least he didn’t say anything.  Simon crawled under the covers and lay on his back, staring at the ceiling.  He didn’t seem to be able to close his eyes.  Or he could, but not properly.  They didn’t stay closed.  His mind was still too awake.  He turned over and tried to get comfortable, forced his eyes shut.  Quiet thoughts, he chanted in his head, sleepy thoughts.  But everything he thought of turned to words, and all the words were strung together like something out of a very surreal dictionary.  He flopped onto his other side.  The words prattled on like strings of code.

           Finally, he simply sat up in bed.  This wasn’t working.  He bunched up his pillow in his lap and leaned on it.  His head hung forward, curls falling in front of his eyes. It wasn’t that he wasn’t tired, he was exhausted.  Any position would have been comfortable right now.  But his brain wasn’t having it.

           “What are you doing?”

           Simon jumped at Baz’s curious voice.

           “Just can’t sleep.”  He waited for Baz to retort with something along the lines of well neither can I with all the racket you’re making.  But the scathing reply didn’t come.

           Instead, Baz sat up, too.  

           “What’s wrong?” he murmured.

           Okay, this is weird.

           “I can’t turn my brain off.”

           “That’s new, normally you can’t turn your brain on.

           There it was.

           “Sorry,” Baz muttered, “I don’t know why I said that.”

           “You must be tired.  I was expecting an insult much earlier.”  

           Then Baz did something Simon wasn’t expecting: he smiled.  It was hard to see, but it was there.

           He had a nice smile, when it was genuine. Soft and shy.  It made Simon smile, too.

           “It’s also kind of cold in here,” he added.

           “Three guesses why.”

           Simon shrugged unapologetically.  He had left the window open again.  He always left the window open.  It was closed now, thanks to Baz no doubt, but their room hadn’t had a chance to warm up yet.

           “Just go back to sleep,” Simon told him.  “I’ll be fine.”

           Baz was quiet for a minute.  A long minute.  It wouldn’t have felt so long if the air hadn’t been charged with something unsaid.  It made Simon curious, because he felt sure that he had nothing to say.  

           So what did Baz want to say?

           “You alright?” Simon asked.

           Baz thought for a second longer, then pulled back a corner of his covers and glanced shyly up at Simon.

           “What?” Simon stammered.

           “You said you were cold.” Baz was so quiet he was almost unintelligible.

           What the heck was going on?  Simon hated Baz and Baz hated Simon.  That had always been their relationship.  Maybe it wasn’t one that Simon enjoyed or got much validation from, but that was just them. And what’s more, Baz was undoubtedly the meaner of the two of them, never hesitating to hit Simon exactly where he knew it would hurt the most.

           So why in the world was Baz being nice to him?

           It’s some sort of trick.

           Shut up, Simon told himself.

           He stood.  He moved forward.

           And before he knew it, he was curled up under Baz’s covers, drowning in a warm, heady smell like Christmas.  Cedar trees and citrus.  

           Instantly his head was full of nothing but that smell, like he was drifting through a cloud of it.

           His eyes closed involuntarily, and now they stayed closed.

           “Baz?” he murmured sleepily.

           “Yes?”

           “I don’t want to fight anymore.”

           There was a pause.

           And then he felt Baz take him in his arms and draw him close.  “Me neither.”

           “Let’s stop then.”

           “We can’t.”

           “Why not?”

           Baz didn’t say anything.

           “We don’t have to fight,” Simon sighed, burying his face in the hollow of Baz’s neck.  “We could just…”

           “Just what?” Baz’s voice came from above Simon’s ears, from somewhere in his curls.

           “This.”

           In the last second before Simon drifted off, he felt Baz’s throat hum as he answered.

           “Okay.”

Dream Daddy Zodiac Signs

I’ve seen a couple of these, but I thought I would try my own hand at imagining zodiac signs for each character since I enjoy that kind of thing!

Craig: Virgo

- Virgos are traditionally health-conscious, in need of their personal idea of perfection, and are extremely hard on themselves. They put the needs of others above their own, which ties in with Craig’s theme of ignoring his own needs in order to be the perfect father for his perfect daughters. In college, Craig likely tried to be his perfect “broself”, which meant the wild antics with Dad. Regardless of where he is in life, he puts the needs and expectations of others on high priority.

Mat: Pisces

- Pisces are traditionally a fluid, submissive sign. They absorb everything from everyone around them and as such their identities can be strongly tied to the scene around them - in Mat’s case, the music scene. Like a Pisces, Mat is sensitive and shy yet well-loved by those in his scene despite any awkwardness, age differences, or lack of being a performer anymore (before Dad gets through to him, at least). Pisces gain strength by being uplifted and supported by those closest to them despite any insecurities they may hold, and that is exactly what we see Mat experience with Dad in his route.

Brian: Taurus

- Taurus is all about the earthly, sensual pleasures of a good lawn, great house, fantastic cooking, and enjoying the outdoors.  They enjoy a good competition, but aren’t necessarily a bad loser about it if they don’t have fun.  As long as they are with good company, good food, and fun, it’s all good. They are proud of their possessions and family, which are regarded as their finest achievements.  Unlike, their brother sign Scorpio, they typically aren’t trying to piss you off by boasting with an ulterior motive; if they do come across as a braggart, it really is out of love and pride for their joy.  …They are Brian Harding, basically.

Robert: Scorpio Aquarius

- On all the lists I have seen, Robert’s placement is the most consistent: Scorpio. I don’t disagree! He has so many Scorpionic themes surrounding him, but I want to try something different and place him as Aquarius

.- Aquarius is known for being a contrarian (which is exactly what Robert would have wanted lmao), a little out there, a little distant, yet also a friend. They are difficult to truly know and have strong opinions that sometimes only make sense to them. They are the type to disappear on you for a while without apology, which is definitely behavior we see in Robert (Scorpio will also do the same thing lol). Aquariuses are also attracted to occult things like ghosts and cryptids and whatnot, and we know about Robert and the Dover Ghost. However, infiltrating a ghost tour group and fabricating an entire story just because Dad wanted a t-shirt? Making up random lies just to get a reaction from Dad (and others)? Doing fun and random shit on a first date? Being a little weird about casual sex and emotion? Actually just being weird about emotion in general? Aquarius, Aquarius, Aquarius, Aquarius, aaaand Aquarius.  In closing, Robert is honestly just delightfully weird and doesn’t give a fuck about it, which definitely could be Scorpio as mostly agreed upon but is also positively an Aquarius feature.

Damien: Libra

- Libra is the sign of balance and belonging, and we see that as a theme in Damien’s route.  He wants to be a part of the Victorian Goth lifestyle and has styled his personal look, including his entire home, to reflect that romantic aesthetic, which is what Libra is all about.  After all, Libra is heavily associated with Beauty.  Then there is the Damien who is a part of mainstream culture with seemingly no reservations about it.  And he needs Dad to know and understand that both are a part of him.  Libra also has a distaste for the ugly things in life, like arguments and violence and wish everything to be harmonious to them. Of course, we also see in Damien’s route when his need to present a certain way interferes with his fear of horror.  Despite how dark he may dress, Damien, like a Libra, definitely is a fan of the lighter things in life.

Hugo: Cancer

- Sensitive and imaginative by nature, it’s hard to find a Cancer who doesn’t enjoy finding themselves lost in the fantasy of books or the stage (or, in Hugo’s case both since the ring is really just a stage).  Initially they have a shell, but when they start to trust, they gradually open themselves to you until you are privy to things no one else has ever known about them.  Cancers often have a nurturing side that draws them to help others reach their full potential, perhaps as a teacher as Hugo has done. But the most important thing about Cancers are their family.  They will do anything to love and support their family, even if it means suppressing their own desires (not that that won’t make them moodier than they already are…).  In Hugo’s route, we see this with his frustration with having to be the authoritarian teacher dad while his ex gets to be the fun weekend dad; even though he doesn’t enjoy it, he feels Ernest needs it more than anything. (ALTHOUGH WE FIND OUT THAT ERNEST REALLY JUST NEEDED A PLAYMATE :’) )

Joseph: Sagittarius

- Sagittarians are traditionally optimists with a love of freedom, adventure, culture, and higher thought.  No matter what is happening in his life, Joseph never shows that it gets to him, even when he has a strong desire to escape to the Margarita Zone, which is a typical for a Sagittarius that doesn’t just run away outright.  What seems to bind Joseph to his family and community is the Sagittarian’s eternal search for a higher truth, which he has found as a Christian youth minister.  Unfortunately, there is also a side to Sagittarius that can take their strong beliefs in an extreme direction without regard for others if excess energy is not provided with an appropriate outlet.

anonymous asked:

HIIIIII. Can you do a papasuke fic or sth? I saw a chibi drawing of papasuke and sarada bean (from blanket-fictions) and it's soooo cute I can't help it. I LOVE YOU AND YOUR WRITINGS. YOU ARE AWESOME!!!! HEARTHEARTHEART

before he leaves, sasuke gives sarada an envelope of photos from the better parts of his past. he tells her to open it, to look at them, and sarada fingers the yellowed flap tentatively. he thinks, amused, that she’s moving a little too cautiously for its contents and hopes she won’t be that disappointed when she sees what he’s collected.

“i am not a sentimental man,” he says, “but i have, admittedly, saved some memories from over the years.” she pauses to listen to him but he nods back at the envelope. “i’d like you to have them.”

“why?”

he just smiles and shakes his head and tells her to open it. with her beside him, he hears her breath hitch at the first photo.

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Dr. Frederick Chilton / Secret Admirer.

Per post HERE by @xemopeachx
re: Frederick being in love with you from afar.

Originally posted by jarodleto

I also tag @mrschiltoncat in damn near anything Chilton I post because I <3 her and I think she’ll like the fluffs haha.


Was this creepy?

Frederick thought it might be, but then again, all things considered: it wasn’t really the creepiest thing that could happen in the Hospital…

Yet still, he wouldn’t put his name on it. Not on the ribbon that he had tied around the stem, not on the little post-it note he had noticed on your desk, not in an email to explain the slight oddity.

Oh no; Frederick wouldn’t reveal how he noticed the bracelet you wore every day when you handed him the abundance of files you had been diligently working on, nor would he explain how much he loved the floral scent of your perfume when it wafted his way. That would have been creepy- to relay how he thought of you every time he ever saw the common little flower that matched the charms dangling from that gold chain dangling from your wrist. No, it would be unprofessional for him to describe how he had passed the same little flower shop he walked by every day and noticed a bundle of the familiar ivory petals surrounding the bright, sunshine center. 

He also wouldn’t tell you how it lit up his morning, much like you had a way of lighting up his dark little hospital.

Dear Lord No- he would never imagine letting you know how he had purposefully rushed the rest of the way to work, skipped getting the coffee he enjoyed every morning, just to beat you to the office.

And no way in Hell would Frederick ever tell you that he was the one who put the daisy on your desk.

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A nice ring to it... (Parental!Moxiety)

Heya! So, I decided to write this on a whim because I adore @thatsthat24 ‘s Sander’s sides and because I adore them my inner author had to make them suffer (what is with authors and doing that??) But! yeah! If you’ve got love, hate, or criticisms comment, message me, or feel free to rebagel all ‘ya want! hopefully I’ll be writing more fanfics and some original stuff so if you want to ignore this or follow, it’ll ALWAYS be tagged as #epic writes and #epic’s fic tag! my name is Epic (Alex) and this has been fun!

Written for @scaredysanders, and the Discord; thank you for the inspiration to write something after years of not being able to LOOK at a keyboard as a writer! Y’all are all FAM <3 ILY!

It was the third time this week that Virgil Sanders found himself awake at three in the morning, ripped from sleep by cold, sweating fear and a shaking so bad he’d briefly woken up his host. and it was the third night this week that he found himself shaking and nearly running down the corridors of the mind of said host to Logan and Patton’s side, stopping at a simple white bedroom door with a fancy scrawl of cursive reading ‘Patton’ in a soft sky blue, his hand reaching out to rap against the wood in urgency. ‘This is so stupid, you know…’ his thoughts provided. 

‘Why can’t you let the poor man sleep for once, hmm? You know he’s sick of your presence by now- the voice of cruelty was cut off by a sleepy but worried looking Patton, who awoke at the sight of the youngest trait shaking and curled in on himself, a look of haunted worry in his eyes. Virgil looked down but shuffled forward to hug the other trait and grasped him tightly, as if he would disappear as soon as he let go. “Kiddo….” Patton managed, feeling his heart break at Virgil’s actions. When he heard Virgil let out a quiet, sobbing huff, he knew to lead them both inside his room gently and quietly shut the door behind him.

They moved over to the bed to sit down and Virgil finally letting his experiences sting the air. They were gone, all of them- the rest of the sides and their host; it was just Virgil floating in an endless and crushing abyss where felt the echoes of them screaming for mercy- for the help and safety that he’d ripped from them without memory in his subconsciously crafted terror. All of the agony, all of that guilt, all of the sorrow that he was panicking about not feeling; just the hurt and betrayed voices calling out to him- oh, god-no, I’m sorry please make it stop- 

And just when he was losing himself, when tendrils of fear and terror he was unwittingly making were starting to mar Morality’s subspace, he was enveloped in an embrace that screamed of love, Patton pouring all of his represented embodiment into comforting the scared boy before him. “It’s okay, Virgil…I’ve got you- you’re safe and no-one is gone I swear.” his voice somehow reached Virgil and the inky black fear rescinded it’s siege on the room as well as Virgil’s panic, being replaced by…by….comfort, love, compassion, relaxation, soothing senses and a fading urgency. Yes, Patton’s room was truly antithesis to his own- it was love, self-care and a safety he could never know without it’s existence. 

“Listen son, I think you should stay with me tonight, yeah?” Patton asked, rubbing gentle circles into the cold and faintly damp back of Virgil’s shirt. Virgil shakily mumbled out a ‘yes’ and an ‘I’m sorry’ the second statement to Patton’s confusion. “What’s there to be sorry for, kiddo?” 

“I just- you shouldn’t have to wake up and-and take care of me like I’m a child.” he pointed out in embarrassment. “I should be dealing with this alone and in my own room, not….crying into your shirt like a kid that can’t handle a few unpleasant dreams, Pat!” his face was red, and his eyes swam with tears he refused -and failed- to not shed. “I do enough damage in the waking world, y’know? I should at least give everyone a break from this…mess…” silence greeted the room for a while, and Patton had stopped rubbing Virgil’s back (and oh, how he missed the touch–warm, familiar, comforting, heavy in care.) 

Eventually, Patton looked at Anxiety-because he wasn’t, couldn’t be just Virgil and forsake his embodiment, his being and make-up- and carefully took a pale, cold hand in both of his warm, slightly tanned ones. “Kiddo, you could never be a burden. This isn’t just some bad dream that you’re not ‘mature enough to handle’ sport; this is a dream that made you, the embodiment of worry, instinct and fear wake up in fear. That’s not something anyone should be alone to go through.” Patton urged firmly. Honestly, the look on his face seemed so-serious, concerned, out of place- yet, so too does this whole stupid- “Nothing is out of place when it comes to things like this, Verge; it’s my job- and my pleasure!-to make sure everyone is taken care of around here and…if I have to get serious on occasion, then I’ll gladly take that up. Just…try not to think so little of yourself, okay? You’re allowed to feel bad, sure, but I draw the line at dangerous or toxic behavior, son.”

Virgil sighed in uneasy appreciation and nodded in agreement. If anything, he could at least try to adhere to Patton’s advice and make himself less of a burden. “Okay dad I’ll try….um; are you okay?” The look that Patton was giving him was one of a teary smile and the elder nodded in affirmation. “It’s just- it’s nice to hear you call me that….” and Virgil faintly smiled with a small sigh before getting under the warm, soft, and heavy weighted covers of Patton’s bed. “Goodnight, dad.” he breathed, sighing in contentment as the room alleviated his previous scares and worries to replace them with love and a sense of safety one would get from a….parent. huh. 

‘Well,’ he guessed as Patton joined him under the blankets and cuddled up to him, entwined their legs and squeezed his waist in reassurance, ‘that title fits well with Patton and I should say it more often.’ those were his last thoughts as he drifted off listening to his parent’s heartbeat, feeling loved and assured as a pleasant sleep greeted him. Dad has a nice ring to it.

anonymous asked:

"the hushed conversations under Aaron’s duvet during the early, tentative days of their newfound relationship" OMG you have to write about this! You can't write this sentence and not to write more! Please?

Robert had stayed over often enough for it to be a routine, now. It was still early days, still those tentative first weeks where they were just getting used to each other again, mapping out the territory of their new relationship, but they were starting to build a sort of routine, and it had started with Aaron suggesting Robert leave some clothes at his.

Until now, Robert had been heading back to Victoria’s to shower and change after spending the night at Aaron’s, but now he had a drawer of Aaron’s dresser for some clean clothes and underwear, a set of pyjamas to sleep in so he could stop borrowing Aaron’s too-short tracksuit bottoms, and a random mess of his face-wash and moisturiser, and toothbrush, sitting on one of the lockers.

It felt real.

There was a lot they hadn’t done yet, as a couple, there was a lot Aaron still wasn’t ready for, but Robert couldn’t bring himself to care, if he was honest. What they had now, it was so much more, the nights they would stay up and just talk, and learn all the things they’d never had time to learn about each other during the affair.

It felt good.

It was past one am, now, the Woolpack quiet, pub shut for the evening, the rest of the Dingles who called the pub home in bed. He and Aaron had gone for a few pints, after work, and watched a shitty film in the backroom before they’d decided to go to bed, Aaron asking if he was going to stay with a hopeful smile on his face.

It was a new expression, one Robert hadn’t seen before, at least. Aaron would bite his lip slightly, looking at him with wide eyes and an almost shy smile, inquiring if he was going to head back to Victoria’s for the night.

As if.

Robert didn’t want to be anywhere Aaron wasn’t.

Shifting slightly so he was lying on his side, looking at Aaron intently. “Where’s your dream place to go on holiday?” he asked, continuing their new nightly routine of twenty questions, asking each other all the things couples should know about each other.

Aaron looked thoughtful, hair still damp against his forehead. He’d gone for a shower, before bed, his usual routine, Robert had noticed - he’d always been a shower in the morning guy, himself, but Aaron had shrugged and admitted he liked to wash the day off.

“Ibiza,” Aaron said, decisive.

Robert snorted. “Ibiza? You’re such a lad!”

Aaron rolled his eyes. “Alright, you wanker,” he shook his head. “What’s wrong with Ibiza? It’s got the sun, the alcohol….”

“The girls,” Robert mocked, earning himself a shove from Aaron.

“Haha.” Aaron rolled his eyes. “I went there once, you know.”

“Yeah?”

Aaron nodded. “Best holiday I’ve ever been on,” he admitted. “First time in my life I felt like I could be happy.”

“Why?” Robert asked, genuinely curious. He’d never much been interested in going to Ibiza, if he was honestly - he’d done the posh resorts in Spain, and Italy, with Chrissie, holidayed in Greece with mates once, when he was twenty one, but he’d never been too bothered about going to Ibiza.

“There was no hassle, no problems,” Aaron shrugged. “I got to hang out on the beach and drink with my mates, felt like a proper teenager.”

Robert gave him a soft smile. “I might not be up for Ibiza, but we should go on holiday,” he nudged, reaching across the space between them in Aaron’s bed, tangling their fingers together.

“Where?”

Robert thought for a second, thought of all the places in the world he wanted to see, all the places he wanted to go with Aaron. “Anywhere,” he declared. “Anywhere where I can have ya all to myself.”

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anonymous asked:

"you were the lilac blossoms of spring and i was the glistening, murderous lava, yet you still loved me" prompt based-ish on your header image ((it's so cool!! i can't tell what it is but it's so cool!!)

Endearment

“Smile!”

Seung-gil glanced up as a body draped over his back and a camera appeared in front of his face. He barely had a second to blink before the flash went off, blind him momentarily.

“Wǎan jai,” Phichit whined, “Why didn’t you smile?” His boyfriend of two years whined before getting off his back and appearing beside him with a pout and his phone inches from his face.

“What does that mean?” he questioned while bending down slightly to get a better look at the photo. He didn’t mind the photo, it was rather cute. Phichit on his back with an arm around his neck grinning wildly for the camera which he stared blankly at. He made a note to try and send it to himself next time Phichit was separated from his phone, maybe he would have the chance tonight if Phichit fall asleep before him.

“What? Wǎan jai?” Phichit repeated while closing the photo and slipping it away. He hummed softly in confirmation, earning a bright smile in response.

“It’s just an endearment. Nothing bad, promise!” Phichit said with a wink before leaning up on his toes to plant a kiss on his cheek.

“Endearment,” he mumbled while quickly grabbing Phichit’s hand before the tanned male could slip away.

“Yes, endearment. Use one on me,” Phichit gasped, looking up at him excitedly. He stared down at his boyfriend as a light blush covered his cheeks.

“You want me to use-“

“To use an endearment on me. Please!” Phichit begged. He stared down at his boyfriends face for a moment before gently squeezing Phichit’s hand.

“Yobo,” he said ever so softly.

“Again.” Phichit demanded, startling him.

“Yobo,” he repeated, clearly and a little louder this time.

“Again.” He raised an eyebrow, not understanding why Phichit wanted him to say it again.

“Chagiya,” he said instead, earning himself an excited look.

“Have I ever told you how much I love you speaking Korean?”

Seung-gil couldn’t help but snort and shake his head in amusement.

“Lilac,” he stated simply, earning a confused look from his boyfriend.

“That was in English?” Phichit said hesitantly, clearly not sure.

“Yes,” he hummed before pulling Phichit closer, “but you are my Lilac.”

“Why a lilac?” Phichit questioned while wrapping his only free arm around his neck, holding them closely together.

“You are my lilac blossom of spring,” he mumbled while pressing their foreheads together.

“Oh? And what are you?”

“Glistening, murderous lava,” he replied while letting his eyes slide closed.

“Huh?” Phichit mumbled, confusion clear in his tone.

“You are my lilac blossom of spring and I am the glistening, murderous lava. And yet, you still love me.” He mumbled, content to just stand there pressed against his boyfriend.

“Where did that come from, you dork?” Phichit chuckled before shoving him back a step, he opened his eyes just in time to watch Phichit grab his face in both hands and draw him into a deep kiss.

“But I love you too,” the words were mumbled against his lips and they tasted so sweet.

Secrets

*Pynch Week 2017, Day 3 Prompt: “What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?”

Adam is barefoot, wrapped up in an expensive-looking silk robe patterned with koi fish and lotus blossoms. Ronan knows he should stop staring, especially taking into account the situation they’re in, but he can’t. Adam tightens the belt, pulling the robe close around his lean body.

“Are you mad?” Ronan asks. He can’t meet Adam’s eyes. Instead he focuses on Adam’s hands, which are clutching the top of the robe to keep it closed. He’s flushed from the neck down and trembling. “Adam? Please say something.”

“I’m not—I’m not mad.” Adam’s voice shakes and he takes a deep breath before continuing. “I thought you were coming up this afternoon, when I’m done with classes.”

Ronan fidgets, shoving his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. “I was, but I wanted to surprise you. And I drove all night. I thought I could take you for breakfast or coffee…”

Adam groans and sinks down, sitting on the floor with his back to the wall. He pulls his legs underneath him, taking care not to flash Ronan. Adam buries his face in his hands and continues making distressed noises.

“Adam…” Ronan crouches in front of him and places a careful hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay.” Adam shakes his head. “C’mon Parrish, if I was mad you would fucking know it. I’m not mad. I’m surprised, very, very surprised. But not upset. Okay? I mean, it’s your body and you can—”

“Oh my God, Ronan, just stop!” Adam pushes one hand over Ronan’s mouth. His face is red and his eyes are red and he looks suspiciously like he might cry. “Can we not do this here?”

Ronan sighs, the noise muffled by Adam’s hand. He reaches up and covers Adam’s hand with his and kisses Adam’s palm. He’s always been better about communicating his thoughts with actions instead of words and he hopes that his feelings will get through to Adam.

Of course Adam starts bawling.

“Oh shit,” Ronan mumbles. He doesn’t have any tissues so he pulls Adam to him, pressing Adam’s face to his chest so that his T-shirt can absorb Adam’s tears. He rubs Adam’s back and looks around, feeling weirdly exposed in the empty office.

It takes Adam several minutes to calm down. He says something about needing to get ready for class and Ronan turns away so that Adam can disrobe and get dressed. When he turns back around Ronan is relieved to find Adam wearing his familiar, albeit extremely worn, Coca-Cola T-shirt. Ronan plucks at the hem and Adam shrugs as if to say “what, this old thing?”

They walk across campus together. It’s late on a Friday morning and the big lawn is already busy with students studying, playing Frisbee, and setting up hammocks and beach towels. Adam is distracted but he still takes Ronan by the hand, guiding him through the masses of students to one of the on-campus coffee shops.

“What about class?” Ronan asks.

“I think…” Adam studies the chalkboard menu, choosing his words with care, “that this is more important.” Ronan stares. “What? I can afford to miss a class. Anyways, I would never be able to focus.”

“Sorry,” Ronan mutters. He can’t believe how epically he’s screwed things up by arriving ahead of schedule.

The line shuffles forward slowly. When it’s finally their turn Ronan has no idea what he wants so Adam orders them both chai lattes. They wait in silence for their drinks. Ronan can’t stop looking at Adam. It’s been over a month since they’ve seen each other in person, since their totally ridiculous spring break trip to the beach. Adam’s still as tan as ever, still fit and slender and gorgeous and… Ronan can’t stop seeing him, the way he looked in the silk robe, the way he looked before that…

“Ronan.” Adam elbows him. Ronan blinks and shakes his head. “You were staring,” Adam points out. He’s smiling, just a little, and it makes Ronan’s heart skip a beat. It’s going to be okay.

“C’mon, let’s go to the library. We can talk in one of the study rooms.” Ronan nods and follows Adam to the library. It’s a massive building, four floors, one of which is devoted to study rooms and research cubicles. Adam, being one of the student workers, arranges for him and Ronan to have a study room and the girl who signs the room out to them gives Ronan a not so subtle thumbs up. He pretends not to notice.

The room is furnished with a table, rolling chairs, and a whiteboard. Generic artwork decorates the beige walls. Everything about the room is so neat and devoid of personality that it depresses Ronan on a fundamental level. He grabs the blue dry erase marker and starts scrawling dirty jokes in Latin on the whiteboard. The marker squeaks horribly, emphasizing the silence, their silence.

“You got the verb conjugation wrong,” Adam says, stepping up behind Ronan and using his fingers to erase one of the words. He takes the marker and writes in the proper word. Ronan snorts something that sounds like college guy.

“So… are you going to ask or are you going to make me spell it out?” Adam asks. He sits down on the edge of the table, shoulders hunched forwards, fingers laced together between his knees.

“Well,” Ronan huffs as he collapses into one of the rolling chairs and spins it around a few times, “I could ask why you were naked in front of any entire classroom but I’m pretty sure I know the answer.”

Adam blushes and looks away.

“I just don’t understand why you’re acting like it’s a big deal,” Ronan says. He’s trying so hard to be careful because clearly Adam is upset.

“It’s not a big deal, I mean, being a model for an art class isn’t something I’m ashamed of I just wish…” Adam pauses, takes a deep breath. His hands are gripping each other so hard that his knuckles are white. “I wish that I had told you before. But I couldn’t think of a good way to bring it up and I didn’t want you to get weird about it.”

Ronan twirls in his chair, thinking it over. “Look, it’s not like you were cheating. And I totally trust you so if this is something you want to do I’m not going to say no. Jesus. I’m not that guy, Adam. I don’t want to ever be that guy.”

“I know! But then my roommates found out and they were like ‘oh your boyfriend won’t like it.’ So I got all insecure…”

Ronan scoots his chair over to Adam, moving until he’s right in front of him, hands braced on Adam’s knees. “Parrish. For the love of fuck those assholes don’t know shit about me. You do. Now, tell me, how did you end up modeling in the first place? Not trying to pick a fight but you’ve never struck me as the type—”

“To get naked in front of strangers?” Adam supplies. His mouth quirks up in a brief smile that’s equal parts self-deprecating and amused. “Actually, the art teacher approached me about it. I was helping her last semester with some research for one of the pieces she’s working on and she told me that I have a really interesting face and that I should think about modeling for her class.” Ronan snorts. “Yeah, well, I didn’t think much of it at first. But we talked about it some more and I found out how much it paid and what would be expected of me, and I talked to a few students who model.”

Ronan laughs. “God, you love researching don’t you?”

Adam nods. “It’s what I’m good at. The bottom line is that it’s a good opportunity. It doesn’t interfere with my classes and all the students are professional and respectful.” Adam splays his hands out in front of him, like he’s offering Ronan the answer, spread out on his palms. Ronan presses his hands, palm to palm, with Adam’s. They sit like that for several moments, studying each other, like they can communicate just with their eyes and the touch of their skin. Adam takes a deep, relieved breath, letting it out slowly.

“C’mere,” Ronan says, gently pulling at Adam’s wrists. Adam moves from the table to Ronan’s lap, straddling him, arms looped around his shoulders, their foreheads pressed together. “I kinda feel like I should say something really heart-felt right now,” Ronan murmurs, his breath ghosting along Adam’s cheek.

Adam laughs, “Please don’t.”

“Oh, good.” Ronan’s nose brushes against Adam’s, making both of them grin. “I will say though, I want to see those drawings when they’re done. Might have to pilfer one. For reasons.”

“Oh, reasons? What reasons could those be?”

“Adam Parrish, are you trying to get me to talk dirty to you in a library? For shame!”

Adam’s laugh is too loud for a library. “Libraries are great for dirty talk. Let me just guide you to the HQ section…”

“Are you going to give me more required reading? Is that what this is all about, a ploy to bring me to your domain and bury me in erotica?”

“Oh my God! The Song of Achilles is not erotica!”

Ronan hugs Adam to him and kisses his collarbone. “I’m just kidding. You know I loved the hell out of that book.”

“Uh-huh, come on, you heathen. Let’s get out of here.” Adam grabs Ronan’s hands and drags him to his feet. And just like that their equilibrium is restored. Adam hugs Ronan one more time and whispers in his ear, “Thanks.”

Ronan whispers back, “You owe me a drawing.”

[Closing notes: Adam is a great model! He’s very professional and he can hold a pose for hours, no problem. He just zones out and thinks about Cabeswater or the tarot just like he did when he used to scry. Random personal fact: my college roommate used to model for the art department so I’m kind of borrowing from her experience!]

Todoroki vs Bakugou and Midoriya

Not a shipping post.

Let’s talk about Todoroki and the way he relates to people.
Specifically, to Midoriya and Bakugou.
I think it’s safe to say that the three of them are, at this point in the story, the Main Three. They’re arguably the strongest boy in class 1-A. They’re also, as I mentioned briefly before foils for each other.
So how do they relate?

Where Midoriya strikes up an easy friendship with Iida and Ururaka from the start, and Bakugou seems to become bro’s with Kirishima fairly early on, Todoroki is… slow to warm up to people.
The kid has spent his childhood isolated, so that’s easy to understand.
If you want to go symbolic, you could also say that his fire side, and how he uses it, quite literally makes him warm up to people. Getting to grips with that side of himself is a major part of his character development, and as he becomes more attuned to his own personality, it makes sense that he’d become more comfortable with other people as well.

 Sports Festival

Let’s start at de sports festival, because we get some very nice development for all three of them.

 Todoroki vs Midoriya

Todoroki singles Midoriya out fairly early on, when he does that whole ‘declaration of war’ thing. At this point, I don’t think he does this purely based on merit? The kid he’s 'going to beat’ barely made it into UA, he’s nowhere near the top of the class but Todoroki can recognize a quality seedling when he sees one.
He watched Midoriya’s fight with Bakugou in the Heroes & Villains exercise, he watched Midoriya jump in during the villain invasion.
And what he recognized there was that out of all of his classmates,
Midoriya is the one most like All Might.
He even says this, at some point.

And while it’s played off as a joke, with him assuming he’s All Might’s illegitimate son, he’s not… that far off, really?
Either way, it’s this link that draws him to Midoriya.
Todoroki, you see, is an All Might fanboy. (they literally all are)
He may have been 'created’ as an Endeavour 2.0, to BEAT All Might, but in those moments with his mom, what he truly wanted was to be LIKE All Might.
He wants to be that kind of hero.
All Might himself mentions that the both of them had the same sort of vibe.
Among his peers, Midoriya is the closest to All Might 2.0, in type of power, in general disposition and in the sense that they’re literally pretty close.
It makes sense that Todoroki would see him as 'the one to beat’.


(why is everything so long)

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