if i finish my work i'll try to do something more

Be a d*ck to your freelancer? I'll have your job.

(warning: long story)

Backstory:

This happened about 3 years ago. I was still in college for digital marketing (like advertising and graphic design). Since I had no time to work even a part time job, I would do some freelance graphic design in the little time I had. Mainly in the later hours of the night, I would still answer emails during the day though. It was good money, a couple hundred here and there, but it wasn’t enough. The company that ran the cafeteria in my school went through bankruptcy and I was taken off our 21-meals-a-week plan. I had to resort to putting (very) small ads in the newspaper and started looking for more jobs online rather than posting a listing on Craigslist as I previously had. I got a few good jobs, everything seemed great at this point.

Then the fatal night happened. I received an email at about 10:45 at night. It was mid-week so it was a bit odd for someone to be emailing me this late, especially since I had school the next day and they probably had work. Right off the bat I had a sketchy feeling about this, as the subject was “I need an ad made” and the message was “Ok?”. As per usual, I respond right away asking for more details. He said he had ran a custom shower company and he wants me to Photoshop a picture, add text and then format it for billboard printing.

He sends me the image and it’s a “custom” shower with two shower heads that are on. He wants me to remove one of the heads. I tell him that it will be difficult due to the fact the streams are crossing. He replies with “So? Just f*cking do it.” I finish the ad for him and I’m about to watermark it so I can send him a final copy then request payment. Then I realize that it’s already f*cking watermarked, faintly in the corner by another shower company, and it doesn’t match his. This douchebag motherf*cker stole a picture from another local company.

I tell him that I won’t do the ad because he’s using a copyrighted picture, and that I can replace it and keep the text. He “rages” and claims that he took the photo with his phone earlier that week. At this point I have better things to be doing, so I block his emails, as they were getting to be harassment.

Fast forward two weeks.

I get a call from an unknown number saying that I f*cked up and that he just paid another designer “big bucks” for the same job. These calls continue over the next week and I just start ignoring them.

Here’s where something magical happens. He starts texting me, but it’s with his actual f*cking number. I think he tried to *67 me, but it doesn’t work through texting. This will come back to bite him in the ass when we get to the revenge part.

Here’s where the revenge comes in:

After the semester ends, I decide to drive around 2 hours to visit my parents for the week I have between the semesters. While I’m driving on the freeway I see something familiar. It’s the photo the guy wanted me to make into an ad for him on a billboard. Then I realize that the ad on the billboard is for HIS F*CKING COMPANY, although he clearly didn’t hire another designer. It looks as if he made it in MSPaint. I get off at the next exit so I can get a few pictures and write down the location.

When I get back from my parents’ house, I immediately start up my computer and try to get into contact with the company who owns the photo. I send them the pictures and location along with his emails. They thank me and I happily go to bed.

Fast forward a month.

I get a call on a Saturday morning saying that the company who owns the photo needed me to come in to their offices to discuss a few things. Turns out that they ended up filing a lawsuit over the copyright issue as he still claimed it to be his photo.

The judge told me while I was in court (as a witness) that I would be able to file for harassment and get a restraining order. Normally I wouldn’t care, but the harassment would go on his record.

Because of all the legal fees, his company went under. I later found out that he tried to start up another company of similar sorts but he would have to tell his employees of his harassment charge. That company went under as well because he couldn’t find anyone to work for him.

Get f*cked.

master-sass-blast  asked:

Right. So. Might be mildly addicted to your 'Gods and Monsters' series. Definitely need an intervention, but I'll prolly ignore that anyway, so... anyway, can you do something with Zeus and Hera? I've always thought it was massively whack that the goddess of fidelity was with --according to Greek mythos--one of the biggest adulterers on Olympus. Definitely smelling a bit of an abusive relationship there, if you catch my drift... okay byeeeee

Hera, the young goddess of marriage and family, is only unfaithful to her husband once.

She seduces Zeus first, right as the war ends and they’re all pain and ash and thrumming with the excitement of victory. She smiles just so and touches his bloody chest, her hand pale against the dark copper of his skin and, and when he looks at her his eyes spark with the lightning he so easily commands. She is named his wife that very night, her body littered with bruises from his rough, eager hands, and she tells herself the bile at the back of her throat tastes like victory.

She is queen of the gods. This is what she wants.

They’ve all claimed their domains and gone their separate ways, Demeter to the earth, Hades to the underworld, and Hestia to Olympus where they plan to build their palace. But Poseidon still lingers. “Don’t you have an ocean to conquer?” she asks.

He looks at her, then behind her to where Zeus is busy sketching plans for Olympus. “You don’t have to do this,” he says softly, “you – you can come with me if you want. Or I’m sure Hades would take you.”

Hera has no time for Poseidon and his soft heart. “I will only belong to the best,” she says, tossing her head so her crown of curls fall over her shoulder. “You should go. You have work to do.”

“There are more important things than power,” he says uncomfortably, shifting from foot to foot.

“No,” she says, “there aren’t.”

~

Hera would not mind Zeus’s women so much if they were not constantly giving him children, something she has been unable to do.

She is an obedient wife. She does not turn her powers against him, and she’s tolerant of his mortals at first, but the longer she is empty of child the less patience she has. How can she be the goddess of family without one of her own?

Her spite gets in her way, and she hurls every kind of obstacle and curse she can at the woman her husband lies with. At first he is angry with her, and bruises litter her throat and wrists. Then, as her wrath and powers grow, he is afraid of her. He watches her warily, sneaking to the mortal realm when before he wouldn’t even try to hide it. He submits when she pins him to the bed and rides him hard, desperate for a child of his, desperate to fulfill the perfect image of wife and mother she’s built for herself.

No matter her magic, no matter how many times they lie together, Hera does not get with child.

She goes to Hestia, and her sister presses a hand to her stomach and purses her lips and says, “Must it be his child?”

Hera stares. She’s the goddess of marriage and family. She is not capable of infidelity. “I – I can’t.”

“Just once,” Hestia says, “the problem is not with you, nor with him, clearly. Only the combination of you both. Lie with any other man, and you will have your child.”

So Hera, just once, puts on a disguise and goes to the mortal realm. She finds a man with skin darker than Zeus’s, a rich warm brown that matches his soft eyes. She lies with him, and it hurts. He is kind and patient and kisses the edge of her jaw, her shoulders, her navel. But to be unfaithful grates against her very nature as a goddess, and every moment is agony. He finishes, his mouth whispering kind things against her own, and she leaves as soon as she can.

It works. She becomes round with child, and is happier than she’s been in a long time. She does not mind Zeus’s mortals, and he even becomes kinder while the baby grows inside of her. His hands become softer, and he spends less time away from Olympus.

The baby is born, and Zeus is furious.

The child is too dark to be his, and he tears it from Hera’s hands while she lies exhausted from the birth. “What do you care?” she cries, struggling to stand, “You have dozens of children. What does it matter if I have one?”

He holds the baby in one hand and grabs her jaw with the other, pulling her to her knees. “You are my wife,” he hisses, “the goddess of marriage and family. You will have my child, or no child at all.”

He throws the baby from Mount Olympus. Hera screams, pushing herself away from him and attempting to jump after it. Zeus catches her around the waist, and with a crackle of power and roar of rage, he sends a lightning bolt after the baby.

The child may have survived the fall, but not the lightning.

“NO!” Hera screeches, clawing at his arm as she struggles to escape his grasp. Normally she’s not this helpless against him, but delivering her baby has left her weaker than she’s ever been before.

He presses the flat of his hand against her swollen womb, adding pressure until she cries out in pain and tries to squirm away from him. “My child,” he repeats, voice low and terrible, “or no child at all.”

He lets her go, and she collapses, grasping out a hand over the edge of Olympus. But the blood between her thighs is still wet, and she can’t find the energy to stand. She wonders if she’ll have to crawl down the mountain to retrieve her baby’s corpse.

“Sister!” Soft hands grab her shoulder and gently roll her onto her back. Hestia’s face fills her vision, and Hera has never seen the older goddess of hearth and fire look so cold. “I’ll kill him,” she says, hands hovering over Hera like she’s not sure where to begin. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think this would happen, I didn’t think he would – I didn’t think.”

Hera curls on her side until she can place her head in her sister’s lap. She’s not sobbing anymore, she’s never been one to fall into hysterics, but she can’t stop crying, a steady stream of tears dripping silently down her face. Hestia runs trembling hands through her hair. “Don’t,” she whispers, “I did this, this is my fault. I – I should have known better.”

Hestia’s hand cup her face, leaning over so she can look her in the eye. “This is not your fault.”

Her sister stands and picks her up in her arms. Hera tries to tell her to put her down, that Zeus will be angry if she leaves, that she did this to herself. But she falls unconscious before she can get any of it out.

~

Hera awakens someplace soft and warm. She opens her eyes, and she’s inside Hades’s palace. Her confusion lasts only until her memories come rushing back, and then she has to bite her lip until it bleeds to stop herself from crying out.

“Hestia brought you here. She’s returned to Olympus to cover for you both. Do not worry – Zeus doesn’t know where you are.” She turns her head, and sees the goddess of magic at her side. Hecate smiles, “I have mended you, do not worry. All is well.”

All is not well. That statement is so far from true, and her instant urge is to crush Hecate to dust for the audacity. Before she can make up her mind one way or the other, there’s a soft knock on the door. It opens to reveal her elder brother. “I have something that belongs to you,” he says, and Here focuses on the bundle in the crook of his elbow.

Her baby’s corpse. She’s relieved someone thought to get it. Her heart feels like lead, and all the control she’d had over her emotions is gone instantly. She hopes they’ll leave her alone to hold the body of her child and weep.

Hades gingerly sits on the edge of the bed, and Hecate rises to help Hera prop herself up so she’s at least sitting. “He’s a strong little thing,” Hades says, and Hera doesn’t understand.

Then a warm, wriggling baby is placed in her arms. He’s got great big eyes and his mouth splits into a toothless grin when he sees her. “He’s alive,” she says numbly.

“Not without sacrifice,” Hecate says softly, and reaches over to undo the blanket he’s swaddled in.

Her son has no legs below his knees.

“Zeus’s lightning bolt didn’t kill him, but we cannot return what was lost,” Hades says, pained. “When he’s older, maybe we can do something, give him something in place of legs. But for now, there’s nothing I can do.”

The king of the underworld is the most powerful god after her husband. Hera knows that, even if Zeus doesn’t. If Hades can’t do anything about her son’s legs, then no can. But he’s alive, Zeus didn’t manage to kill him, and Hera finds herself so grateful that she’s holding a smiling, living child that she can’t be anything but relieved. Her son is alive, and happy. He doesn’t need legs.

“I can’t bring him back to Olympus,” she looks up at them, “Can you find someone to raise him? Someone you trust?”

She doesn’t trust anyone, so it can’t be her choosing.

“You’re going back to him?” Hecate demands, “Hestia said – but I thought for sure – you don’t have to! Don’t go back to him!”

“I must,” she holds her son to her chest, and he reaches out with chubby hands to tug at her hair. “I am the goddess of marriage, and he is my husband.”

Hecate stares, aghast. “Don’t – don’t, Hera. Please. Stay here. Hades will protect you.”

She looks up at her brother, and he raises an eyebrow. He would protect her, he would put himself in between her and Zeus’s wrath if she asked him to. But she won’t, and she thinks he knows it. She says, “I am Hera of the Heights, of Argos, of the Mound. I am the cow eyed, white armed goddess of marriage and of family. I am Hera, queen of the gods.” She looks down at her son, and her heart clenches, because for now a title that cannot be afforded to her is that of mother. “I will not abandon my dominion, nor my husband. I will return to Mount Olympus.”

“But you don’t love him,” Hecate says helplessly.

Hera stares, baffled that anyone could think her marriage had anything to do with love. “Of course not. But this isn’t about love. It’s about power.”

The goddess of magic swallows, then says, “I will raise him.”

Even Hades is surprised by that. “Hecate?”

“I will raise him,” she repeats, “He will stay with me, safe in the underworld where Zeus cannot find him, until he’s old enough and strong enough to protect himself.”

“Thank you,” Hera says, and lowers her head enough to kiss the top of her son’s head. “Tell him that I’m the one that threw him from Olympus.” When she looks up, Hades is resigned while Hecate looks on in horror. “Tell him, tell everyone. I gave birth to a hideous son, and I threw him from Olympus. His legs were crushed in the fall. I did this. Zeus tried to stop me, but could not.”

“Why?” Hecate asks.

Hera smiles down at her son, her heart full with a helpless sort of love. “So that when he ventures from the safety of the underworld, Zeus will have no reason to hurt him. So that when he comes to Olympus, Zeus will be unable to hurt him without explaining he was the one that tried to kill him in the first place.” She runs the back of her finger down his cheek, and he grabs it, his little fist holding onto her. “Blame me, and he will be safe.”

Hecate looks like she wants to argue. Hades puts a hand on her shoulder and asks Hera, “What’s his name?”

Her son smiles, and tugs at her hand, the beginnings of a giggle gurgling in his throat.

“His name is Hephaestus.”

~

When she returns, she no longer has any patience for Zeus’s mortals. When before she had only inconvenienced them, now she’s not playing any games. Those that do not die end up wishing they had, and she’s especially vindictive to any mortal carrying her husband’s child.

She sits on her throne, waiting, a smirk curled around the corner of her lips.

Zeus barges in and charges towards her. He’s so angry smoke is rising off his skin. “You,” he hisses, “this is your doing.”

“Whatever do you mean?” she asks, unflinching when he slams his hands on either side of her head, crushing the back of her throne with the force of it.

“She and the children are dead,” he snarls, “my children are dead! I know this is your doing, it reeks of your handiwork.”

Hera slides forward to the edge of her throne, their faces nearly touching, and spreads her legs. He flexes his hands, because even at his most furious he still wants her. She is his wife and his queen. She banishes her clothing so she’s spread out before him, hair piled high and jewelry glinting around her neck. “What are you going to do about it?”

He kisses her hard enough to bruise, and Hera crosses her legs around his back, urging him closer. “Why are you doing this?” he hisses, mouthing at her neck, because he hates her even as he loves her, hates her because he loves her, and loves her because he hates her.

She waits until he’s inside her to lick the shell of his ear and whisper, “My child, or no child at all, husband.”

When he breaks her skin with his teeth, she only laughs.

They do this to each other. Maybe they are meant to be together.


gods and monsters series part xv

read more from the gods and monsters series here

Watching your crush make That Face™ after he gets a shot (Never missing even one)


A little something for a fic I’m working on, once I finish the third chapter I’ll post it but for now all that exists of it currently is this.

I can’t say too much on what it’s gonna be about without spoiling but I can tell you this(keep in mind this is mostly set pre-all that universal domination shit)

Lance is actually one of the weapon testers at the Galran labs (He’s usually hopping between Altea and Daibazaal) The lab he’s in helps to create different prototypes of weapons powered by quintessence so he gets to try them out and pretty much gives advice on what they could do better with it.
Lance is pretty much Altea’s top sharpshooter, also having skills in stealth and one of their top strategists. (We need more BAMF!Lance okay, I’m tired I want my boy to be appreciated thank you very much) He’s also very charismatic and if there were bars for his charisma levels they’d be filled ok. He can pretty much smooth talk his way out of everything…almost.

Keith is one of Zarkon’s generals, hopping between missions in the system/on planet. On the rare times he gets a break he doesn’t have much to do so he just hangs around the lab watching the engineers and scientists do their thing. (Totally not there for that one cute Altean guy nopenopenope)

He has exceptional skill working and fighting with various blades and weapons of that nature. He’s one of their top pilots and fighters and leads his one unti (Even if he really doesn’t want to but they can mostly take care of themselves so there’s no babysitting involved)

autistic studying advice

by an autistic undergrad

1) Don’t trust all study guides by NTs

Their brains are wired differently and some things that work for them won’t work for us. There’s a chance those tips and tricks won’t do anything for you, which might make you feel like a failure. You aren’t! If something doesn’t work, move on. It’s okay.

2) If you have executive dysfunction, laziness and lack of motivation is not your problem

When you struggle with executing tasks it may feel like you are lazy and aren’t motivated enough, but that’s not necessarily true! You might be hella motivated and still not be able to do a task. Trying to motivate yourself in that case will only make you more frustrated.

3) Get distractions out of the way

Little things that would not distract a neurotypical person might distract you, in which case you won’t be able to work to your full capacity. Build a sensory friendly environment with no noises, bright lights, bad smells, etc. Use ear plugs or music if you need to. Get stim toys if you stim a lot to concentrate. Good environment is very important and is probably the reason why you struggle at school/college/uni where your senses might be overstimulated.

4) If you tend to hyperfocus, learn when it happens

Hyperfocus can be incredibly useful for studying, so if it happens to you, try to identify when it happens. For me I tend to hyperfocus when there are absolutely no distractions (for me that often means when I have headphones on and I’m alone). Then replicate those factors to get more done.

5) Learn ways around executive dysfunction and limited energy

This is the most difficult part. Studying when you have problems with executing tasks and limited spoons (energy resources) is tough. Here’s how you can deal with it.

6) Understand your priorities

You will not be able to do as much as NTs do in one day. Deal with it now. Understand that simple tasks such as brushing your teeth or talking on the phone also require energy. So prioritize. Assume you can only do one thing today, the most important/urgent one, and do that first. Then the less important thing. And so on.

7) “Don’t half-ass things” is a lie

Half-ass things. Quarter-ass things. If you can only do one math problem today, do it. That will be one less math problem later. If you can only read a few pages of a textbook today, do it. It’s also easy to think “if I can’t write the essay and finish that project today, might as well do nothing”. That’s a lie too. Do a small thing but do something. Do something badly but still do it. You might be able to fix it later. There’s no shame in being disabled, no matter what society makes you think.

8) Do the most complicated thing first

If you have several tasks and one requires more executive functioning, do that first. Your planning skills are probably at best right after you wake up, before you have time to spend any energy. So that’s the best time to do tasks with many steps or to plan tasks ahead.

9) Rest and take breaks right

It’s important to take breaks in between work, but you have to do it right. You might be tempted to do something useful for a break to be productive - like take a walk or read a book or talk to someone. Do not, or at least do not unless you are absolutely sure. Switching to another task requires mental energy, so that will only deplete your energy sources.

For breaks, do something ridiculously easy. Go on social media. Listen to a song and sing along. Watch a YouTube video. Stim. Daydream. Even lay down and close your eyes for five minutes. Just don’t switch to tasks that also require energy.

10) Don’t try to learn by repetition

Studies show that learning by repetition doesn’t work for us. It will not help you make more connections in your brain. Instead, do different tasks. Read from a book. Write down important points from the book. Read them out loud. Try to repeat them without looking. Pretend to explain it to someone. Answer questions related to the material. Draw it. Watch a video about it. Make a mnemonic for it. Whatever. Just don’t sit there reading it again and again.

11) Be kind to yourself

Your energy levels and capabilities will fluctuate from day to day, and you can’t always know how it will turn out. On some days I can write an essay from scratch in one sitting. On others I struggle to make myself a cup of tea. That’s normal, and it’s not your fault. Blaming yourself for it will only upset you and make it less likely that you do at least something today.

Imagine it like this: you are playing a game, and the difficulty setting randomly switches every day. On some days it’s on easy and you get through five levels with no problems. On some days it’s on very difficult and you can’t even get to the first checkpoint. That’s okay. Say to yourself, “my abilities haven’t changed, the difficulty changed”. Today, just get to that checkpoint. Tomorrow you might get through five levels.

12) Learn from other autistic people

For any other problem you might come across, other autistic people are the best source of knowledge. Allistic parents, teachers, friends, mentors, etc are likely to not understand your problem at all, or give you bad advice. Instead consult the real autism experts - actually autistic people. There are plenty of us who got through school, college and/or uni. Reach out to them. They will help.

Good luck!

Concept: Mickey and Emil have been friends basically since they both began skating. They’re really close, and when I say close I mean HELLA. Sleepovers, friendship bracelet exchange when they were 12 (Emil still wears his outside of skating, and while Mickey will never admit it he still keeps his in his wallet of all places), the whole deal. Sara is also part of their friend group, but she’s definitely not as close to Emil as Mickey is.

And then puberty hits and Mickey suddenly becomes very aware of Emil and his closeness to Sara. In reality, nothing’s really changed, but he’s begun to get a weird tight feeling in his chest whenever he sees Emil smiling and laughing with Sara. He begins to be a lot more protective over Sara because that’s what it’s gotta be, right? Sara is getting prettier each year, and as her big brother he has a responsibility to keep men from taking advantage of her. Even if it’s Emil, who he’s known for years. Anyways, there’s nothing else this feeling can be, right? Right. Nothing more than protectiveness.

Keep reading

I Found You.

Prompt: (Soulmate AU) Pain demands to be felt. Sometimes by more than one.

“Wow, look at you, Mr. Cranky. What’s up?” Blaise greets Draco too cheerfully in a gloomy London Monday morning.

“Shut it, Zabini. It’s too early to deal with your shits.” Draco snaps.

“Whoa, okay, something is clearly wrong. Wanna share?” Draco almost snaps for the second time in the morning, but the concern in Blaise’s eyes softens his cranky side.

“It’s nothing, just woke up this morning and sore all over the place.”

“Soulmate things?” Draco only nods. “I hate this thing you know, I mean one day we live for 21 years and the next second we’re being tied to this one particular person which is a pain in the ass because we have to share their pain.”

“Well, you have exactly 21 years to fool around. It’s your fault to waste it. And by the way, you don’t have to search for your soulmate, you know.”

“Yeah, well, I would give my life to stop worrying while waking up with cuts all over my body. Thank you very much.”

“Good luck finding that klutz of your life. I’ll wait for the invitation.” Draco finally can grin for the first time in that morning before taking his ordered coffee, and leave the small coffee shop.

*

Draco Malfoy always wonders about his soulmate. On the day he turned 21, there was suddenly bruises on his ribs. He couldn’t sleep that day, worrying whether the person he is being tied to will survive the day or not, as more bruises and cuts kept coming. He relaxed once he can feel the repeated stinging pain of needle on the corner of his eyebrow. That day never stops, and Draco never stops worrying, even after one year of that dreadful night.

Now that he’s 22, he already can control his emotions. Some days he’s worried sick inside his office as the pain just keeps resonating over and over, but some other days, like today, he only feels irritated as he woke up with tenderness all over his body. He sometimes feels grateful that his job won’t cause the person on his other end any more pain than they needs to endure, but most days he feels so irritated that he cuts himself on purpose to upset the other person. Being a healer is very safe when you know what you’re doing.

Sometimes he wonders what kind of job that his soulmate has, but nowadays he’s certain that it must be resonating with the word “Auror” or anything similar to that. Nothing can cause more pain than being in that bloody department of the ministry. Unfortunately not once he found the injured Auror that belongs to him. Not yet.

*

“Ow, fuck! Seriously, woman, blow your hot drinks before you drink it. You can at least have self preservation if not to save your soulmate tongue!” Pansy snaps to no one while drinking her ice Americano. Blaise laughs openly at that.

“It seems like I’m not the only one who has a klutz as my soulmate.”

“Yeah, she’s a klutz sometimes, not as bad as yours though.” Both Draco and Blaise stare at her in shock.

“Wh- What? She? Have you met her?” Draco asks incredulously.

“Well, no, but yesterday I felt a strong pain on my lower region, so I believe my soulmate is a she.”

“Are you sure? I mean they could get kicked in that area, or bump into something.” Pansy rolls her eyes.

“Draco, darling, I know what cramp pain feels like, so I strongly believe that she’s a girl.”

“Well, congratulation! You’re one step ahead to stop losing your mind out of worry.” Blaise says while hugging Pansy.

“Good on you, love—” Draco’s sentence is being cut by a painful blow on his stomach. Fuck. The next blow is so strong; it knocks him to his knees. His hand is tightly gripping the desk beside him while the other clutching his side stomach. The next wave of pain comes barreling through his body before his mind can catch up on how to breathe properly. He can feel the blood rushing out of his face, this pain is different. He doesn’t feel anything but pain before when this attack comes, but now he feels something else, something worse. Despair.

“Draco! Draco, can you hear me?!” Pansy’s panic voice break through his pain filled mind, but Draco can’t bring himself to answer her. He can clearly feel the despair on his soulmate bond. He can feel how the other person starts losing his will to live. No. Don’t. Please, I haven’t found you. You have to survive this one. He can hear his heavy breathing when the pain finally stops, or at least reduces to dull throbbing in his body. When he is finally aware of his surrounding, someone bursts through his office door. Pansy and Blaise, who are both kneeling beside Draco with concern eyes, suddenly glare to the nurse on the door.

“What do you want?” Pansy snaps.

“Healer Draco, there’s an emergency patient in an immediate need of surgery.” She speaks in rapid pace. Draco is still trying to catch his breathing.

“Where are the other healers? He can’t perform a surgery, right now.” Blaise asks politely.

“There are no other healers, please, he’ll die if you don’t operate him.”

“Pans, Blaise, it’s alright. I’m okay. I’ll be in the room in two minutes.” With that Draco stands up and goes to the operation room. The nurse is already there. “Just us two?”

“Just us two, the others are not available due to the recent attack on the ministry.” Draco steps into the light and freezes when he sees his patient’s face. Freckles with ginger hair. Ronald Weasley.

“Well, it really has been awhile, Weasley.” Draco performs the quite long surgery in just 4 hours, effectively removing the long painful metal from Ron’s shoulder and picking up all the scraps after he successfully undo the curse Ron has been shot with. The dull throbs never stop while he’s conducting the surgery, but nothing that he can ease with a small hiss or sharp intake of breath. Draco was just cleaning the blood on the Ron’s stitches when the surgery room’s door slams open with a force. Draco snaps at the nurse on the door, who turns out to be his apprentice/assistant. “Can’t you see that this surgery is not finished yet?! There are rules to follow, Rachel!”

“I’m sorry, Draco, I can do whatever you’re doing to that patient right now. This one is more important.” Rachel says in panic, and without permission she pulls a patient inside the surgery room. Draco’s heart drops to the floor when he sees the patient. Harry Potter is literally dripping blood to the floor. Bruises all over the place, but what concerns Draco is his split up chest that is oozing a scary amount of blood.

“Fuck, what happened to him?!”

“I don’t know, bloody Auror mission had gone wrong, probably? And this is not the worst of it.” With that Rachel show him the chunk of metal ripping through Potter’s thigh, deep enough to rip a tendon, deep enough to forbid him from running for the rest of his life. Draco sighs tiredly, why did Harry bloody Potter love to do something that will accelerate his own death? Merlin, help him.

“Uh- you, nurse over there, just bring Weasley to his room and clean him there. Rachel helps me with this one.” Draco says frantically. He cleans all the blood from Harry’s body while Rachel is already supplying the lifeless body with blood transfusion. Draco recognizes the curse from when he was forced to witness the Death Eater tortured their prisoner. It was a special signature curse from one of the Death Eater he hates the most, Dolohov. So, Harry has been dueling with Dolohov and what? Lose? A shudder rips through Draco’s spine. “How’s the other one?” Draco asks Rachel.

“The other one?”

“Yes, the other one he’s been fighting.” Draco snaps.

“Oh, yes, the other one is dead.” Oh, so he won. Thank Merlin, he won. Not in a very good shape though, he could die in a few minutes if Draco doesn’t act. Thank Merlin, Draco knows the counter curse. Draco points his wand on the open wound while muttering the incantation. His wand is rigid in his hand, his wand is not supposed to move or the incantation will fail. Apparently it’s an impossible task, because right when the spell works his chest fills with pain. Draco cries out while his knees buckle. Fuck. He tries once again with the same result. Fuck.

“Draco, what’s wrong?”

“I think you need to help me. Make sure that I don’t move, especially my wand, or else the spell won’t work.”

“Why are you in pain?”

“Apparently the counter curse hurts as much as the curse, so unless you’re doing the counter curse, I need you to help me stay still.”

“But –you’re not –but that means –your pain? –you and him?” Poor Rachel can’t even conjure a sentence.

“Yes, apparently fate has a weird way of playing with my life.” With that, Draco stands up with Rachel pointing her wand at Draco’s hand, casting spell so that his hand won’t move anywhere. After a few minutes with excruciating pain, Draco manages to close the wound on Harry’s chest.

“Alright, you have to bear the pain, Draco. I’m going to pull this metal out of his thigh.”

“Do it in one swift clean motion, or else you’ll rip whatever chance he has to run again.” Rachel points her wand at the large piece of metal. “On three. One. Two. Three.” Draco screams as the metal is being pulled out of Harry’s thigh. After that, they both finish their work on Harry Potter, releasing him to his room after his condition stabilizes in two hours.

*

Draco stays with Potter in his room after the bloody tiring surgery, catching up with the sleep he has lost over worrying for his bloody soulmate –Merlin, his soulmate is sodding Harry fucking Potter, how is that even possible? Now it’s clear why he never stops getting bruises and cut, but that can wait until later, right now a nap sounds really good.

*

Harry wakes up in a very familiar white room. Of course he’s in St. Mungo, he was barely alive when he managed to save Ron from Dolohov curse. He was very certain that he will not see another day, but here he is, lying soundlessly in a hospital bed. He feels another presence beside him, but he turns only to find a very familiar shade of blond. Malfoy. Malfoy looks so peaceful while sleeping, his head being supported by his hands on the bed, back rising slowly with each breath he takes. Somehow Malfoy looks breathtakingly innocent while sleeping, and that lures Harry in because the next thing he knows is he’s stroking the blond strands gently while willing for Malfoy to sleep a little longer.

That jinxes it though because now Malfoy is awake. Very much awake and very much confuse with Harry’s hand on his hair. Harry retracts his hand quickly, beyond embarrassed.

“How are you, Potter?” Draco asks professionally, so Harry sucks a deep breath to muster all his courage and apathy to answer him.

“Sore.” That makes Draco chuckles.

“Yeah, no wonder. The counter curse was suck, but the ripping a chunk of metal from your thigh part was a bitch.” Harry can only stares at Draco, he’s speaking in a very weird way. “Congratulation on killing Dolohov, though. Weasley is safe and sound, sleeping like a baby in the next room. Just friendly reminders though, the next time you’re getting beaten up, don’t start losing hope on living. The pain I can handle, the despair just simply makes me insane.” Draco smiles at him softly with concern in his grey orbs. “Your chest is fine, your thigh –not so much–”

“Malfoy.” Harry tries to cut his unnecessary professionalism.

“I’m afraid you have ripped your tendon, a physical therapy could–”

“Malfoy—”

“Help you to heal it faster, but—”

“Draco!” Harry finally snaps, Draco looks at Harry with annoyance.

“Stop interrupting me! You cannot run, Potter! You ripped your tendon. It will heal, but you cannot run until then. There I said my piece, stop interrupting me, Merlin. What do you want?”

“Are you saying what I think you are saying?”

“I’m not saying anything, what do you mean?”

“I’m saying about you can handle the pain. Are you saying that you’re my soulmate?” Harry asks exasperatedly. Draco’s face goes with recognition.

“Oh, that, yeah. I thought we already established that by what I’m saying. What you need prove?” Draco doesn’t wait for an answer; he just casually cuts his finger on the paper that he brought.

“Ow! Yeah, no, stop hurting yourself, I didn’t say I need any proof, you git!”

“What? It’s just a paper cut, you usually gives me new bruises for every week.” Draco says innocently which draws Harry more and more.

“Just come here, please.” Draco stands beside his bed, but Harry needs him closer, so he pulls Draco’s white coat collar down, effectively crushing their mouths together. Their kisses are gentle, and somehow fiercely sweet. “God, I never thought I’d live to see this day. I finally find you.” Harry says between kisses.

Thank Merlin, you survived. Thank you. I found you now.


P.S. Sorry this is not a very good one. I’ll probably rewrite this in the near future.

anonymous asked:

Hey! Could I request a Scenario for Shiro where his S/O helps bandage up some minor wounds and maybe it gets an little Smexy ( If ya catch my drift ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) )

OK, I’m so so sorry this took so long! I was like halfway through with it when my computer decided to freeze up and crash on me before I saved. I was/still am pissed.

But here we are. Just a little NSFW.

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anonymous asked:

Yo if you wanna try reactions then go for it! I'll request to give you a boost: you being handsy with a guy friend they already told you they didn't like

Jin:

 He didn’t find the male friend a threat at all. He trusted you enough to make the right decision so when he saw you two talking, he didn’t address it. However, he’d hear you on the phone laughing away and using this guy’s name way too often. He did feel a little tinge of jealousy, he wondered what was so special about this guy that he could have you laughing on the phone for a solid 10 minutes. When Jin saw you two laughing and pushing away at each other, he confronted you about it the same day asking who was the guy and where did he come from. 

“Who is this guy? He came into your life out of nowhere and is making you laugh more than I have!”

Originally posted by bwiseoks


Yoongi:

He didn’t mind you having male friends, he was just very picky on who they were. When you asked if he could come over to you two’s shared apartment to simply study for exams, Yoongi would have to sleep on that question. He hated to be that boyfriend, so he agreed mainly because it was for an important cause. The whole time your friend was there, the atmosphere was dead awkward. Yoongi sat right beside you with his hands locked on your hips staring at the guy making him uncomfortable. He eventually had to step out of the room to take an important phone call, but when he got back to see another hand placed on your knee that wasn’t his, he was having none of it. 

“This study session is over it’s getting late pack up and go home.”

“But Yoongi it’s only 5, we have more time.”

“Why aren’t you out my house already? Go home.”

Originally posted by jeonbase

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messedupmoon  asked:

"but I don't even have a grave... " "It's okay. I'll make one for you"

Happy Birthday messedupmoon!

 

 

“Where were you buried, Phantom?”

Danny nearly dropped the thermos that held the most recently captured ghost, Box Ghost on the sidewalk next to the Fenton Works “Wait, what?”

Jack Fenton, as per usual, missed the actual question. “Maddie wanted to know where you were buried,”

Danny clipped the thermos back on his belt to empty later “no, no, I mean,” Danny looked at his parents curiously “Why do you want to know?”

Maddie looked over to her husband “It was really Jack’s idea,”

Jack shrugged “It’s our anniversary!”

Danny blinked “ok… now I’m really confused.”

“Our anniversary since we made the truce! Since we, ya know, stopped… hunting you.”

Danny squirmed a bit at that “oh.”

Danny’s eyes widen as his mom, or Maddie got a bouquet of flowers out of no-where. “So, we got these for your grave.”

At a last-ditch effort to change the subject, Danny coughed “Um, yeah, well” He lowered the bouquet “I didn’t get you guys anything. So, it’s, um, only fair if I don’t get anything.” He drifted a few feet back “so… yeah.”

Maddie scoffed “you didn’t need to get us anything, it’s not like it was a part of the truce.”

“I- uh…” Danny took a deep breath “look, the truth is, I just… I just don’t have one, ok? I- those flowers… it was a really nice gesture, but I don’t even have a grave to put them with. Save your gifts for someone who was actually buried.”

Both parents were very silent. Danny, with nothing more to say, flew away as quick as possible.

 

~

 

“For a guy who took down millionaires, ghost of ancient yore and unspeakable horrors, you are one hell of a chicken.” Wes huffed.

Danny dragged his face across his hands and slumped down on Wes’s navy-blue bed “I knnnoooww

Wes then walked over and plopped next to Danny then leaned against him “So, why haven’t you told them yet?”

“Um, force of habit?”

Wes cut him a sharp look.

Danny sighed “I don’t know, I mean, sure. My parents aren’t trying to hunt me down for science. And that’s great! And I don’t want to tempt fate but…”

Wes was the one who finished the sentence “But you’re still terrified of them?”

Danny reached for Wes’s hand and squeezed. “… yes.”

“Danny, your parents hunted you down for sport and science, you don’t forget something like that too easily.”

Danny nodded “True. But I don’t see many options of morally telling them I’m dead and not feel guilty about it.”

Wes snorted “Danny, dude. They used to try to kill you. I think you’re ‘morally excused’ for lying to them to feel some sense of safety.”

Danny pause “good point.”

Wes hummed in agreement.

Suddenly Danny’s eyes widen as he jumped off the bed “Aw crap.”

Wes, because of the lack of support, fell on his side. “What? What!”

Danny quickly transformed into Phantom “I forgot to release the ghost box into the portal!”

Before Wes could respond Danny opened the window and jumped out.

Wes gave a small playful smile “freak’en, drama queen.”

Danny hovered up the window and gave him finger-guns “you know it.” Then shot off.

The town went off as a blur.

Within seconds, he was back at Fenton Works and eased through the bricks like butter. The familiar smell of singed ectoplasm invaded is nose as soon as he came into the house. He then drifted through the floors until he reached the basement.

As quickly as he could, he emptied the Thermos. Danny could swear that he heard a soft “beware!” before the toxic green vortex swallowed him.

“Hello, Phantom.”

Danny shot up another five feet until he realized who it was “ah, um, hello mo- Maddie. Didn’t uh, didn’t see you there…”

Maddie waved him over “C’mon. I got something to show you.”

Danny raised a brow “Ok… where?”

She began walking up the steps. “It’s in the middle of town square, nothing unfamiliar.”

Partly out of curiosity, partly out of amusement, Danny followed her.

                                                 ~

Danny looked around “Is there something I’m supposed to be seeing here?“

Maddie pointed to the statue. “look around there.”

“Well, alright. I don’t see anything wrong with…” then, Danny spotted it.

The bouquet of flowers.

But that wasn’t just it. Next to it was stones painted with little pictures of him that looked like they were made with small unsteady hands. Along with it were a stack of letters and a larger stone with the word “PHANTOM” across it.

Danny suddenly began to blink faster and smeared his eyes. He also recognized that these weren’t his parents handwriting “Who…”

Somehow, Jack, despite his size, managed to appear out of nowhere. “That would be the kindergarteners work! Turns out, they were already working on this certain thing and could never find you. And heard about the no-grave-situation. So…” he gestured to it all “they did this!”

Maddie smiled “It was so cute too.” After they heard they said, ‘It’s okay. I’ll make one for you’ and that was that.”

No matter how hard Danny tried to smear his eyes, teardrops flowed down and followed the curves of his face. He wanted to say something, preferably thank you, but his throat felt like someone stuffed cotton in it.

Jack blinked “are you- are you crying? Ghosts do that?”

That sentence made the tear fall down harder and Danny’s vison blurred. For both Jack and Maddie, that was enough of an answer.

Both Jack and Maddie looked at each other unsure, Jack looked back to Danny “so… do you like it?”

Danny gave a warm laugh “I love it.”

 

 

Authors note: So, I saw that you were posting a lot of Danny X Wes ships so if that’s ok I decided to sprinkle some of that in. Also, I hope you like?

thanks-b  asked:

Hello Jenny, ur account is so inspiring, so that's why I want to ask u for advice. I'm really hard-working person, but I can't deal with my homework. U know I have to study all lessons and it doesn't depends on what I'll acc pass as my finals. So I was wondering if u know how to help me not starting crying any time I start doing my homework, Bc I feel like I have so much to do and tbh it's really ( I swear) impossible to do. Sorry for the typos I'm Russian tho..

QUOTES:

“Cry as hard as you want to but  just make sure that when you stop crying, you will never cry for the same reason again”.

Hi, how are you? 

OMG thank you so so much for sending me this message and it means a world to me hahaha.

Well you need to know one thing is that it’s okay to cry, to feel sad, to feel tired, sometimes. Tbh, I (everybody) have the exact same problem like you and there so too many things that need to get done and we all don’t know where to start. Maybe after you cry you will realize something (like how to do that exercise).

Here are my tips after crying (I hope that it will work):

1.  Determine/Analyze the reason why you can’t do that exercise

2. Make a list of things you need to get done.

3. Create a schedule so you know what to study!

4. You need to get a calendar or planner to see things need to get done or any tests in that week

5. If you have a test make sure that you start to learn at least one week before.

6. If you don’t understand or know how to do that exercises, you need to think first and if you still don’t know how to do it then ask your friends, your teachers, like anybody or just google it!

7. DO NOT DO ALL YOUR HOMEWORK AT THE SAME TIME, SPREAD THEM OUT (like if you have math test on Friday you should start doing your homework at least two or three days before so you will never will feel overwhelmed)

8. If you have so much things to in one day try “Touch it once” rule

9. If you have monday/anyday homework, finish it on the same day

10. Review things you just learned on the same day, the day after and on sunday

11. Take a 5-10 minutes break after 25-45 minutes study

(make sure that you are taking a break not study, and don’t do things that make you procrastinate like watching youtube/movies instead of that you show go around, do some stretching, drink water,etc.)

12. Reward yourself for working so hard

13. Don’t study in dark or in your comfort zone make sure that you have enough light, and your study space must smell good, you can also put some motivation pictures (go to my account to see hahaha ), and know need to have cup of water on your desk

14. Study with your friends can also help you too!

15. Get enough sleep and eat healthy food!

There will be more but I can remember so sorry!

Have a nice year!

p/s: my grammar is not really good:)

l0rdl0g43n-deactivated20171024  asked:

Hi ! Im sorry, my question is going to be very vague and I'll understand if you do not want to answer it. Here it is : I always have beginnings, or very basic concepts, but I never know how the story will go between the beginning and the end (when I have one...). Like, I've been writing for nearly ten years and I came up with hundred of idea but I only found what happens in the middle only two times. Can something help me ? Sorry again for this vague question but I'm like... Desesperate.

I think that this is probably a pretty common problem, and one that I deal with myself a lot of the time. It’s easy to start off with a great idea, it’s harder to persevere through the middle of it and get it done, right?

To me, it seems like there are a few different factors that can make it really difficult to get through the middle part of a story (aside from the difficulty in itself of just sitting down and writing the whole thing, of course), so I’ll go through a few of the main sticking points in writing that I’ve come up against.

I have a beginning, but then what?

Figuring out how to continue a story once you’ve gotten past the ‘brainwave’ section of the idea can be really hard. If the first part of the story came to you so naturally and easily, shouldn’t the rest of it just fall into place?

Well, not really. At this point you’ve probably got to look at what you have so far, look at where you want to get to in the end (if you know that) and figure out the most satisfying path to take to get there. The middle part of a story is often the hardest part, you have to expand on all the great little concepts that you’ve thrown together and you’ve got to figure out how to make them all make sense.

Sometimes brainstorming ideas will help get through this, just to figure out what could possibly happen:

  • What is the protagonist trying to achieve?
  • What is the antagonist trying to achieve?
  • What would be the simplest solution for these things?
  • What is the biggest mistake the protagonist could make?
  • What happens if the antagonist succeeds?
  • What outside forces does the protagonist have to contend with in addition to the events of the main plot?
  • What could tempt or force the protagonist away from achieving their goals?

Figure out the simplest path from start to end, and then throw a big old roadblock in your protagonist’s path. Make them question their own motives, their own goals, make them question whether they’re the hero that’s really needed here.

Essentially, lay out all the possible things that could happen, and then pick the ones that make the best story/ the highest drama.

Too many great possibilities?

While having too many ideas is often more of a ‘good’ problem to have, it can also wind up getting you stuck just as badly as not having ideas, because when you get right in there in the middle of the story and you realise that of the two or three or five GREAT concepts that you’ve got on your hands, only one or two of them can possibly fit in and have the story make sense, it can be heartbreaking to have to pick and choose.

If you’ve got too many ideas on hand, don’t stress. Pick the one or two that are the MOST exciting/ dramatic/ fun/ heartbreaking and go with them. Don’t throw away the other ideas – put them in a ‘for later’ folder and use them in the sequel, or in another story altogether.

It doesn’t feel ‘natural’, or I want the rest of the story to flow like the start did:

Sadly, most of the time there are going to be sections of every story that are difficult to just sit down and write. It’s going to feel like pulling teeth, but the only way is to figure out what you need to happen, and how you’re going to do it, and then sit there and type until it’s on the page. Maybe it won’t be pretty, it won’t be as fun as the start of the story was, but once it’s done it can be edited until it shines.

You can’t edit a blank page, and you can’t finish a story with only a beautiful opening.

Can’t think of what might happen next?

It happens, doesn’t it, you write out a fantastic starter and you’re just as excited as anyone to see where it goes and then it just … doesn’t. You’ve stalled out in your own story and it’s horrible.

Go back and look at your characters, at your world building, look at the direction that it was all going in before you stalled and work on fleshing things out – a lot of the time in this situation you’ve gotten ahead of yourself and the reason that you don’t know what happens next is that you’ve dived in headfirst without really getting familiar with what you’re creating. That’s okay, it just means you have to go back and do the work that you skipped in the beginning.

Other tips:

If you’re attempting to jump right into longform stories, like novels or full length scripts or comic scripts etc, and finding that you just can’t get through the whole thing, why not scale it back?

Try writing short stories, ten minute films, single page comics, to hone your craft and exercise yourself in being able to go through the beginning/ middle/ end stages of your form.

As well as that, the feeling of finishing something, even if it isn’t a ‘full’ length work, is very rewarding, and as well as the practice, it can give you the motivation to get back into the slog of working on a longer piece.

I hope that this helps, and please feel free to ask if you have a more specific question.

Some other posts that might help you are:

Post about plotting [HERE]

Post about speed plotting [HERE]

Post about three act structure [HERE]

10

Hawke Armor Cosplay Tutorial

Since i have retired my Hawke cosplay for the time being, i have decided to share the templates i traced from my armor a few months ago for a commission. Since this armor is all flat triangles and quadrilaterals, I think this is the perfect starting armor for those wanting to get into foamsmithing.
These templates are rough, and i wasnt able to get the exact shape for every piece due to the angles of the completed armor, but they work.  For the gauntlet I used @aicosu gauntlet patterns which could be found here  http://aicosu.tumblr.com/post/5094377584/for-those-of-you-interested-these-are-the-shapes 

Directions below the cut.

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whitehorseisnotahorse  asked:

Hey Kitty! Are you going to get the LoK comics? I was amuse to discover that the second volume will feature Zhu Li running for president (I tried to link but Tumblr won't let me - but the Avatar wikia has a blurb). Would this be super-OOC for IatS Zhu Li? (A ficlet response will turn my still IatS-bereaved heart to utter mush).

“Zhu Li,” Varrick called as he heard the front door, “why are reporters calling me and saying you’re running for president?”

He made it almost to the front hall just as she was leaving it, and he followed her as she strode past him into the house. Spine straight as ever, never any sway to her hips, always that walk like she was heading to an appointment she couldn’t miss.

“Oh, that.” She waved a dismissive hand, shopping bags hanging off her arms.

“… you’re not, right?” he asked, because she was not actually being clear on that point.

“I am,” she said, setting her bags down on a table, “but don’t worry.”

“I’m worrying,” he said. “Or – wait.” He gasped, clapping his hands together. “Is this a scheme? Is that what this is?” He circled around her, bending to see her face better as she sorted things. “Did you find a loophole in the laws around campaign financing?” he asked gleefully, like she’d bought him a gift.

“The scheme is that I’m running for president,” she explained.

He sagged with a small frown. He squinted, first left, and then right. “I don’t get it,” he admitted, dropping his hands.

“I was running errands today,” she said, “and while I was at the store–”

“Without me!” he added, indignant. “You didn’t tell me you were going to that cake place I like, why didn’t you take me?”

“I bought you some cakes,” she said, patting his arm and not even pretending that she wasn’t patronizing him.

“It’s not the same. We should go again.”

“We shouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because, dear,” she said, “every time we go you eat all of their free samples and then you go the hat store next door and insist on trying on every single hat and swanning around the room and adopting the voice and mannerisms that you think best suit the hat, and it takes hours, and if you want to join me when I’m running errands then first you should prove that you can control yourself around a fancy hat.”

She had started to lean forward and tilt her head back, and so he had started to lean back and stand taller, and they stared at each other at an impasse.

Varrick surrendered first, crossing his arms petulantly. “You could have just said no,” he muttered.

“Sorry, dear,” she said, patting his arm and not pretending she meant it. “The point is, while I was out, I ran into… Buttercup.” The name had never been said with more venom.

“… ah.” Matters were getting clearer. “You two don’t get along.” It wasn’t really a question.

I,” Zhu Li said, slamming a new paperweight down with enough force to dent the table’s finish, “am more than capable of being civil. She was the one being rude.”

“We did try to have her kidnapped,” Varrick reminded her.

“We tried to have her husband kidnapped,” Zhu Li corrected scornfully. “She was just there. And it was his own fault in the first place for being so unreasonable! And! And!” She jabbed a finger in Varrick’s face and he recoiled. “He put us in jail. But do I hold it against him? No. I put it behind me, like a mature adult. So for her to say that you–” She cut herself off abruptly with a huff, her hands forming angry fists at her sides. She was flush with indignation.

“So you’re running for president,” Varrick said.

“I am,” she said. “It seemed like the most effective way to destroy not only their lives, but also any legacy they might otherwise have had.”

He nodded, because the safest place to be when Zhu Li was on the warpath was behind her.

She frowned. “And I’d like to do something about the roads,” she added. “They’ve gotten really bad lately, have you noticed that?”

“I have,” he agreed.

“The infrastructure in this country is just a disaster waiting to happen,” she said, putting her hands on her hips. “They’re always complaining about money, and it’s no wonder with the tax code the way it is. By the time I’m done with ours, we barely owe anything!”

“You’ve got a real way with deductions,” he agreed, and he winked. She giggled, covering her cheeks as she turned pink.

“You always know just what to say,” she said. Then she frowned again, dropping her hands. “But, seriously, I think we get more back in subsidies than we pay.”

“I don’t even know why we get those.”

“We shouldn’t.”

“You’d think kidnapping the president and trying to start a war would disqualify me from some of those.”

“It doesn’t.”

“You know,” he said, “none of this explains why you’re running for president.”

“It doesn’t?”

He splayed out a hand on his chest. “You do know someone charismatic and well-loved who enjoys public speaking and being in charge of things,” he pointed out.

She smiled. She reached out with both hands to cup his face, stroking his cheeks with her thumbs as he leaned closer to her. “Oh, Iknik,” she said. “I love you. But part of loving you is being aware of what you can handle, and what you can’t. Like hat stores, or huge amounts of poorly-checked power.”

“… I love you, too.”

“Republic City’s laws also fail to account for spousal assets when it comes to the presidency, which means that Varrick Industries will be able to continue operations as normal once I’ve won.”

He considered this. “Is this why you didn’t actually want legal partnership in the company?”

“There’s a lot of reasons why I wasn’t interested in legal liability for a corporation I was already profiting from. But yes! It all worked out.”

He leaned forward until he could kiss her forehead, making her turn pink again. “Zhu Li, you’re a genius.”

“I know, dear.”

#1: Painting

The first time Enjolras meets Grantaire, he’s painting.

It hadn’t been a planned meeting either- Enjolras was simply at the art block to bring Combeferre his forgotten coffee and possibly discuss a new idea for their blog. He hadn’t meant to run into a scruffy haired, stubble-faced cynic.

Enjolras pushes open the door to the studio marked ‘G’ as per the instructions on Combeferre’s text. Enjolras doesn’t venture into the art block very often- which would come as a surprise to approximately no-one- but even he finds it’s naming system easy enough to follow.

“Combeferre, I brought your coffee, you left it-“ Enjolras freezes mid-sentence as he walks into the room. There is a person standing in front of an easel. This person is not Combeferre.

“You’re not Combeferre.” Enjolras says.

The Stranger turns away from the easel. “No, I’m not Combeferre.”

“Why aren’t you Combeferre?”

“Did you seriously just ask me why I’m not Combeferre? I mean, for real, Combeferre should be asking himself why he isn’t me.”

Enjolras blinks. The Stranger sighs. “Look, whoever you are, I don’t know where Combeferre is and I don’t know why you’d think that you’d find him here. I’m like 90% sure he studies philosophy. No, wait, actually, I’m 100% sure he does because that’s how I know him- we have class together.”

Enjolras has to fight the urge to snap, because he knows Combeferre- of course he does, they’ve been friends for years. Whilst Combeferre technically studies philosophy, that’s never stopped him from dabbling in everything else. He’s been known to trail all of their group of friends into lectures and seminars- Enjolras’ history professor is practically used to Combeferre’s presence by now. 

Which, really, brings Enjolras back to the reason he’s here in the first place- Combeferre is doing an art piece on moths for his latest extracurricular interest- only, Combeferre isn’t here. Instead, Enjolras is faced with… whoever he’s speaking to right now.

“I’m sorry, what’s your name?” Enjolras asks, trying to regain his footing in this conversation.

“Grantaire.” Says Grantaire with a smile completely unfitting for the scenario.

“Enjolras.” Replies Enjolras. He would offer his hand for Grantaire to shake, but Grantaire’s hands are covered in paint and Enjolras is nursing a very hot cup of coffee between his.

Oh.” Grantaire says, eyes lighting up. “Oh- so you’re Enjolras? Combeferre speaks about you a lot. Not in a bad way, of course.” 

Enjolras doesn’t quite know how to respond. “Well, yes, I should hope not, seeing as we’re best friends. Are you sure he’s not here?” Enjolras asks desperately. He feels like he’s embarrassing himself- which is never a fun feeling- and right now he’d like to extricate himself from the situation, preferable as quickly as possible.

“Let me just check.” Says Grantaire, who places the paint brush between his teeth and then does a 360 turn around the room, using his hands as if to see into the distance. “Nope,” Grantaire says once he’s done his examination. “Not here. I could check under the desk if you want? In case he’s hiding there?”

Enjolras tries his best to keep a straight face- he knows Grantaire is mocking him, knows Grantaire is just taking the piss, but Grantaire still hasn’t stopped grinning and Enjolras finds himself hard pressed to wish the expression away.

“That’ll be fine, thanks. Any idea where he is? His text said to come to room G. Which is here.”

Grantaire frowns, although there’s still something akin to gleeful amusement in his expression. “This is room 6. Can you read, Enjolras?”

Enjolras feels his face flush. He can read, thank you very much- only… his vision isn’t the greatest when he’s not wearing his glasses. Grantaire is still expecting an answer though- and Enjolras supposes he did just barge into Grantaire’s studio space unannounced- so he clears his throat and tries to regain what modesty he can. “Ah. Sorry about this- not an intentional mistake-“

“Clearly.”

“So, I’ll just be going. Try and find Combeferre- actually find him this time.”

Grantaire nods, turning back to the easel and painting long strokes of yellow onto his canvas. “Don’t get lost again. Although I can’t imagine your presence would be unwelcome to most.”

Enjolras allows himself to smile. “I won’t get lost.” he says, nodding once to Grantaire before reaching for the door handle.

He’s halfway through when Grantaire’s voice calls back to him. “Enjolras?” Enjolras turns around. Grantaire smirks. “If you ever feel like bringing me coffee, I’m always in this room. Room six. Emphasis on the six.”

Enjolras only gives a coy smile in response. “We’ll see.” He says, letting the door swing shut behind him.

anonymous asked:

Hey Emma! so I'm doing an online class right now, and my problem isn't staying motivated, it's getting motivated to begin. I've tried using the forest app, and all many more study apps for my laptop and phone, but I keep finding myself off track. I'll sit down to work, but find myself on YouTube for an hour without doing anything productive. I've tried so many techniques, but I seriously just can't motivate myself, and I'm starting to get really behind on the class. Can you help me? Thanks!

Hi! I think your problem lies in actual willingness to do the work. Despite trying different things, I’m assuming at the back of your mind you’ve allowed yourself to suffer  the consequences of leaving things because they aren’t that big of a deal. You value the short-term reward over the long-term consequences. In this case, I would recommend setting up a system which removes these distractions entirely and a reinforcement system would provide gratification for completing a task. Here are some steps:

  • look at where you are now - clearly, your lack of motivation is becoming a problem. You’re starting to fall behind and if that continues, you could possibly fail. I think you need to realise that in your current state you might be okay but if you go on in this same pattern you could put yourself in a very tricky situation. I think if you did fail, you’d be mad at yourself and emotional around how the whole situation turned. Do you really value watching a YouTube clip over putting in the effort to pass your class? If yes, that is the problem. If no, then you need to change your method of getting things done.
  • remove distractions - I don’t like leaving my phone in the other room when studying. It has the opposite effect and makes me go and check it when I shouldn’t. Instead, I have it doing something, whether it is Forest or timelapsing. If Forest isn’t working for you, perhaps give timelapsing a go!
  • do nothing - do nothing? What? If you feel like not studying, sit and do nothing for 5 minutes. Don’t go on your phone. Don’t open your laptop. Don’t wander. Sit still for 5 minutes. After a while, you’ll start to get bored and think about how you can be productive. You’ll then be more inspired to write a to do list or finish the reading.
  • log out of everything OR use two accounts on your laptop - a very simple alternative is deleting apps or logging out of your accounts. I think it helps if you just can’t get on them. If you add 2-factor authentication on things, it makes signing in to “check … for 2 minutes” a lot more of a hassle, which will hopefully make you realise what you’re doing and correct the behaviour. I use two accounts on my MacBook - one for university and one for personal. I am not logged into any social media on my university account so, again, I can’t just look for a minute.
  • change of scenery - perhaps where you’re attempting to study just isn’t inspiring you too. Maybe you would prefer heading to a library or coffee shop to get things done. It might motivate you being in a space where other people are being productive. If you can’t do that, try rearranging your study space or adding in some plants, quote, etc!
  • don’t break the chain challenge - you don’t have to study for hours on end but just half an hour or something a day. If you start the 100 days of productivity challenge or a don’t break the chain challenge, you can hold yourself accountable for doing something and hopefully keep yourself motivated.
  • set up a reward system - positive reinforcement and having gratification for your work is going to really help keep you motivated. Before you study, write down what you’re going to do after - e.g. watch those YouTube clips you’ve been wanting too. Instead of giving in, try working towards them. 
  • externalise your goals - your goal is to be more productive and efficient when it comes to your class. By writing this down, you’re more likely to take the steps to complete it. On the same piece of paper, you can write down small things that you could do to achieve it. Keep it somewhere visible so you can remind yourself of what you want to achieve.
  • break it up - it is daunting looking at a whole lot of work to do but try dividing it up. You don’t have to sit for an extended period of time working and focusing constantly. Do 20-30 minutes and then have a break. Take a walk, get a drink, check your phone and then get back into it.
  • put things into perspective - you’re probably thinking to yourself what a massive task this online class is, but most likely it isn’t as big as you think it is. Looking at it in terms of “it is 1 or 2 hours of my time and then I can move on” instead of “Jeez, look at all this stuff. It’s going to take me forever!!” is a good start. You’re probably also thinking that it takes ages to get through it but that is because you’re being unproductive - not the actual workload. If you can get on track, you can be done much sooner than you thought.

I hope this helps. Best of luck with everything! Please let me know if you’ve managed to improve your productivity! xx

anonymous asked:

prompt: MSR smut involving edible underwear ;-) (or something silly without smut but still involving said underwear)

Yeah, there’s no smut. Sorry. It is, however, quite silly I think. I hope you like it. Set in season 7.

“Mulder, you’ve been grinning all day. What are you planning?” Scully has watched him smile, grin and giggle for hours now. Happy Mulder is a sight to behold and she feels grateful that he’s in such a good mood, they’re on vacation after all, but she knows him. She’s known him for seven years. That grin means trouble.

“Scully, I’m wounded. Is it so hard to believe that I’m merely happy to be here with my beautiful girlfriend?” He kisses her cheek and his lips linger against her skin for a moment, distracting her.

“To be honest, Mulder… yes, it is.” She says when he leans away from her, though not quite leaving her personal space. He watches her, a thoughtful expression on his face. That damn smile dancing around his lips as if begging to be kissed away. She wants to, she really does, but she needs to know what he’s got on his mind.

“Do you want me to be unhappy?” He puts on a sad face, pouts at her. That only makes her want to kiss him even more. Damn him, she thinks, biting her own lip instead.

“No, Mulder, I just…” The door opens, without a knock, and her mother strolls in. Scully feels the need to push Mulder away, just out of habit, just out of a lingering sense of embarrassment, but he remains there in her space as if it were his. Grins at her mother now as if today were the greatest day of his life.

“I just got off the phone with your brother, Dana. The house will be ready tomorrow and they’re expecting us for breakfast.” Mulder winces next to her; this is their first vacation, born out of pure luck and coincidence, but a vacation nonetheless. Scully knows that spending a weekend with at least 15 different Scully family members is not his idea of fun or relaxation. Yet, here they are. And up until two minutes ago Mulder was grinning like a Cheshire cat. Not to mention that he agreed to come with her. He could have said no. Several times, actually. She asked him first, and that was just the tiniest bit sneaky, in bed. Post-coital Mulder is the most agreeable puppy known to mankind. He murmured a yes against her breast, barely awake. She asked him again the next morning and he quirked his eyebrow, his answer, however, was still yes. Then when her mother called a week later, he promised her he would accompany them. So that was that. He had no right to wince or complain.

“Thanks, mom. That sounds nice. Right, Mulder?” Scully nudges his shoulder, but a mute nod is his only answer.

“Don’t you worry, Fox. I know you and Bill have had your difference, but that’s in the past. He knows that you and Dana are in love. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to check out the wellness area since we’ll be only here for one day.” There is a hint of sadness in Mrs. Scully’s voice and Mulder’s ears prick up.

“If you want we can stay here, Mrs. Scully and-”

“It’s Maggie, Fox.” She scolds.

“We can stay here at the hotel. Why bother Bill and Tara?”

“Because I don’t see them and my grandchildren nearly enough. Neither does Dana.” Her mother throws them both a stern look and they remain quiet. Mrs. Scully nods, content with herself. “I’ll see you later for dinner?”

“Of course, mom. Have fun.”

“What was that?” Scully asks as soon as her mother is gone.

“What was what?”

“You were fine with staying at Bill and Tara’s.”

“To be fair I never said I was fine with it, Scully. I just said I was looking forward to some time off work. I was, and still am, looking forward to meeting your family. Just as I would be happy with staying right here for the duration of the trip. Just the two of us.” The grin is back, now a bit slyer, a bit more obvious.

“You don’t really want to be here, do you? Mulder, just because we’re sleeping together now, you don’t have to change who you are for my sake. I could have-” He puts a finger on her lips to shut her up.

“Did you listen to a word I said, Scully? I want to be here. I want to meet every single crazy Scully family member. Am I looking forward to staying at Bill’s? No. Your brother hates me. So I’d rather stay here in this hotel and have my wicked way with you,” she rolls her eyes at him, “but your mother is right; you don’t get to spend enough time with your family. I’ll be fine. I have you on my side.”

“And my mother.”  

“And your mother.” He agrees and leans forward to leave a soft kiss against her lips.

“Hm. We should make use of this one, uninterrupted night here at the hotel, too, huh?” Mulder kisses her fully as a response. His hands wander to her waist to draw her even closer. Scully moans into his mouth and grabs his neck, pressing her fingers into his skin.

“Oh!” The door opens, again without a knock, and Mrs. Scully, her face tinged red, stares at her daughter open-mouthed. Scully and Mulder jump apart like two teenagers caught necking. Mulder watches Scully lick her lips before she bites it, the embarrassment obvious on her face and in her demeanor, and he almost growls in frustration.

“I uhm, I didn’t mean to… well, I just… Dana, I think we confused our suitcases.” Mulder lets out a small yelp that sounds painful to Scully’s ears. She is torn between checking up on Mulder and watching her mother, face still flushed and avoiding direct eye contact.

“We did? How did you-”

“Let’s just exchange the suitcases, shall we?” Her mother cuts her off and practically throws Scully’s bag into the room. Seconds after it lands with a soft thud, Mulder picks it up and holds it against his chest. Breathing heavily.

“How could this happen?” Scully hears Mulder mumble to himself as she retrieves the other bag, an exact replica, and hands it to her mother. Who, she can’t help but notice, still doesn’t look at her.

“Mom? Is everything all right?”

“Of course, dear. You and Fox… yeah, well. I’ll just get changed and then I'll… well, I’ll be downstairs.” And just like that she’s gone again.

“That was strange.” Scully marvels, staring at the closed door. She turns around when she hears a zipper and finds Mulder rummaging through her clothes. “Mulder?”

“Why do you and your mother have the same bag?” He shrieks.

“We bought it as a set.” She informs him, walking closer. His frantic hands stop and he sighs. He looks like a surgeon, she thinks, his hands inside a body, trying to save something that’s been lost already. “Mulder?” She tries again.

“I bought you something,” he admits and just like her mother did, avoids eye contact, “Uhm, actually I bought us something.” Oh no, she thinks. Oh no, no, no. They had talked about it once. Wine had been involved, she is sure of that. A lot of giggling, too.

“Mulder, what did you buy?” She asks, her voice slow and even. Please, don’t let it be the thing.

“I uhm… I bought… this.” His holds it up, his face flushed now, the grin wiped from his face. At least now she knows why he’s been so happy. In his hands is a flimsy, very colorful g-string. Completely made out of candy pieces.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It was supposed to be a surprise! That’s why I put it in your suitcase.”

“Except you didn’t.”

“Except I didn’t.”

“Oh Mulder.” Scully slumps down next to him as she feels laughter bubble up inside of her. “You brought edible underwear on a trip with my mother.”

“I thought we’d be here longer.” He grumbles, still holding the candy g-string in his hand.

“Well, we do have tonight.” Mulder turns to her, his eyes wide.

“You mean…”

“I mean maybe you should leave room for dessert after dinner, Mulder.” His grin is back.

won’t you tell me your name, #1

In a world where soulmates can write messages on their skin, Peter and Chris mostly use their connection to take their anger out on each other. Stiles is the somewhat traumatized kid on the other end of their bond.

For Stetopher Week’s cross-generational issues prompt, with the issue in question being what exactly you’re supposed to do when your soulmates have hated each other since before you were born. Title from The Doors’ Hello, I Love You, because at first I wanted to title this Hello, I Hate You but I decided that was a bit much. 

[Stiles/Chris/Peter, pre-slash, starts pre-canon with some time skips later, soulmate AU.]

FIC TAG


There’s only one picture of Stiles on the day he was born. Stiles keeps it in his bottom drawer of his wardrobe, hidden under a bunch of stuff he throws in there when he’s supposed to clean his room. Afterwards, he takes all the stuff out again and hopes his parents don’t make him clean until the next weekend, but the picture always stays inside. It’s a scene that’s reflected in half of the picture frames downstairs, his parents on either side of him, beaming at the camera. In this one, Stiles looks like he’s about to cry, but that’s what babies do, so Stiles isn’t really embarrassed about it. It’s the rest of him that bothers him, the way that there’s only glimpses of his pale skin under a chaotic mess of years of dialog between two other people. The words creep around his face, his little hands, and there’s even black smudges on his ears when the magic that tied him to his soulmates ran out of room to fit the words.

Keep reading

The Choices We Make - Part Three

The Choices We Make
MadaSaku

Part one
Part Two

Part three

A deep ache throbbed in the pit of Sakura’s stomach, causing her grip on the edge of the sink to tighten and her knuckles to bleed white. She slipped her eyes closed against the pain and focused solely on inhaling and exhaling until it slowly dwindled and dulled into a more manageable pang. It wasn’t the first time she had experienced light cramping since she had discovered her pregnancy and just like before, she pressed a chakra-laced hand to her abdomen to ease the muscle pain until she was left with just her usual, hindering morning sickness.

Days like these made Sakura take a second look at her life and question just what the hell she had been thinking when she slipped into bed - or rather onto the counter - with Madara. However, she didn’t allow herself to dwell on the matter this time. She had agreed to meet him this morning for tea before she headed to the hospital for her shift, and she needed to leave shortly to make it on time.

Swallowing back the bile rising in her throat, Sakura raised a hand from where they had been braced against the counter to turn the faucet on. She splashed some cool water on her overheated skin and took a moment to collect herself before she exited the tiny bathroom connected to her bedroom to gathered her paperwork for the hospital. Once she was certain she had everything she needed for the day, she swiped her keys from the counter and headed out into the awakening village.

With the early hour, there were few venders and even fewer citizens out and about, leaving a hushed sense of tranquility over the village. A cool, dawn breeze was blowing through the streets and stirring the dust upon the sun-dried road. It powdered the toes of her boots and swirled around her ankles, but Sakura didn’t pay it any mind as she read through the patient file in her hand, her gaze only drawing up to smile in greeting at the occasional shinobi as they passed.

Her journey to the teahouse was otherwise uninterrupted. Sakura had frequented it with the Uchiha Head on a number of previous occasions and her feet followed the familiar path without her having to stop and recall the way.

Sakura was less than a block away when nausea threatened to overcome her again and she paused under the shade of a shop’s awning to press a hand to her mouth as she tucked the chart safely under her other arm. The bile was thick and hot in her throat but she pursed her lips together, refusing to give into her body’s demands.

‘Mind over body, mind over body,’ she repeated mentally. The last thing she wanted was for Madara to learn of her pregnancy by puking all over him. 'Although it would be fitting,’ she realized with a soft snort.

Her sudden amusement chased the worst of her sickness away and she swallowed thickly as she distracted herself by entertaining the comical image. It would certainly be a story worth-telling, that much was certain.

Sakura was still smiling softly when she finally arrived at the small teahouse. The doors were wide open in hospitality and she stepped inside before she scanned the dining room in search of Madara. She quickly realized he wasn’t present in the empty room, and she turned expectantly when an employee approached her.

“Welcome, Haruno-san,” the young woman greeted respectfully. “Uchiha-sama has reserved the private room for you this morning.”

Sakura bit back a snort. Of course he did.

The hostess silently gestured for Sakura to follow her before she led them down a small hallway and away from the rest of the mainroom. They stopped before a traditional shoji and the young woman made their presence known before she slid the door opened and entered. “Uchiha-sama, Haruno-san has arrived,” she bowed.

Sakura followed after the other woman but paused just inside the room as her gaze finally settled upon Madara. He had dressed up for the occasion in a dark grey robe made of the richest silks with the Uchiha fan stitched into each side over his breast bone. The color matched the smokiness of his eyes and complimented his handsome face. He was kneeling before a low-sitting table with his arms folded eloquently across his chest, his normally wild mane of hair pulled back into a simple ponytail that emphasized his strong jawline and broad shoulders.

Sakura swallowed hard as her mouth went dry. Next to him, she likely resembled someone who had just crawled out of bed, and she suddenly regretted her decision not to wipe the dust from her boots before entering the establishment. It felt as if she were in the presence of royalty.

Oh yes, she decided. It would be a very bad idea for her to puke on him.

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2

PT1   PT2   PT3   PT4   PT5   PT6   PT7
________________________________________________________________

Stiles doesn’t understand.

He hears the words, and they travel to his brain, and then they hit a roadblock.

“What?” Stiles hears himself ask.

“I needed my anchor to bring me back,” Derek explains. Simple. Straightforward. Still just words to Stiles.

Stiles shakes his head in big, slow moves from side to side. He goes to lean away from Derek. He’d moved himself closer but now he thinks he wants space. He thinks. He doesn’t know. He can’t—

Derek’s hand squeezes his, firm and unyielding, and there—something to focus on.

Stiles looks down at their hands, only now realising something strange about it.

“We’ve never done that before,” he states dumbly, opening out his fingers. Derek’s remain locked around his palm.

“I didn’t let us.”

Stiles looks up to Derek. It’s a weird and unpleasant déjà vu when he sees that open expression of last night. He can almost read exactly what Derek is feeling between that and his quivering hand.

“I’ve wanted to for months.” The confession drops like a penny—light and quick, but with a resounding thunk that echoes through Stiles’ head.

“How have I… could I not have…” Stiles speaks in broken phrases, half-finished thoughts.

“I hid it well.”

Stiles can only nod, because it’s true.

Stiles thought it was one sided. Stiles thought Derek only saw him as a friend. Stiles thought he had to feel guilty, and sad.

Now, he knows he doesn’t, and it’s aggravating. So much time—‘I’ve wanted to for months’, Derek said—not being together when they could have been. Frustration and guilt and yes, moments of happiness too. Stiles has been a big mess of feelings, trying to hide them away at any given time and Derek… did he really not know that Stiles had a tremendous depth of feeling for him? More than just a friend should.

Did he not know? Or did he ignore? Was it self-sabotage, like…

He’s doing it now. Stiles is sabotaging himself right now. Derek confessed to him and he’s trying to pull away.

Just like that, the mental block disintegrates, and Stiles’ lungs expand with a shocked gasp of air. He looks to Derek, wide-eyed, gripping Derek’s hand tightly.

Stiles’ revelations rush out, looking for confirmation before he throws himself into what this could be. “The hand holding, the anchor, last night with your memories. Why? What does it mean for you?”

“It means.” Derek stops—looks down at their hands and rubs his thumb over the back of Stiles’ hand.

Stiles’ attention is so focussed in on Derek. Derek’s on him. Neither of them hear the slamming door from the tenant below.

“It means I like you.” Derek’s head lifts back up, his eyes as clear as topaz, and expression softening his face. “As a friend, but also as more.”

Stiles nods slowly, hand squeezing Derek’s even more and involuntarily.

“I feel the same.”

With his confession, Stiles’ body easy, dropping tension he hadn’t been aware of while focussed on Derek. He smiles. He beams, even, and Derek huffs out a laugh, probably thinking Stiles is too overeager. He doesn’t care.

“I want to date you, Stiles,” Derek says leaning in to him.

Stiles’ body heats and he leans in toward Derek too, bringing their faces so close that he can see each gradient in Derek’s iris’s, and his gaze slips into and out of focus, clarity difficult at close range.

“Derek,” Stiles whispers.

He realises his palm is sweaty and that Derek’s is shaking, vibrating with tension. They’re both holding so still, though it would be simplest thing to tilt, go with the gravity Derek’s body seems to be exerting on him. Let his lips press soft and gentle into Derek’s skin. His cheek, his jaw, his eyelid, his lips. Wherever they land when Stiles lets himself go.

“I want to date you too.”

Derek nods, then leans his forehead in to rest against Stiles’. He shuts his eyes, and Stiles shuts his too for a moment. With his eyes shut, he lifts his free hand up to Derek’s face, gently pressing just the pads of his fingers into his cheek, feeling the warmth there, the life, the bristle of stubble. Derek’s own hand lands on his thigh and settles, big and heavy and comforting.

Stiles sighs out, feeling bigger than his body. So slowly, like caught in a trance and lulled into drowsiness by the sun streaming into the loft, Stiles tilts his head. With his eyes still closed, his nose bumps into Derek’s. He tilts his head and slips to the side. His thumb drops down to find Derek’s lips, smooth and full. He presses his mouth down where his thumb is, then moves it gently from beneath them so his lips are pressing against Derek’s.

Stillness for a moment, as neither moves.

Derek’s hand on Stiles thigh creeps upwards, and Stiles parts his lips slightly until Derek’s bottom lip pops in between his own. That’s all he needs for now, to know that they can slot together like this.

He pulls back and at last opens his eyes. Derek’s looking at him with a fondness Stiles has never been able to pick in his gaze before. He likes seeing it now. He wouldn’t mind seeing it for a long time to come.

~ the end

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