in light of recent events i thought this would be appropriate

Next to you (part 1)

In an AU where Regis has passed away of old age and the mantle of king has fallen to Noctis only recently, you’re a regular citizen of Insomnia who’s managed to move into a new place with a friendly neighbour who you never see.

Summary: You meet your neighbour and bond over a mobile game.

Originally posted by snowingtoday

Some people thought it was tough living in Insomnia. You could understand why. Insomnia was a big place and depending on your situation, things might not have been great. Of course you’d be bitter about being stuck in the slums, of course you’d love it if you had all that extra cash to live the high life.

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Heartache (Youngjae x Reader)

Word Count: 8553 (We need to stop haha) Yay for the first Youngjae scenario! 

Warning: Swearing, alcohol use, cheating, angst

Summary: Marrying the man of your dreams was meant to be a good thing, but when it brings nothing but heartache, you learn to put yourself first the hard way

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If You Could See Me

After 1.06 what if Betty and Jughead decided to keep their relationship a secret, or rather attempted to. 

A fic about Betty and Jughead working out the facts of their new relationship and cute, fluffy moments… also how the group finds out about bughead.

Slight AU does not follow the events of 1.07 (the group already knows)

This is an edited/reuploaded version of a fic that was not to the standard I wanted.

————————————– Chapter 1 —————————————–

Jughead led Betty into her house and up to her bedroom. She shivered with fear; if she were with anyone but Jughead, the shivers would have just been thought of as a result of being cold. He knew better. “It’s going to be okay Betty,” Jughead stated closing her bedroom door. “As crazy as your parents may be, they’re resilient. They’ll find Polly.” Jughead put his hands on her shoulders, a comforting gesture he felt was appropriate in this moment. As he looked into her worried eyes the only thing he wanted to do was pull her close and maker her feel safe and warm, but he worried.

They hadn’t discussed the kiss that had happened just hours earlier. Given, they haven’t had the time, Jughead didn’t know if Betty wanted him to hug her and he didn’t want to push his luck with the girl he cared so deeply for.

He had never felt like this with anyone from his past. A boy from a troubled home, a family torn apart. The only person he had ever connected with on any level before Betty was his best friend. He didn’t want to do anything that could jeopardize what he had with Betty. She was his only constant, his only light. All Jughead hopes is that he did not destroy everything they had earlier that day.

Next thing he knew, Betty’s arms circled his waist, her head pressed against his chest. Without a second thought, Jughead moves his arms to hold Betty as close to himself as he could without suffocating the poor girl. He never thought the golden girl would want to come anyone near him. The slim chance that they were friends to begin with was more than Jughead could comprehend. He’s pretty sure that they would have never crossed paths, never given each other a second glance if they weren’t thrown together by tragedy.

A tragedy that allowed them to find each other, figuring out that her family wasn’t much different to his own. Her parents were just as manipulative and borderline insane as his own. The difference between the two is that Betty didn’t wear her pain on the outside, rather she kept it in. Jughead knew her better than anyone, the girl everyone saw as picture perfect in pastel was truly broken on the inside.

Jughead wore his pain on the outside, everyone knew his good days from his bad, when they cared enough to actually see him. She did, she saw him from the beginning. That’s what made them quite the pair. Jughead knew when to leave Betty to have her moments and he knew when to push. It seemed that everyone else in their lives just knew how to push.

“What did I do to deserve you in my life?” Betty mumbled against Jughead’s chest. Much to Jughead’s dismay, she pulled away, at least only slightly, to look into his eyes. He was enjoying having her close, even in the platonic sense that he believed she wanted.

The reality is that in that moment Betty wasn’t thinking about her parents, or Polly, or Jason’s murder. The only thing on her mind in this moment was that kiss. Amongst everything in their lives, the boy who was a master of words stumbled over them with nerves. It played back in her mind over and over. Remembering how desperate his face seemed just seconds before Jughead leaned into her, cupping her face with both hands. Not only did she not expect for the kiss to happen, but she didn’t expect to feel the way she did. Jughead was her rock, she had known that from the beginning, only solidifying as time moved forward. The kiss had opened up so much else.

For a long time, Betty had been unsure about her feeling for Jughead, it was all so confusing, but the kiss… the kiss. It had opened a floodgate of emotions. Emotions that now, thanks to Jughead, Betty believed she was ready to act on. “Juggie…” Betty sighed, turning away to go sit on her neatly made bed, unsure of what to say, unsure of where to start. If Jughead didn’t feel the same way, how would she feel? What if with everything going on with her family and Jason her head was a mess. She didn’t want to hurt him, but at the same time, she didn’t want to risk another chance at happiness.

“Betty, what is it, what’s wrong?” Jughead grabbed Betty’s desk chair, moving it so he could sit in front of her. He wanted to be close enough to comfort her in a heartbeat while not knowing if she would be comfortable with him sitting so close to her, especially on her bed.

“We need to talk about what happened earlier,” Betty stated, shifting awkwardly to sit cross-legged at the edge of her bed. She looks down at her hands, suddenly nervous with the one person she’s comfortable to be herself with.

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Constellations: Part 1

Notes: Bit of fluff, sexual tension. 

(If I missed you im so sorry, message me again and I am going to start making a saved file of the list of people that want to be tagged in this or anything else that I write - again Im sorry! dont forget that I love you all!) 

Tags: @fifi1433 @queen-of-woodland-realm @heismyhunter 

@smileedejbl @vibrainium @banieldryan @sexyvixen7 @i-less-than-three-you 

@readerfans @canikeepit-imkeepingit @marvelfanuniverse 

@asirenscalling @12-kay-kit-kat @waywardimpalawriter 


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Ok, here is the THIRD part to what I originally intended to be a drabble. Plot bunny run amuck is what this is!! This part is 2080 word (bringing the entire piece to 6300 and change). This is my first AU (slight AU, but still here goes my “screwing with canon” rule). I will blame it on @callieskye @jenn582 and @azaleablueme

Part I: Restless

Part II: Rested

Part III:

“Come on Lavender, you know it’s for the best. You were just telling me that he hadn’t even snogged you since he was poisoned.”

 “That’s not the point, not the point at all Pavarti!”

“Then explain the point. Because despite the shite you talk in front of our roommate, your “relationship” with Ron has never been that great.”

“That’s not true! He was the love of my life!”

“Don’t be so dramatic, neither of you ever used that word. The boy never even got you a gift, and in all these months he hasn’t even tried to take your clothes off.”

 “That’s just because he’s a gentleman!”

 “Get off it! What is really going on here?”

 Hermione flattened herself against the wall outside her shared room. The guilt for eavesdropping was no match for the euphoria brought about by the content of the conversation. She had purposely waited to return to her room that night suspecting that the recent break up would make things impossibly more awkward. For a brief moment she considered going in and adding her own thoughts, but she decided that gloating was not appropriate. Not that it wouldn’t be satisfying. In light of this new information she decided to return to the common room; suddenly she felt anything but tired.


 Ron lay in his four poster thinking about recent events, and while he felt lighter than he had in months, he was still anxious about what came next. Part of him felt hopeful; it was a tiny flame that had been ignited when he woke up after his poisoning to find Hermione watching over him. In the weeks that followed, he had stoked that fire with every little scrap: shy glances, lingering touches, soft words. All the while he tried to extricate himself from the mess that he had made with Lavender. He still couldn’t quite believe that it was over. If I had only known that all it would take was seeing Hermione come out of my room then I would’ve done that weeks ago!

He half chuckled at the thought, but then shivered slightly when he thought of Lavender’s anger. It was a little terrifying. Not sexy like Hermione when she gets mad…her hair all wild…her eyes flashing…her mouth slightly open…her chest heaving. Before Ron could get caught up in an elaborate fantasy, he had a horrible thought, one that caused him to bolt upright in his bed. Bloody hell! Hermione had to go up there alone tonight!

Now he knew for a fact that Hermione could take care of herself, her punching Draco Malfoy in the face was still one of the greatest moments of his life, but he was still worried. After all he had put her through it hardly seemed fair that he should be able to sleep peacefully while she had to face the aftermath on her own. Realizing that he could not go up the girls’ staircase, he decided to do the next best thing and go down to the common room. At least he could be closer to her just in case.


 For a few moments he thought the perhaps he had in fact drifted off to sleep because the sight of her sitting on the sofa, reading in the dim light, was too good not to be a dream. When she looked up and noticed him, the smile she gave him quite literally took his breath.

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Charity is not supposed to be this difficult

I want to talk about the time Donald Trump put a charity’s entire staff through professional hell: 

In the fall of 1996, a charity called the Association to Benefit Children held a ribbon-cutting in Manhattan for a new nursery school serving children with AIDS. The bold-faced names took seats up front.

There was then-Mayor Rudolph W. Giuliani ® and former mayor David Dinkins (D). TV stars Frank and Kathie Lee Gifford, who were major donors. And there was a seat saved for Steven Fisher, a developer who had given generously to build the nursery.

Then, all of a sudden, there was Donald Trump….“There’s this kind of ruckus at the door, and I don’t know what was going on, and in comes Donald Trump. [He] just gets up on the podium and sits down.”

Trump was not a major donor. He was not a donor, period.


But now he was sitting in Fisher’s seat, next to Giuliani.

“Frank Gifford turned to me and said, ‘Why is he here?’ ” Buchenholz recalled recently. By then, the ceremony had begun. There was nothing to do.

“Just sing past it,” she recalled Gifford telling her.

So they warbled into the first song on the program, “This Little Light of Mine,” alongside Trump and a chorus of children — with a photographer snapping photos, and Trump looking for all the world like an honored donor to the cause.

Afterward, Disney and Buchenholz recalled, Trump left without offering an explanation. Or a donation. Fisher was stuck in the audience. The charity spent months trying to repair its relationship with him.

I can’t be clear enough: This is not done. One does not do this. Fainting couches would be appropriate, here. Everyone who was there, a collection of elites celebrating themselves, knew that is not done, too. This behavior is considered gauche even by the standard of rich people in Manhattan, just think about that.

The most frustrating thing that ever happened to me while working a high-dollar charity fundraiser was when a volunteer staffer took pledge information himself from our top major gift prospect who was leaving early, rather than ask for a grownup. We wanted to strangle the guy, but of course it was fine. The donor didn’t just up and forget. You get wound up at these things, because the big stuff (it rains and no one shows up, a wall collapses onto the assistant district attorney) is out of your control and the little stuff no one cares about (the cheese plate is almost empty!) is nonstop.

Party crashers happen, usually people experienced with the charity circuit, usually friends of friends of guests looking for free drinks. The check-in tables would be staffed with earnest volunteers or underpaid charity staffers who aren’t going to start fights. Maybe they call their boss over to give the ok, and their boss does not have time for this shit and needs a few more bodies to fill the room anyway and waves them in. Maybe the party crasher even throws in $10 for a raffle ticket. The assistant district attorney is buzzed enough to bid big on silent auction items. It’s fine, it’s fine. You get through the night. The next day, you write thank-yous and count money.

I have done these dumb events (galas, meet-and-greets, cultivation events, a bunch of stuff ending with “a-thon”; all different versions of more or less the same thing) enough that they’re a regular subject of my stress dreams. The worst of those dreams did not approach the Trump at ABC story.

To be clear, these kinds of big-money, public scenes philanthropy are inherently tacky. Everyone involved is aware of the awkwardness of spending a ton of money on events for the privileged in the name of charity, of all things. The rich folks get to treat the whole thing as a sport; blessed with the privilege of detachment, many people prefer to keep things light. Trump, who evidently doesn’t have fun and who I suspect thought his very presence was his most generous donation, needed no such defense mechanism.

Once he was onstage, Trump played the part of a big donor convincingly. Photos from the event show Trump smiling, right behind Giuliani, as the mayor cut the ribbon. During the “celebratory dance” segment of the program, Trump mugged and did the macarena with Giuliani, Kathie Lee Gifford and a group of children.

Look, don’t judge, we really didn’t know at the time that you couldn’t leave Trump alone with children.

“I am just heartsick,” Buchenholz, the executive director, wrote the next day to the donor whose seat Trump had taken. Buchenholz provided a copy of the email.

“I immediately said ‘no,’ but Rudy Giuliani said ‘yes’ and I felt I had to accede to him,” Buchenholz wrote. “I hope you can forgive me.” Buchenholz said that Fisher did remain a donor, despite the snub.

Of course it was Giuliani. It’s so easy to see why they’re friends. Who else can match Trump’s disregard for people less important? I bet they yell at waiters together and then laugh about it. I bet they wouldn’t recognize the taste of an un-spat on burger.

But note: it was fine. The donor is, apparently, capable of empathy, and understood he was inconvenienced by an influential liar who demonstrated none to speak of. The executive director performed the requisite damage control. The wall did not collapse onto Kathie Lee Gifford. The very important people present exhibited enough tact to ignore the turd in the punch bowl, at least in front of the kids.

As is a common theme in his life, Trump’s weak power move ultimately accomplished nothing, intimidated no one in the Manhattan society pages crowd whose white-tied respect he’d so thirstily craved ever since he was just another rich guy in–the idea–Queens. His social skills are such that he couldn’t even deliver a proper own to the faces of elites he so resents. Trump reconfirmed himself to his betters as a clown, not worthy of being taken seriously, not in on a running joke. But it was a performance: on that day Trump got on TV, and he did the Macarena, and TV always loved him like Manhattan never did. A happy ending for everyone important. Fuck Manhattan, anyway, right?

There’s not an event staffer on the planet who could have gotten out of that situation without having their day ruined. Trump dumped weeks of needless work on them. And what hits me hardest in the gut about all this is, because of all that new work, whoever at ABC was working the ribbon-cutting was deprived of any joy from very best part of any big schmoozing event–when they’re over.

My god, do you know what it must take to cause a PR nightmare for a charity for kids with HIV? That’s one distinct accomplishment for which he can truthfully take credit.

Imagine Harrison Wells taking off his blazer to warm you up

Words: 826

Originally posted by theflashdaily

“Caitlin, I think I am not going tonight…” You are still hesitating rather attending tonight’s event or not.

“Why?” Caitlin walks next to you and asks, “What happen? I thought I have already convinced you yesterday.”

“It’s just…” You sigh, “Dr. Wells is an amazing scientist, and he is the brain of S.T.A.R. Lab or even Central City. I don’t think I have the qualification of attending the event.”

You feel a little bit sad and just stares at your feet.

“Why would you think like that?” Caitlin asks concernedly.

“Well, you know…” You bites your lips, “I nearly have no contribution in the particle accelerator project. I’m not like you Caitlin, you are a fantastic bioengineering expert; Cisco is a genius in mechanical engineering and Ronnie helps to build the accelerator. All of you have great contribution on the project while I am just a computer technician who just wondering around S.T.A.R. Lab and fixing computers…”

“Hey,” Caitlin squeezes your hand and interrupts you, “don’t you say that, Y/N. You are part of the project team too. You did a great job in offering computer solution for us and preparing everything we wanted. The project went smoothly not just because of Dr. Wells, me, Cisco or even Ronnie, you gave your effort into this too.”

Although Caitlin gives you an encouraging smile, you sigh, “But still, I am only a computer technician, it’s not appropriate to show up on tonight’s event…”

“Well, I do know someone is expecting you tonight.” Caitlin smiles playfully, “I bet someone will be very disappointed if you don’t show up tonight.”

Caitlin looks at your confusing face and smiles even brightly, “You mean a lot to the project team, to all of us…Especially, Dr. Wells.” Your heart skips as if it is just struck by lightning. When you still digesting what Caitlin just said, she has a quick look at her watch and says, “Hurry up and put on the dress we shopped last week. The event will begin soon.”


When you arrive the hall of S.T.A.R. Lab, there are already full of press and citizen who want to witness the historical moment. It seems that you are on time, Harrison Wells just started his speech on the stage.

“My name is Harrison Wells.” His eyes looks around the hall as if searching for someone, “Tonight, the future begins.” He pauses. He spots you. You blushes immediately under his soft gaze.

There is a smile rested on his lips, small though, but you see it. You return him with a shy smile and a small wave of hand. Harrison seems more pleasant and confident after spotting you, he forcefully withdraws his gaze from you and continues, “The work my team and I will do here will change our understanding of physics, will bring about advancements in power and advancements in medicine. And trust me, that future will be here faster than you think.”

After Harrison’s inspiring speech, he is surrounded by the press and answers questions about the particle accelerator. You think it’s time for you to leave, not only because you have already seen the attractive man you have a crush on, but also because the dress you are wearing making you feel unexpectedly cold. You have sneezed a few times since you attended the event, you bets the dress that exposing your shoulders makes you freezing.

When you just about to step out of the door, a strong and warm hand grabs your wrist, you turns around and sees Harrison Wells.

Both of you are shocked at the same time. You are shocked at his appearance while he is shocked at your cold hand.

“Oh god, Y/N, your hand is freezing,” Harrison’s eyes fills with concerns, “Come here…” He takes off his blazer without hesitation and wraps it around your shoulders, “This may get you warm.”

Suddenly, there are a lot of white light flashing in front of you. It takes you a second to realize those white light are actually the camera spotlight. Great, you and Harrison Wells are now surrounded by the press.

“Dr. Wells, who is this woman? Is she one of your employees? Are you two having a relationship recently?” A bunch of questions coming from everywhere and the flashing spotlight make you feel sick and uncomfortable.

Noticing you do not enjoy the cameras, Harrison Wells quickly says. “Questions about the particle accelerator are welcomed, but now if you excuse me, I would pass my time to one of my employee, Cisco Ramon, to answer all your questions.”

Cisco, Ronnie and Caitlin come from nowhere and separate between the you two and the press.

“Hey,” Harrison looks into your eyes softly, “are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” You face can’t help but turns red, “you should go over there, you are the star of tonight.” You give him a slight smile.

Harrison whispers in your ear, “For me, you are the only star I see.”

Tour-de-Force: (Mise-en-abîme) Part 3

A/N: Well, I’m officially done with high school and I am awaiting my inevitable mystery mark because what the hell is titrating sea shells? Anyway, updates will be much more frequent and thank you all for your support and patience. Don’t forget, I’m 5000% open to all requests, and I would kill for some after my slog of exams :) Also, sorry it’s angsty (it’s only temporary)

Part 1/5: Mise-en-abîme
Part 2/5: Deus Ex Machina
Part 3/5: Tour-de-Force

Tour-de-Force:  a feat or display of strength, skill, or ingenuity

Your shadow at morning striding behind you, or your shadow at evening rising to meet you; I will show you fear in a handful of dust.”

-T.S.Eliot, The Wasteland (Part 1: The Burial of the Dead)

“You literally just had to tell the poor thing you liked her, Pav.” Pavel felt absolutely shit, but the scotch tasted good. If he ran out of scotch, he could always fall back on reliable vodka to utterly drown out all memory of her soft hair and passionate kisses. That is, if his liver didn’t give out before then. If he died of a liver failure, that would be preferable.

“Yes, but zat ees a leetle deeficult.” He hiccoughed, hi bleary eyes barely making out the figure of Hikaru Sulu. “I flirt better in Russian,”

“You can’t flirt at all, you giant puppy,” Sulu tutted, hauling Chekov to his feet. Pavel felt his feet slide a little from underneath him, failing to make contact with the seemingly friction-less floor. “You just had to ask her out, what was even that bullshit with the kissing game?”

“It seemed like good idea,” Pavel pouted, hissing as he came into contact with the harsh artificial lights of the corridors, being frog-marched into his own quarters.

The first few hours of drunken sleep were bliss, he’d successfully forgotten the whole closet debacle.

Yet as the hours passed fleeting glimpses crept up on him, remembering the ghost of beautiful smiles against his lips. And the cycle of self-hate would start all over again.

The mission briefing was unusual, for a supposedly safe planet, he had to admit. Though he guessed it would take his mind off her. Everything seemed to be going well, too well, considering that he was under captain Kirk. Until it reached the inevitable stage of all things going to Klingon shit.

“Keptin, you must be joking…” Pavel stood from his Navigator’s seat, taking long strides to the Captain’s seat that Kirk had so uncharacteristically vacated with utter graciousness. The very idea of placing him as Captain was laughable considering his most recent decision-making choices.

“Nope, you need experience kiddo. Besides, we need Sulu on the away team given his um… combat experience,” Pavel took that to meaning swords were a surprisingly effective weapon on this planet. “Besides, Uhura mentioned that the inhabitants of this planet are impartial and to some extent revere adolescents and young adults given their high mortality rates. I mean, Yikes.” Kirk raised his brows, unfolding his arms and gesturing at the seat with a flourish.

“Captain, I believe I have a suitable candidate for Scientific Officer,” Spock announced. “It can only be logical that if we are to have a young Captain; that his second-in-command be equally as youthful.”

“You got a point there, Spock.” Kirk took into consideration. “Besides, you’d be invaluable to the away team. Who you got in mind?”

“I’ll have Doctor McCoy send them up.” Spock nodded in a perfunctory manner, turning on his heel and commanding the computer to send the relevant Ensign up. Pavel’s fingers drummed nervously upon his controls, distracting enough to attract Sulu’s worried attention. The doors of the turbolift slid open with its usual blustery sound.

Pavel’s eyes widened in sheer nervousness as he watched the Ensign enter the bridge silently, having to cough to gain Spock’s attention. He saw her brush down the hemline of her pristine uniform with an immense amount of nerves, taking careful steps to where Commander Spock usually occupied. She stood so awkwardly, so unlike the confident grace he had come to fall in love with-

He had become accustomed to.

“I don’t understand, Commander Spock,” She coughed a little, her voice quieter than its’ usual incandescent vibrancy. “I think there are other crew members who are more qualified than me…”

“Yes, but your aptitude and your Academy results indicate that you are well-suited to the task. That being stated, we require someone of equal age to Mr Chekov in the likely circumstance that we are intercepted by enemies,” Spock clarified, his even tone unwavering despite her visible nerves. He’d never seen her like this, not ever. This lack of words, her mouth attempting to synthesise unbearable thoughts floating in her brilliant mind, was an entire galaxy away from what he knew. It didn’t feel right.

Surely it wasn’t his fault.

No, of course it couldn’t…

“Alright, as it’s an order.” She nodded, “I relieve you of your position, Commander Spock,”

“I am relieved, Ensign.” Spock nodded, leaving the Bridge to join the rest of the away team.

From far away, watching the on goings until they faded into the distance, then listening to Kirk’s ongoing descriptions of the surrounding environment; Chekov fiddled restlessly, helpless as the trip to find the supposedly revolutionary medicinal herbs went just as badly as they had expected. The away team had been confronted rather ugly by the inhabitants of their planet the moment negotiations for permission to explore were declined. In particular, their leader seemed particularly angry. To be completely fair, it was justified, but Chekov believed that the threat of immediate execution without trial was just a little but over-the-top.

Of course he was too caught up in his own problems, too busy nursing his own wounds to ignore his second-in-command’s quiet whispers to the rest of the Bridge crew, gently conferring with him in cordial tones.  He would murmur in ascent, not really paying attention until she made it clear she would have to beam down to the planet’s surface to buy the away team more time. Scotty had just commed from Engineering, stating that he was unable to beam the Away team back to the ship, something about a jamming frequency preventing their teleportation equations from functioning properly.

“Would that guarantee us enough time to de-code that override?” Y/N’s eyes lit up in equal parts of mischief and cleverness, having just explained her hare-brained yet admittedly good plan to go down to the planet and ‘fuck shit up’. It seemed the sort of thing Captain Kirk would do, and it seemed appropriately juvenile for a civilisation that valued adolescence.

But he was powerless to stop her, no matter what his gut feeling was telling him. Pavel found himself, against all odds, begging her not to go; much to the bewilderment of the Bridge Crew. He was following her now, ignoring all her well-justified protests in the hopes she would at least understand that he was just the smallest bit apologetic for what he’d done. But she was a heroine of a novel, he thought, ready to throw herself into the tempest without a single hesitation. Her blood ran with the power of dilithium fluids and her bones made of the toughest steel alloys forged in the heats of stars.

“Ensign [l/n],” Pavel held tightly onto her wrist stopping her well-paced orbit to the turbolift, unable to comprehend how events were turning. It shouldn’t be like this. Her eyes were defiant, once again gaining their steely glint of fierce determination, losing the glimmer of good-natured teasing that had danced under the artificial lights of the halls and corridors. “You can’t,”

“You said so yourself, Captain,” He had never thought he could despise the way his so oft-dreamed title would roll off her tongue, in such a resigned and almost apathetic tone. Was this how she operated? No, he’d seen her, he’d seen in his briefest glimmers of happiness that she was passionate above all else.

It was him, he’d done this to her and it was too late.

He should have known much earlier.


“You said so yourself, you require the investigation of what is jamming our signals,” She calmly turned her elegant head to the officer who had replaced Uhura’s usual spot as Communications Officer, confirming the relayed message from the experienced away team. “Besides, as Mr Spock stated, I am qualified and seeing as this is a test of sorts… I will only be on the planet temporarily. Commander, would you inform them that Captain Chekov will be sending his second-in-command as a sign of good-will?” She stared at her feet instead now, taking cautious breaths, her pulse erratic under his fingers still curled around her wrist. The sight of her shirt sleeve instantaneously reminded him of their mission, the clean lines of the Bridge and the dozens of eyes watching this exchange. They had responsibilities and fact remained, he could not allow his feelings to get in the way.

But he needed them to get into the way, he needed her to think of her own safety for once rather than sating her curiosity.

But the threat of the crew’s deaths on his head weighed heavily on his mind, cold and oppressive and coiling tighter around his chest. He was inexplicably familiar with the sensation, after Vulcan, after Khan, after… after losing Spock’s mother, that was on him. Perhaps this was his revenge?

“Go,” Chekov commanded, almost choking on the breath that escaped. She nodded and he refused to turn back, to look at her as his ears identified the gentle swishing of the turbolift doors.

Perhaps he should have, just one last time.

“Captain Chekov,” The name of the lieutenant escaped him. “What was the predicted rate of survival on the planet, for the time we have?”

“For humans? 30%. Eet eesn’t good enough.” He drummed his fingers awkwardly on the plastic armrests, nerves getting the better of him. “I haff to go after her,”

“Captain, give her time, wait for her signal…” Chekov turned in surprise to see Scotty running aboard the Bridge, panting. “Have faith. I think I know how to countermand the jamming signal. We’ve been running simulations of the wavelength and we think we found the source.”

“I- This was my responsibility. Eef she dies, I will never forgive myself.” Chekov replied harshly, turning to face Scotty and grasping the harsh arm rests of Kirk’s seat. He could feel his heart pound in his chest, threatening to burst free in a tangled sea of anger, nerves and the knowledge that it was all his fault. She could never love him now.

Tags: @arunawayheart, @daftqunk

Sew You Wanna Make a Cosplay: How Comfortable Do You Want It To Be?

You’ve figured out how you want your fabric to look, how to want it to move, and what color it needs to be—and whether you’ll be needing to dye it. There’s only a couple more things to think about before you purchase: comfort and care.

Kid Loki is t-shirt fabric (cotton jersey knit) and velvet. It’s almost like wearing pajamas.

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The Liability of Love

Wont you teach me how to love and learn. There’ll be nothing left for me to yearn. Think of me and burn and let me hold your hand–Bastille (Of the Night)

Friends with Benefits request for thenamelesshero

Chanyeol had the worst timing. Always did, in fact. He seemed to have a knack for appearing at your most embarrassing moment without fail.

Flunked your first exam in college? He would be there in half an hour without notice, a study guide in hand and a tall caramel macchiato in the other.

Horrible period cramps? He would be there, at your doorstep with a box of herbal tea, a bottle of Advil, and a long-suffering, but sympathetic ear to all of your rants and miserable groaning that sounded as if you were being eviscerated.

But he would be there, by your side, as if he was magically in tune with all of your troubles.

“Maybe I’m psychic, or telepathically linked to you,” he joked, but you knew better. Chanyeol was, by every sense of the word, observant. He just knew.

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Snowbaz Coffee Shop AU

This is my contribution for the first day of the Carry On Countdown!!! Here is my Coffee Shop AU (sorry it’s probably horrible…)

There was a boy. That shouldn’t have been alarming, considering that they where the most popular coffee shop in Britain, but there was a boy.

The bell that hung above the glass door jingled and a flurry of winter snow blew in. The boy’s mouth and nose where shoved into a blue scarf that matched his extraordinary eyes. His hands where shoved into the pockets of his jumper that was too thin for this kind of weather. He had a knitted hat on his head that was pulled over his ears, covering his bronze curls and his cheeks where flushed from the cold.

He pulled the hat off and shook the snow from his hair as the door closed behind him. He strided over to the counter where Baz stood, looking bored until the strange boy walked in.

The boy flashed a smile at Baz, his nose red from the cold. Baz cleared his throat, trying to ignore the fact at how incredibly handsome the boy is.

“What would you like?” he says.

“Wh-wh-whatever is warm,” the boy says, shivering from the cold.

“Everything in here is warm,” Baz says, exasperated.

“Then whatever you recommend,” the boy says with a wink that fails dramatically, making it look more like a blink. Baz wasn’t sure if he was flirting, and he didn’t want to open up his mind to the idea that someone could be interested in a worthless nobody like him. Especially at a first glance.

“How about a Pumpkin Mocha Breve?” Baz asks. The boy smiles warmly.

“Sounds perfect.”

The boy, who Baz later found out was named Simon, came to the shop everyday after. He stayed long enough that Baz practically had to force him out. The only question that swirled in his mind waswhat could he possibly be doing that led him to stay for so long.

It couldn’t be what the normal customers did. Some brought bland silver laptops and clicked away frantically, some finishing up almost late school work and others stealing their wifi to hastily send emails. Once in a while they would get a writer with a brightly colored laptop case or a notebook embroidered with the title of their latest work, finally getting a moment of peace to finish their long overdue chapter. Authors weren’t the only ones there for the quiet. Occasionally the little introverted bookworms would order a cup of tea and a piece of lemon pound cake to read, caffeine drifting through their nostrils. There was also teenagers just looking for a place to hang out as they chattered excitedly about upcoming events. Every customer had a story, and that was one of the reasons Baz liked his job.

But this boy, he was something else. He never brought anything with him. He never blended into the crowd of people clicking away or stood out in the way rowdy teenagers did. He always drank his coffee quietly with a smile, and Baz felt his eyes on the back of his neck as he gave someone else their drink. Sometimes he would pull out his phone, listen to music, or text someone who demanded his attention. But whenever he came up to Baz, he would constantly have his cheery presence and make small talk. He’d laugh at Baz’s jokes and Baz kept having to remind himselfthis was not flirting.

Somehow, though, they managed to create a friendship. The antisocial barista and the boy made of sunshine. Baz felt his heart lift every time he glanced at Simon and his laugh brought his spirits up a little bit higher. He tried convincing himself that he was not in love, but he immediately knew that was a lie.

Baz was cleaning up the coffee shop, taking away plates and paper cups, brushing crumbs off of the toffee colored couches as Simon sat in his usual seat, playing with the tea bag hanging out of his cup. His hands where scared and his nails where ragged, as if he’s been biting them. Baz found himself wondering again what was up with that boy.

“Do you think that maybe one time you can get out of your job to meet somewhere else?” Simon asks, looking in his lap. He licked his chapped lips and tapped his foot nervously, his insides spinning. Get a grip, Simon. It’s not like you asked him to be your boyfriend. It’s not even asking him out, he thinks to himself, but people these days where always misinterpreting things and he was worried that his feelings would be in plain sight. Baz was just so handsome and he wanted to find a time where they could talk outside of the rushed after hours where Simon had to leave before the manager came.

Baz stiffened, pursing his lips. He breathed in deeply and Simon knew he made a huge mistake.

Baz wasn’t thinking. Not really. His brained sort of shut off, letting his heart take over. He strides up to Simon, who is fiddling with his phone case. He put his fingers on his chin, lighting his face up so Simon was looking at him. For a fleeting moment, Baz wondered if his heart would force him to press his lips to the mysterious boy’s, but instead, he only said five words.

“Nothing would make me happier.”

Baz tapped his fingers nervously on his jeans in the pattern of his recent piece he was learning on the violin. He wore his hair loosely around his face and had a black t-shirt on to go with his disappointingly black hair. Baz took ages looking at his wardrobe, wondering what he should wear. He then figured that Simon had planned this to be casual, not at all thinking of it romantically.

He chose to meet at the park. Baz pushed away the thought of how incredibly romantic that could be.

Of course, Simon knew that this had the potential to be romantic, and he counted on it. He attempted to flirt with Baz, who was oblivious to it. As the day progressed, he realized that this was probably going to end up to be a platonic date, not a date with an outcome of a potential boyfriend. Then… a delicate matter came up.

“So… how’s life at home,” Baz asks, awkwardly. Of course, Simon promoted him to ask that by asking how Baz’s family is, but it still brought back horrible memories.

Simon squinted his eyes shut as he remembered what awaits him when he leaves the coffee shop in the evening.

His father would ask where he was as he quickly replied with “study group.” He always caught his lie. He’d round on him, a venomous look in his eye. He’d demand to know, and when he did, he would spat at him, saying that his mother didn’t die in child birth so that he could waste his life doing unimportant things. He’d yell until the veins where popping out of his neck, and it only got worse when he found out Simon was bisexual. Everyday was a constant verbal abuse, and everyday his spirits sunk a little lower.

Then he fell in love. He fell in love with the boy behind the counter who always seemed shocked at anything Simon did. He loved surprising him, and he thought that maybe he did have a future.

“S-Simon?” Baz asked, grabbing Simon’s wrist. Simon realized he was crying as the tears splattered onto his hand.

“I-it’s okay. Y-you don’t have to tell me,” Baz says, trying to decide if he should wipe the tears off his face.

“Um… do you… um…” Baz struggled to find the appropriate words, but Simon just hugged him, burring his head in Baz’s shoulder. Baz stood their awkwardly before wrapping his arms around Simon. That’s when he realized that this was not some silly little crush. This is what he wanted.

With a shaky breath, Simon breathed in Baz’s ear, “Will you be my boyfriend?” His heart was already broken enough, and all he wanted was for someone to mend it.

By the way Baz clutched him tighter, Simon knew that his answer was yes.

31 Days of Ouija Blogs: Day 20: Where Can You Play?

So I’ve touched on this before, but let’s talk more about where the best places are to play the Ouija board.

Are you ready? Get ready to take some notes. Okay, ready. Here goes. The best, safest places to play Ouija boards are:

-anywhere you want

Did you get all that? Sorry that list is so extensive. So let’s break it down.

Apparently the WORST place to play a Ouija board is in your own house. This rumor was started because, you know, you don’t know who you’re inviting in to play, and then suddenly you have demons in your house. Which is obviously not true, because first of all, we know you can’t talk to demons on the Ouija board, and second, we know that spirits travel and cannot get stuck anywhere. When you play the Ouija board, you are talking to whatever spirits are in your area. It’s not a matter of “are there spirits in my house”, it’s “there are spirits in my house, I wonder if they want to play a board game.” There are spirits in your house. They could be there because they’re long deceased family members (like a great-aunt-cousin-twice removed who just likes you because you have their hair) or they are spirits who just like the neighborhood and find your home welcoming for them. There could be spirits there who were living in your house before you lived in your house, or were in that area before your house was built. Either way, there are spirits around us all the time, and they are in your house. You’re not inviting any spirits into your house when playing the Ouija board. This rumor comes from the fact that sometimes some light paranormal activity can happen after you play. This is because the spirit you talked to was probably cool, and thought you were cool, and wanted to say hi in the only way they could without using a Ouija board. If you turned invisible and mute, the only way to let your friends know where you are is to knock, or flicker a light, or move something. Right? As long as the haunting isn’t scary, it’s a benign haunting and isn’t in any danger to you, it just means a spirit is saying hello. A rule of thumb: if a living person that you could see was doing the activity, and it wouldn’t be scary, then the spirit isn’t trying to be scary at all. If a living person flicked on a TV, or knocked something on the ground, or gently brushed your arm, would it be scary? So if you just played the board and you’re getting this kind of activity, and even though you know it isn’t dangerous but it still freaks you out, you can announce, “Hi, I know you’re there, but that thing you just did really scared me and i’d prefer if you didn’t do it again.” They’ll listen. So to wrap up this long paragraph, it’s totally fine to play the Ouija board in your house.

The next big misconception is playing in a graveyard. This is really just because graveyards are very spooky places. Just because something is spooky doesn’t mean it’s bad. Graveyards are where people who had lots of friends and family decided to bury them so they can go back and visit them respectfully. It is not where dangerous and violent people were buried, and whose spirits now roam the tombstones all angrily. It costs A LOT of money to be buried in a graveyard, from buying the plot of land to the casket to the headstone to holding the funeral itself. It could cost tens of thousands of dollars. If you are buried in a graveyard, it means someone loved you tens of thousands of dollars much. People in graveyards were beloved, who had families, who have people still visiting them to say nice things to them. You’re not going to find any angry spirits in graveyards; it’s a place where people are resting peacefully. And hey, maybe they’re bored and wouldn’t mind playing a board game. If you are playing in a graveyard, there are two things to look out for. One, these people could be sad or angry or confused about their death, especially if they’ve been recently buried, so try to avoid stories about their death and just ask them general questions. And if you upset them, apologize. Second, be sure to be in the graveyard with permission. Please do not break into a graveyard just to play a board game. Make sure you know the rules of the cemetery and the hours so you don’t get locked in overnight. Please do not trespass; if the cemetery is locked down for the night, don’t break in.

You are apparently not allowed to play the Ouija board in a place where a traumatic event or death took place. Which makes sense, until you remember that spirits can travel. If you died in a horrible way, would you want to hang around that place forever? No way! You’d be out of there. The problem with these kinds of areas is that they could generate some negative energy around it, usually depending on what the event was, and how long it lasted, and if that event is reconstructed or part of a tour or something. A place where two people died in a car crash may carry that energy for a month or so while there’s still memorial stuff going on there, but that’s nothing compared to a battlefield. That energy could draw in spirits who would want to use it for their own purposes, and you’d be likely to contact those spirits. But they’re not the spirits of people who actually died. Spirits that are “trapped” in a place and repeat the motions of their lives are called ghosts, and they are not able to use the Ouija board because they don’t know they’re dead or what’s even going on. So if you go to a place like this and talk to a spirit who says they died there, chances are they’re lying to get your attention and impress you. It’s totally fine to play in places like this, especially since you’d me more likely for the board to work, but just know that you’ll probably be talking to some weirdo spirits. Use spiritual protection if you feel the need to.

Lastly I’ve read that you shouldn’t play in a place that has a lot of children present. To which I say, why not? Children are already more succeptible to seeing spirits, and it probably wouldn’t weird them out to see activity until they tell a grown-up who would probably panic about demons. You’re also “not allowed” to play in a church, I guess for the same reason you shouldn’t play in your house. I guess?

But there’s one important rule about where you should play, kind of like my graveyard rule. If you don’t have permission to play there, don’t play there. If  your parents banned Ouija boards from their house, respect that. If your church doesn’t want you playing, respect that. Following rules is important for any board game, and I don’t want you guys getting in trouble from your families or whatever. If your parents won’t let you play in the house, play at a friend’s house.

Tomorrow is the day that Ouija: Origin of Evil is released in theaters, so we’re going to talk about that, Hollywood, and how today’s popular culture views Ouija boards. And how appropriate that I’m in Burbank right now, pretty much where the new Ouija movie was filmed! I’m on vacation, so if tomorrow’s post doesn’t appear as planned, wait for it, it’s coming.

A Rucas Christmas

Prompt: Riley & Lucas’ first Christmas together
A/N: In light of recent events I wanted to write some super cute fluff to cheer myself up. And because nothing cheers me up more than Christmas time I thought it was an appropriate theme. (My first Christmas Rucas fic!!)
Word Count: 1,734

♡ ♡ ♡

This year will be mine and Riley’s first official Christmas together. Even though we were dating last year, my parents decided to bring me along with them to Texas for the holidays so I wasn’t actually able to spend Christmas with her. We had to exchange gifts a week before. Don’t get me wrong it was still fun but it wasn’t as special. This year will be different though. I plan to make up for last years and set the bar high for Christmases to come.

Mr. and Mrs. Matthews were kind enough to allow me to set up an advent calendar on their living room wall. Basically, there was 24 gifts for the 24 days leading up to Christmas. I strung up a string of lights and attached to it were 24 cards and inside each card was a clue as to where the present was hiding in their apartment.

They weren’t anything too big or expensive. I saved up most of my money from working in Mrs. Matthews’s café after school hours. They were small cute things I knew Riley would love or just things I knew she needed. I saved the biggest gift, obviously, for actual Christmas day.

On December first I hurried over to Riley’s after my shift at Topanga’s was over. I made her promise me to not open the first advent clue until I got there. We were both pretty excited. So much so that our friends wouldn’t stop making fun of us. I didn’t care though, this was my first Christmas with her and I wasn’t going to let anybody try and ruin that.

I run up the fire escape and crawl through her opened window. I spot her sitting on her bed waiting anxiously for me to arrive. I can’t help but smile ear to ear when I see the look on her face when she sees me.

“YAY!” She yells. “You’re here.” She runs over and wraps her arms around me, pulling the rest of my body through the window.

“Someone’s excited.” I tease knowing very well I was just as happy.

“Is it obvious?” She scrunches up her nose in embarrassment which just makes her look even more adorable.

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Fic Request:

  • Lydia can’t stop thinking about the kiss in the locker room with Stiles and ends up wanting his lips on hers more than anything. something happens to where they kiss passionately
  • Lydia finally realizes what a catch Stiles is

Rating: T

Genre: Romance, Fluff

Author: stydia-xo 

Author’s Note: This is my first shot at writing a fic (I’m usually just a reader) so I hope you all enjoy! It was longer than expected and apologies for any grammatical errors :) 

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The Wedding Series - (The After Party {1} - ShikaTema)

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the characters from the Naruto series.

Okay so this is the first part. I’m splitting it up cause its really long. So long that I actually haven’t even finished it completely.

I’m sorry this has taken so long. I’ll try and get the next part up in the next few days to a week.

I hope you enjoy!

.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .

The room buzzed with chatter, joy, and endless smiles for the ‘happy couple’. As they stood in the centre of the room, Shikamaru’s arm protectively gripping the waist of his new wife, the pair nodded non-stop, smiling at each guest that sauntered over to wish them the obligatory congratulations.

Temari did all the talking, bar the odd ‘thanks’ that slipped out of the taller young man’s mouth. It wasn’t a discussed thing, it was just the way they’d learn to deal with people as a couple. She’d talk, be civil and polite, hug where appropriate and grin, whilst Shikamaru would stand beside her, hand in pocket, nodding and smiling as best as he could.

She knew he’d be cold or rude, especially today. To Temari it was clear as day that her husband was bored, and not just that - awfully preoccupied.

“Yeah, thank you so much for coming,” giggled Temari as she waved to a Suna friend as she walked away. “And of course we’ll come home soon, it’s been too long since we went out. See you later.”

With a shrug and a stretch, Shikamaru dropped his arm and chuckled. “You’re out of character,” he chuckled, his voice as mono-toned as ever, but with a hint of confusion. “You’re too nice, offering to go out with her next time we’re in Suna. I swear you told me you only invited her because Kankuro asked you to…”

“I did only invite her because Kankuro told me to,” she groaned. “It’s called a white lie, Shika. I’ll just put it off and off and off…”

“That’s evil.”

“No it isn’t!”

“Getting her hopes up just to knock them down?” The young man chuckled and looked down at her with a disbelieving look. “If that’s not evil then I don’t know what is.”

Shikamaru’s arms folded around her body as Temari groaned. Endlessly she bashed her forehead against his broad shoulder, her irritated groans getting louder with each soft thump of impact.

“I hate social events.”

“Same here,” chimed Shikamaru, burying his face in her hair to keep her still.

“Almost as much as I hate you,” she joked.

Her husband laughed, but the usual mischievous giggle she gave after insulting him didn’t follow. Instead the woman tightly holding his waist sighed, and ran her fingers up and down Shikamaru’s back.

“I can’t be bothered; I just want to go home, Shika,” she whined.

With a nod Shikamaru lifted her chin and smiled softly. “So do I, as you’ve probably guessed. But we’ve got to sit it out, so we may as well try and have a good time yeah?”

“Yeah,” whispered Temari, reaching up on her tip toes to peck the lips of the man in front of her.

Leaning down and cupping her cheek, Shikamaru put his lips next to her ear. “It’s almost time for the first dance…do we have to do it?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Ino will sacrifice me otherwise.”

“Same here, I reckon.”

The pair stood laughing, enveloping each other with their arms as the music began to play, the soft beating of music that in any other situation would’ve put Shikamaru to sleep and made Temari throw up from the sheer soppiness of it all.

But as it so happened, as the pair stared into one another’s eyes, matching grins donned both their faces, they couldn’t care less about how soppy or slow it was. The world seemed to stop moving as they swayed; just him, her and nothing else.


From the side of the room, Kankuro stood with his back to them, ruffling his little brother’s red hair as Gaara stared at them.

“Do they look happy?” asked the older brother.

Gaara shot him a look of almost annoyance. “You could look for yourself.”

“I could,” Kankuro chuckled, slurping on the beer in his hand, “but I dunno if I could fight the overwhelming desire to run over there and push them apart.”

“What if I told you his hand is on her arse?”

The pair paused, Gaara’s expression entirely motionless.

“It’s not actually is it?”

“Of course it’s not, I just wanted you to man up and look.”

Kankuro chuckled.

Tapping his fingers to the music against the side of his glass with a frown, Gaara looked on at the way his new brother-in-law held his sister with such care. He admired the way his eyes softened at the sight of her, and the delicacy of his fingers on her waist.

It was undeniable, Temari was especially stunning tonight, and the dazzling grin she gave Shikamaru was specific just for him. But, this dance and the glances they shared, opened up the chance for everyone else to see the beauty of her smitten smile. The radiance of her whole being was enough to make Gaara’s mind falter. It was so unlike her, the softness and the sweetness with someone, but it was undeniably real.

“Don’t you think she’s acting strange recently?” asked Gaara, his eyes still trained on the pair as they embraced once again. “I mean, did you hear her mumbling to herself about ‘uncles’ earlier? Do you think she might-”

“No, Gaara, I don’t.” Kankuro fell back into the chair behind him and laughed. “She’s not going to be pregnant. You know Temari, she’d never let that happen.”

“But she’s been feeling sick all day! And I haven’t seen her touch a drop of anything but orange juice since we got here.”

“Gaara, stop panicking. You’re the one who doesn’t panic.”

The younger brother laughed slightly, biting down on his lower lip. “But it’s only logical,” he gushed. “Sickness and that time earlier where she mentioned you being the 'better uncle’. It can just be coincidence.”

"It can if you let it,” groaned Kankuro. He crossed his arms and sighed, raising his eyebrows at his older brother as he ran a hand nervously through his choppy brown hair.

Gaara raised his brow. “Well, it could but it’s unlike her.“

Not for one minute did he think it could be true, but just entertaining the idea of Gaara’s logic made Kankuro’s skin crawl. She couldn’t be pregnant; it was weird. Her husband was younger than he was…they’d been married, like, three hours.

No, he thought, it can’t be true. Temari’s not like that.

He was right, too; she wasn’t like that.


Lazily, but with true purpose, Shikamaru led his bride slowly over to the wall in the corner. It was lucky that the lights were dimmed and dark, or else she’d have seen the pink tinge to his cheeks spreading; put there by the sparkling grin on her lips as she looked up at him.

Her hand crept up his torso and held his cheek as she grinned, feeling the warmth of his flushed cheeks against her fingertips. Staring up at those warm brown eyes, looking at her with such pride and adoration, she knew she’d got all she could’ve wanted.

Shikamaru was a total dick most of the time, and left everything down to her unless she shouted at him, but she knew he loved her really.

From the look he gave her right then, his back pressed against the cold brick wall, it was undeniable.

Gently he leant down and pressed his lips against hers, enjoying the usual warm, tingly sensation she gave him. He felt her hands slip down to his shoulders and her thumbs brushing his prominent collar bones as she kissed back softly, passionately…

“I love you,” he said in a breathy tone, holding one of her cheeks in his hand gently. “You’re a right bitch, but I do. I love you…”

Temari shook her head as she smiled, involuntarily letting her hand fall to her abdomen as she groaned slightly. “I feel like shit, Shikamaru. I swear I’m going to throw up any minute.”

“No,” he whispered, “you’ll be fine. Just grab me or Hinata if you really need to and blame it on alcohol, okay?”

Temari smiled slightly and nodded, burying her disgruntled expression into her man’s chest.

Juggling a pint of beer and a handful of cheese straws, the best man Chouji Akimichi bounced over towards the newlyweds with a huge grin on his face. His eyes were wide and happy, his cheeks slightly flushed as if grazed by the sharp touch of winter air. Clearly, he’d been drinking, but could they blame him? He was a single man at the wedding of his best friend, after all; he deserved leeway.

As he stared at the pair, Temari snuggling her face into the chest of his friend, Shikamaru’s lips buried intently in her messy blonde hair, he felt almost unwelcome. It was hard to tell why. Maybe the look in his friends eyes, or the pale face of the bride - he didn’t know.

"Congratulations!” he cried, laughing as he slapped Shikamaru playfully on the back. “Although I guess you’re sick of that, huh? Don’t blame you.” He lifted his hand to his mouth and took a bit of a cheese straw along with a sip of his beer. “Still, it’s cool you’re married now! Temari Nara…does the name feel weird yet?”

“Felt weird the minute the guy announced it,” she smiled, reaching out and taking a cheese straw from between Chouji’s fingers. Temari raised it to her lips and put it between her teeth, holding it with one hand as her other arm engulfed her groom.

Without thinking, Shikamaru laughed, forgetting all concern he’d had over the years of the consequences of stealing Chouji’s food. It wasn’t a crime, it was his family and hers who had paid for the food, including that delicious cheesy pastry, and if she wanted one, she could take one.

Well, Chouji wasn’t so sure of that.

For a few moments he seemed in shock, and watched, with firmly furrowed eyebrows, her chewing his food and savouring it to the last bite. It took him a while to process it, and as soon as he’d got over the sudden theft he watched as yet another cheese straw was snatched from his grip.

Still grinning, Shikamaru wrapped his arm tighter around the body of his wife, kissing her hair as he chuckled at his best friends facial expressions. Taking Chouji’s food without asking was something he’d never dared to do, but it didn’t surprise him one bit that Temari had the guts to do it. She should’ve known better but for some reason, her hands took over.

Chouji looked from bride to groom and back again. “Craving cheese, are you?” he asked her, smirking as he frowned in jest.

“Yeah!” She nodded vigorously, ripping the pastry between her teeth and chewing as she looked at Chouji. “I’ve been seriously craving cheese a lot lately.”

Temari cocked her head to one side as the plumper young man held out his food and offered her more. Laughing she took another from his reaching hand, taking more and thanking him although she hadn’t even finished her second one.

“Cravings are a bitch, huh?”

“Tell me about it,” groaned Temari, resting her head on Shikamaru as she ate. “It’s such a drag.”

If it weren’t for his intelligence, Shikamaru probably would’ve laughed at his wife’s dig at him. But, as it stood, he could read his best friend like a book and he knew what Chouji was doing.

No. No, Chouji, don’t you dare mention it, he thought, giving the man the look that said it perfectly, too.

But however much his brow furrowed or his eyes pleaded with his friend, Shikamaru wasn’t getting anywhere. Chouji wasn’t going to miss the chance he’d got to be a pain.

“Shikamaru, didn’t your mum crave cheese a lot?”

“Chouji…” His voice wasn’t a whisper; it was a warning, a growl.

“I think she did,” the brunette continued. “Maybe it’s just a Nara thing.”


He smirked, finally taking a bite of a cheese straw. “Ya know, craving cheese when you’re pregnant.”

Like a dart and quick as anything, the blondes eyes narrowed, her head snapping up and looking from man to man as she caught up to Chouji.

Shit, thought Shikamaru, and quite rightly so. He felt her eyes finally rest on him, boring into his own like an awful headache.

“You told him?!” she snapped, crushing the cheese straws in his hand in a heartbeat. “I can’t believe you! You told him?!”

Shikamaru gulped, looking from his wife’s demeaning eyes to the crumbs falling from her hand. One wrong move now and he’d end up like those cheese straws were now…dust.

“Tem, look, I’m sorry,” he groaned, his voice littered with boredom and what almost sounded like pain. “Chouji’s my best mate - I trust him. Come on it can’t hurt!" 

“Cant hurt?!”

He cocked his head to one side, slouching again. “Well, technically speaking, it can’t physically hurt-”

“Oh just shut up. You’re such an ass,” scolded Temari as she turned and stepped over to Hinata in a huff. “Leave me alone.”

Her husband stood still, watching her walk away.

Slowly Shikamaru turned his back to her and sighed, taking a glass of water from the table beside him that didn’t even belong to him. “Thanks, mate.”

“What?” hissed Chouji, leaning towards him with a glare and his mouth full. “Why the hell aren’t you going to apologise?”

Shikamaru almost laughed. Chouji didn’t.

“Shikamaru, why are you being such a dick?”

“What’s the point?”


“What’s the point in going after her?”

With an eye roll, Chouji slapped his friend on the arm hard as he could without hurting the man. “Shika, she’s your wife! Go apologise and make it up to her!”

“There’s no point right now. She needs to calm down first. Trying right now would be way too troublesome.”

As the dark haired man finished off the glass and yawned, glancing over at Temari subtly to check she was alright, Chouji couldn’t deny that he was right. Shikamaru knew her better than anyone else did, except maybe he was on par with her brothers.

Whatever the case was, one thing was for sure: Shikamaru knew Temari better than he knew his father’s shoji board.

.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .

As I edited this, the thing I was most conscious about was mentioning Gaara’s non-existent eyebrows, not gunna lie…

Also, I feel I ought to put a bad language warning in these things, cause I swear a lot…

Anyway, I hope you lot enjoyed it. Next part up as soon as I finish it!

anonymous asked:

So, Kubo said that the ending was the one that he wanted all along. Will you now stop defending that he did that on purpose to spite sj? Will now accept that he's just a shit writer who used his fans for money? A hypocrite that said that would not draw something that he didn't like but did the honeymoon spread just to ship bate all the while faping tho ih? A sick person who thinks that the lust arc was romantic? Just to realize that he is this kind of person makes me sad...

oh my god i’m so sick and tired

Hey look I get that you’re really disappointed and upset but why, for the love of god, have some IR shippers started coming into other people’s inboxes and started a militant ‘OH MY GOD WHY DON’T YOU HATE KUBO YOU DUMB MOTHERFUCKER YOU’RE SETTING YOURSELF UP FOR DISAPPOINTMENT’ campaign

like what is your problem. who the fuck CARES if you think other people are setting themselves up for disappointment, who the fuck CARES, leave other people the fuck ALONE

I don’t know if you realise how badly you’re coming across but the repetition of ‘will you now finally~blah blah blah’ makes this message read REALLY condescending and supercilious and patronizing. Like you’re saying ‘will you finally stop being a goddamn MORON and accept that I had the right idea all along you abject idiot’. And I apologise if that’s not your intention but for the love of christ, why can’t people on this website offer some basic courtesy. I love receiving messages from people but why do people not REALISE THAT DESPITE THE FACT THAT WE ARE ON A BLOGGING PLATFORM YOU ARE STILL ESSENTIALLY WRITING MESSAGES TO STRANGERS. STRANGERS. WHY WON’T PEOPLE WRITE WITH SOME BASIC COURTESY I’M SO SICK OF THIS GODDAMN WEBSITE

If you wanted my opinion on the twitter clusterfuck, you could have just asked?? Alright, I’ll bite. Most of my feelings about it can be pretty eloquently summed up by @sorisanam​‘s post here (read it before you read my response), but to answer your questions and add my (REALLY REALLY LONG) two cents:

Keep reading

on failure, liturgy, and new years

i have thought for a long time about how, when, and honestly if i would write this. but with some time and healing behind me, and the start of a new year, i felt that it was time.

as i’m sure you know by now, my wife & i divorced a little over a year ago. at the time, we put a lot of thought into what we considered an appropriately benign and simple statement which we released together announcing this sad news. a very good and wise friend, someone who has also gone through some hard things publicly, gave what i consider valuable counsel: while your instinct, and people’s expectation, might be to go into a lot of detail in what you share publicly about a situation like this, it’s very rarely a good idea. but with some perspective and much personal health and growth over the past year, it now feels incongruent to leave the subject unaddressed publicly.

i can imagine that many of you felt and maybe still feel confused, disappointed, angry even, at hearing the news of our split. there was an understanding, a trust, broken between you and me. i’ve heard it said that trust takes years to build and seconds to break. my hope is that this writing might be the first step towards rebuilding that trust.

in the brief statement that was released about our divorce, it said that i took full responsibility for the events that led to the decision. that is true, but i want to take this opportunity to say more.

the truth is, i cheated. i betrayed the trust of my wife. i betrayed the trust of my family, my friends & my community. and i betrayed the trust and support that many of you have entrusted me with for many, many years. what started as a brief, inappropriate, and quickly confessed connection with a very old friend evolved quickly into something more serious, which was hidden from spouses and friends. it continued in secret for a matter of months, was eventually discovered, and set into motion the consequences that i will now live with for the rest of my life.

or, more simply said: i was a fool. i believed lies, which led me to tell lies.

this is why temptation is so tempting. it’s insane how quickly it becomes rational and reasonable to believe and do destructive and evil things. as much as i wish i could, i simply cannot change what i’ve done, nor the resulting consequences. i can only own these despicable actions, which have left me completely devastated and deeply ashamed. sometimes, no matter how bad you want it or how hard you fight for it, broken things just can’t be mended. the only path forward from here is to continue focusing on health & healing, my children & parents, and investing in safe community.

that brings me to one of the most important things i can emphasize. through what’s easily been the hardest few years of my life, many friends left, a precious few stayed, and some new friends showed up for which i am so grateful and without whom i might not have survived. for most of my life (and certainly as these events transpired) i have been dramatically under-resourced with people around me with whom i have been truly vulnerable, who really knew me. the importance of having a handful, even just one or two safe people in your life with whom you can and do truly share everything, especially the hardest and most shameful things, cannot be overstated. i see this as one of the most important and life-altering changes that this devastation has brought about in my life. although it took time, i found a wise therapist, several groups of men with whom i spend regular time, and a handful of friends who i consider to be among the best i’ve ever had.

i would plead with you to find a small group of safe men or women, friends who will not respond with platitudes of morality but will instead get down and not only join you but stay with you in your shit, in hopes of helping pull you out. inevitably, they’ll need you to join them in theirs someday.

you might be a man or woman reading this even now, finding yourself exactly where i was two years ago, seriously considering choices that could destroy your life, your family, and maybe yourself. if that’s you please listen to me: what you think you want, what you think you can have, is not real, and you’ll lose real things pursuing it. as an unfortunately and extremely reliable source, please believe me.

so, if you’re standing on that steep ledge, STOP. DON’T DO IT. at very least, risk telling someone immediately and give opportunity to hearing some understanding and perspective, maybe some sanity restoring words that might be the small disruption needed to shake you awake. tell the whole truth and keep telling it. your marriage is worth it. your future is worth it.

the tone & spirit of the songs i’ve written over the last decade or so have sometimes been called “prophetic,” a term that i’ve worn with extreme discomfort. but it turns out my songs have been eerily prophetic in my own story. for years i’ve borrowed this language from ezekiel:

i am a whore, i do confess, but i put you on like a wedding dress and i run down the aisle.

hard as they have always been to sing, i am especially grateful to have those words to confess today, as i’ve never known them to be more deeply true of myself as i am running down that aisle still.

there has always been some measure of distance between me and the content of my songs. there’s a sense in which even the most confessional of my songs, like ‘wedding dress’ or it’s more recent sibling 'heavy’, felt like they were about someone else. so, the accidentally prophetic sting of those songs is especially acute and painful in light of my great failures. songs like those have never been more difficult to sing, but i’ve never been more grateful to have to.

i’ve said recently that my songs feel like my personal liturgy, things that i don’t necessarily or always believe but i show up to recite again and again in hopes of believing them. if i’m honest, most of the time i don’t believe the words in my songs. i have a hard time believing in a God that could make, let alone love a man who could do such things. so, i’ll go on reciting and adding to my liturgy in hopes of believing the words, because i wish to. more than ever, i wish to.

      AOS Big-Bang Challenge

The Glow Cloud, the Dog Park and the Scientist With Perfect Hair
Author: Pizza-is-my-buziness
Artist: Ironbunneh
Pairing: Skimmons
Rating: T

“In other Glow Cloud related news, I once again spoke with Dr. Jemma Simmons. Perfect Jemma.” Skye smiles at the memory of their brief conversation. “Neither she, nor any of the scientists seem to know why the Glow Cloud is raining animals. So bring an umbrella tomorrow, Night Vale. You’re going to need it.”

So it’s finally time for me to post my AOS Big-Bang Challenge story (I really hope I’m doing this right?) with the lovely and beautiful artwork by Ironbunneh, who has once again outdone herself. This is a “Welcome to Nightvale” AU that other wonderful Skimmons authors were kind enough to let me borrow!

Keep reading

When I first began studying Islam and getting involved in Islamic work, one of the major motivators for me was that this field would keep me away from the fitnah of the opposite gender. For every young man and woman, one of the greatest trials we face is dealing with members of the opposite gender without falling into sin. Originally, and it was naive of me, I thought Islamic work would put me in a position in which I would not have to deal with these situations. Unfortunately, I was wrong.

There is a trend among contemporary, practicing Muslims which I find rather disturbing, this trend is what I call a “Shaykhy Crush”. I have noticed at many Islamic events, from classes to conferences, practicing Muslim women who follow the Deen in dress and Ibadah, developing crushes and falling in love with the speakers and teachers. This has led to many dangerous scenarios.

The following are a few real life examples I have encountered:

1) At an Islamic course, some sisters were discussing how handsome the Shaykh is. When an elderly sister told them not to talk about him like that as he is married, they responded, “So what? We can still marry him,” and continued their discussion.

2) At an Islamic conference, many sisters were not discussing the content of the lectures but how beautiful the imam sounded with his gorgeous French accent, or how “handsome and sweet” another Shaykh’s smile was. “It melts my heart” were words I heard.

3) Recently, a Shaykh took a second wife, this triggered a discussion online between sisters who admitted they were “going gaga” over him and wished they were his second wife.

4) A sister recently told a Shaykh that she is no longer satisfied with her husband as she is only attracted to students of knowledge now. A married sister told her teacher that she is unsatisfied with her husband and had a dream that she was married to him.

5) A Shaykh deleted his Facebook account because married women on Facebook were claiming to have fallen in love with him.

These are just few of many such incidents that I have encountered in this field. As to what is the cause of this, Allah knows best. Perhaps some of our sisters can shed some light on this for us in the comments section. It could be that studying Islam has been glamorized and students of knowledge are treated like celebrities or it could be that some Shuyukh unintentionally do things that attract women. Many times these feelings may be natural as Muslim women may see an ideal man in a married teacher of knowledge but acting upon this feelings is unwise. Furthermore, social engineering promoted by sites like Facebook makes behavior, like comments, that would never be acceptable face to face, seem normal. We have to remember that there is still a human behind that wall with a family. I do not know the exact causes but this is definitely a growing problem in Western countries.

The problems that arise from this situation are multiple; here are some of the major issues:

1) Corruption of a student of knowledge’s intentions. We, students, are human and love women just as much as the next man (I’m going to get in trouble for saying that), so when we are trying to teach Islam and keep ourselves and our thoughts chaste, the female fans don’t make it easy for us. I noticed many students of knowledge starting to dress smarter and act differently when they realize they have the attention of the single sisters and there is a major chance that this can affect their intention of teaching for the sake of Allah.

2) Too many single sisters want to marry a Shaykh, and some begin to consider polygamy. The problem here is that the Shaykh might not be interested in such a relationship, and in an extreme case or two, a Shaykh rejecting such a notion has led to jealousy and harassment of the Shaykh and his wife.

3) Married sisters begin to develop crushes on their teachers and start to compare their husbands to the teacher, which leads to dissatisfaction in their marriage and eventually marital conflicts.

4) Sometimes the Shaykh and his wife have a happy marital life until a sister (or two) ask him if he wants a second wife, without considering his current wife’s feelings. This can cause problems between the Shaykh and his wife, as well as jealousy and could lead to the breakdown of a once-happy marriage.

5) There is always the potential danger of Zina, even with students of knowledge especially if the attraction is mutual.

These are just some of the negative consequences of this trend. I would like to conclude with some advice for both the sisters and the Shaykhs.

Advice to sisters who are seeking knowledge:

1) Lower your gaze: Remember that he is your teacher, a man of Islamic knowledge and a married man too. So look at him with respect, not desire.

2) Purify your intentions: When attending a lecture, make a sincere intention to learn and benefit from the teacher for the sake of Allah, and do not attend just because Shaykh Yusuf is teaching and you love the sound of his voice. I do not want to discourage any sister from seeking knowledge, just gently reminding them of Shaytan’s plot.

3) Walk in her shoes: Think about his wife and her feelings and do not say or do anything that could cause a problem in their marriage.

4) Choose a husband realistically: Not every woman can marry a Shaykh, so focus on finding a good Muslim man who will care for you and do not compare him to the Shuyukh. Find a good guy and thank Allah for allowing you to marry him and appreciate his efforts to please you.

5) Modesty is key: Remember that talking about how handsome the Shaykh is against haya and not befitting students of knowledge to discuss their teacher in such a manner with each other.

Advice to young Shuyukh in dealing with this Fitnah:

1) Lower Your Gaze: Do not look at the sisters in the audience too much. Focus your gaze on the men in your audience. If there is a sister who attracts you or you know is attracted to you, do not look at her at all (without being rude or disrespectful).

2) Purify Your Intention: Always remember that you are teaching for the sake of Allah and not to attract a female fan club so behave appropriately and modestly.

3) Avoid any unnecessary interaction with women. Do not keep single sisters on your instant messenger contact list, or talk to them for hours on the phone, and if they catch you in the hallway to ask a question, keep it brief, polite and to the point.

4) Think about your wife: Anytime you are attracted to a student of yours, think about your wife and everything she does for you. Think about her sacrifices and this will fill you with guilt for even feeling such attraction to another woman.

5) Dress up better for your wife than others: It should not be such that whenever you go out to teach a class, you are dressed in your best thowb with your best Itr, while at home you do not bother looking (or smelling good) for your wife. Remember the example of Ibn Abbas and deal with your wife accordingly.

6) Get married: If you are serious about polygamy, do it the right way so that people do not gossip or spread rumors about you and you avoid breaking any sister’s heart.

I hope these tips help us all to remain firm on the straight path. Remember the devils spend more time trying to mislead those who are walking the righteous path and so we need to be careful of these pitfalls of Shaytaan in which he tries to use our good deeds (teaching, studying) to lead us to commit sins.

Anything good I have said is from Allah, and any mistakes are my own and we seek refuge in Allah from giving wrong advice and from all forms of fitnah.

—  Abu Muawiyah Ismail Kamdar