it barely has a name


Matsunami Yuuki (Sarukui) and his dog Meru-kun!  

Apparently Meru-kun is a 1-yr old dog, and his left leg will be fully healed in another 2 months or so.

A reminder that the “Borderline” in Borderline Personality Disorder does not mean someone barely has a personality disorder or that they’re almost neurotypical. The name “Borderline Personality Disorder” comes from the fact that the initial doctor to study it said sufferers live on the border between psychosis (disconnection from reality) and neurosis (having anxiety, depression, or obsessive tendencies, etc that don’t quite cause disconnection from reality). 

anonymous asked:

yuuri is a witch in training and viktor is a prince!

guys. which one of you failed to inform me that yesterday was @beanpots‘s bday? this is dedicated to them now

The bell above the door tinkles merrily as it opens. Viktor steps in nervously, pulling his hood about him and closing the door quickly, before peering out the little window in the door to make sure he hadn’t been tailed.

After ascertaining that no one had, he steps out into the main part of this shop, looking around him at the dried herbs tied to the ceiling and gathered in baskets all around. A book lies open on the counter, next to a mortar and pestle and a small linen bag. 

A bengal cat comes leaping down from the rafters, landing onto the counter before flicking its tail and turning to survey Viktor with piercing green eyes. Viktor stands rooted to the floor, hardly daring to breathe. He only moves when the cat does; it leaps off the counter and pads away silently through a set of black curtains behind the counter.

Viktor returns to his examination of the room. Minako is taking such a long time to get out here, and he didn’t remember seeing a bengal cat familiar the last time he was here to be checked up by her. He sighs, finger skimming across a deer antler and a rabbit’s foot before coming to rest on a fox pelt. It feels unbelievably soft.

“Hey! I’m sorry it took me so long to get out here!” A voice startles Viktor from his reverie and he turns to see a young dark-haired man at the counter, wiping his hands on his apron. Viktor’s chest does an unpleasant-feeling lurch, and he heaves, caught off-guard by the sudden motion. The young man’s eyes widen, and he scrambles around the counter to catch Viktor just as he stumbles.

The young man smells like petrichor, Viktor muses, before he’s being guided to a stool and instructed to sit. The young man vanishes behind the curtains again, and reappears momentarily with a cup of some sort of hot beverage.

“It’s tea,” he explains, when Viktor clutches the cup and stares at it. 

“…Thank you,” mumbles Viktor, before he sips. It is scalding, but it is tea, indeed.

“You gave me a bit of a fright,” admits the young man. “What can I do for you?”

Keep reading

The Darkest Part of the Night


It’s the first day of kindergarten and the rest of his life.

He’s wearing the new shirt his mama got him specially for this day. It’s got two dinosaurs on it, because two dinosaurs are obviously better and cooler than one. At least, that is what he tells his mama.

He finds that the same is true with friends too. He’s had Archie since day one. Their parents were ecstatic to learn they would have sons the same age, able to carry on the lifelong friendship that F.P. and Fred held. They are inseparable, and Jughead wonders why anyone would need more than one best friend, unless they were a really bad best friend.

He used to frown at the thought. Archie could never be a bad friend.

Now though, he sits in a small chair, nervously swinging his short legs back and forth. They don’t quite reach the ground, no matter how far forward he sits in his chair. He needs a distraction, so he stretches one leg out, tongue poking out of his mouth as he tries his hardest, but the ground is still too far away for him to reach.

So is Archie.

There is a messy mop of bright red hair across the room, bobbing up and down with excitement. It only makes Jughead miss his friend more. He wants to share that happiness, but instead he only feels dread.

The classroom is bigger than the trailer he lives in with his parents and baby Jellybean, but it still feels too small in comparison. There are so many kids that Jughead doesn’t know, and even though he pinky promised his mom he would try to make friends, he only wants the one he already has. He misses the day’s when he and Archie could play together for hours, and they didn’t have to follow rules or introduce themselves to all these kids.

He’s insecure, but at his age he can’t put a name to the sour taste that enters his mouth and the tears that brim his eyes as his bottom lip trembles with the urge to cry. Most of the other kids have normal names, like Reggie and Kevin, or Cheryl and Archie, and although Jughead never worried about his name before, he heard all the kids laugh at the little boy named Moose, and by now he’s smart enough to know that his own is even stranger.

His savior comes in the form of a whirlwind of blonde hair, green eyes and a high-pitched voice that brings him down from the edge of tears he is perched on.

“Hi I’m Elizabeth but all my friends call me Betty so you can too now that we’ve met!” She’s too loud and too close for his liking, but she smells like the vanilla cupcakes his mama made the night before to celebrate him going into kindergarten, and he can’t help but lean in even farther.

He blinks a few times once he realizes that she was talking to him, and carefully mumbles a reply while facing the ground. “My name is Jughead.”

When he looks up again, she looks confused and this is what he was worried about. The tears flood his eyes within seconds and he wants to curl into a ball like he does with Hot Dog at home whenever he gets sad. But Hot Dog isn’t here and neither are his mama and daddy and Archie is too far way for him to call out to. Even little Jellybean would be better than any of these people, and all she does is smell bad and cry.

“Sorry! I didn’t hear you very well, can you say your name again?” She’s in his face again, and Jughead gets a good look at her. There’s a sparkle in her eyes and he remembers his mama’s words earlier. Be kind Juggie, and other’s will be too.

She also told him he was a smart boy (and his chest had puffed up a little in pride at these words) and this girl, Betty, is being kind so he assumes she must also have a mama who said the same thing.

“It’s Jughead.” He says while sitting taller, forcing a watery smile onto his face.

“That’s such a cool name! Betty is so boring but it’s alright because that’s what my mommy named me and she knows best because she’s the smartest mommy I’ve ever had!”

He can’t believe she didn’t think his name was funny, and he sits quietly. Even Archie had laughed a little when he first started using it. Now you have a silly real name and a silly nickname! Jughead doesn’t think he was trying to be mean, but now the memory hurts a little in comparison to Betty’s reaction.

Jughead is brought back into focus when he realizes the teacher has reached his table to introduce to the rest of the class. A girl named Midge goes first, then another named Josie. The teacher barely has time to point to Betty before she takes a deep breath and a stream of words that Jughead can barely understands leaves her mouth.

“Hi I’m Elizabeth Cooper but you can call me Betty and I’m so excited to finally be in Kindergarten and this is my new friend Jughead!” She practically falls out of her seat with excitement and giggles rack her small body as she slaps a hand over her mouth and gives a muffled shriek. Her blond curls are bouncing and Jughead is mesmerized by her already. “Sorry I’m just so excited I couldn’t hold it in!”

He looks down at his shirt and sees the two dinosaurs. This is the second time she’s referred to him as her friend since they got here, and he thinks that if two dinosaurs are better than one, it only makes sense that two friends are better than one as well. And he’s a smart boy, so it must be true.

“Well, Miss Betty, your friend might have wanted to introduce himself today.”

His feels warm with affection for the bouncing blonde sitting next to him, and he thinks that the teacher is right. He does want to share his name after all.


Tomorrow is the first day of sixth grade, which consequently means that it is the first day of middle school as well.

Jughead doesn’t think that this means anything special, but from her place next to him at the kitchen table, Betty insists that everything changes once you start middle school. He shrugs with indifference since he gave up arguing with her years ago.

He’s found that she is usually right anyways.

“We’re going to a whole new school, and new kids from different elementary schools will be there too. We’ll have new teachers, and we have to go to six classes now instead of one. Can you believe that? Six classes!”

She is breathless from ranting, and so is Jughead, but for a different reason altogether. She’s been talking about sixth grade all break, and the excitement she feels has become too much for her to contain, and it spills out like the sticky overflowing sodas they shared with Archie all summer long. Her hands move as rapidly as her mouth does, and he can’t decide which one to focus on first. Which ones he likes better.

He’s nervous though, because if what she says is true, there is a chance Betty will make better friends than Jughead and suddenly he isn’t hungry for Alice Cooper’s famous mac and cheese anymore. He just wants Betty.

He gave up long ago on being Archie’s only friend, because the boy was too outgoing to be glued to Jughead’s side 24/7. He never worried though, because the red-head remained as loyal as ever to his best friend, and Jughead would always be his first choice. 11 years of life had taught Jughead that people come and go, but over 10 years of friendship with Archie had taught him that they were brothers, and family never leaves you behind.

(Soon he will learn that this is not necessarily true, and that as usual, Betty is right. Everything changes when you least expect it.)

Betty is different though. She listens to Jughead’s problems and gives him better advice than anyone else could. She’s held his hand through elementary school and all the insecurities it brought him growing up. He’s never had a friend as caring and warm as Betty, and doesn’t think that he ever will again if he loses her.

You get what you give Juggie. He grew up in the trailer park with this mentality, surrounded by men and women who protected his family because his father had done the same.

(His mom will tell him this again a year later when she leaves for the last time. You get what you give Juggie, but sometimes what you give isn’t good enough.)

He’s never lived the same life she does, white picket fences with enough money for food and more. His family has lived paycheck to paycheck, and his father jumps from job to job. It’s been hard on him even though he doesn’t like to show it. But it becomes inevitable once Betty has solidified her place in his life that she will learn about his fears and worries about his family’s stability, something no 11 year old should be subjected to.

And still she had stayed by his side, their friendship only growing stronger with time. Archie might be his brother, but Betty is his best friend.

(Most people would say that a brother is closer than a best friend, but brothers are obligated to stay with you by blood or law, a best friend chooses to do so.)

He’s been there for her as well, and right now he thinks that should be enough for her to stay. He protected Betty from bully’s and let her cry on his shoulder whenever she needed to. He held her hand during scary movies, in the hoped that her nails would dig into his hands instead of her own. He always told her she was beautiful whenever she asked about clothes, or when she started wearing makeup over the summer, because she asked for his honest opinion.

Jughead gives the type of love he is desperate to get.

So, when the first day of school comes, he is more nervous than he’s ever been on first days, even though he enters with his two friends at his sides like every year before. He sits with Archie at lunch, since Betty has a different lunch period. His friend spends the entire time dreaming out loud about the new girl, Veronica, and how gorgeous and confident she is. Jughead spends the entire lunch mourning the absence of green eyes and sunshine yellow hair.

The rest of the day flies by, and before he knows it, he is walking towards his last class of the day, the one he has with Betty. His stomach feels weird and a sour taste enters his mouth, but this time he can name it easily. He’s nervous to see her, although he still isn’t quite sure why.

He spots the new girl right away, dark hair, a wide smile, pearl necklace and navy blue dress. He thinks she’s over dressed for sixth grade, but bites his tongue to keep that thought in.

Jughead doesn’t have time to even consider that Betty might want to sit with her new friends instead of him before she comes flying through the door and straight to the table he is sitting at. He is lost in the scent of vanilla and the flowery perfume she made him go shopping with her for, and he finds himself in the waves of her hair and the feel of his arms around her small waist.

Betty has stuck around for the past six years, and in this moment Jughead knows she’ll be around for the next six, if not more. He has time to figure out what this feeling is. For now, though, he’s content that he feels it for Betty and no one else.


It’s the first day of their last year together in high school.

Jughead feels his chest tighten uncomfortable at the thought. He’s made it this far and four years ago he never would have guessed it was possible. He was swept up in the tornado of his family that was years of built up pressure and stress and managed to come out alive and fighting. He doesn’t want to leave the little bubble he’s blown around himself for protection, but bubbles are weak and the end of this year will be the needle that pops it.

For the meantime, he has so many things to be thankful for. A father figure in his life, a brother returned to his side, and a light to guide him through the darkness of his own mind.

They are simple things that most people are born with, but these were made for him. Forged by the challenges he’s faced and the same pressure that broke him and then turned him into a diamond.

Fred took him in like his own son after his father went to jail. Even though Jughead will always love and rely on his real father, there are some things you can’t provide from the cold hard floor of a prison cell. He has a home with the Andrews, and he works for Fred to repay him, because you can’t pay for food and shelter with kindness.

After a rift in their friendship, he and Archie only came out stronger. They both needed to work on things, and now they know each other better for it. It takes time, but Jughead forgives him, because he has learned that sometimes you give without expecting anything in return.

But he would not be where he is today without Betty Cooper by his side. She hopped on for the wildest ride of her life and held on like he was the only thing keeping her alive, when in reality it was the other way around. She fought for him, for his family, and for things he didn’t know he was even allowed to want. His heart wanted to burst whenever he thought about her, and how she led him through the darkest part of the night until he could see the sunlight.

He doesn’t think he’s ever loved a person so fiercely, didn’t think it was possible growing up. He never believed he deserved to love and be loved the way he is by Betty.

But she proved him wrong again, like she always does whenever he’s in a bad place. She tells him that there are things worth waiting for, and even though she isn’t perfect herself, he’s never met someone so genuine and rich with love to give. Betty Cooper might not be perfect, but his eyes, perfection was Betty Cooper.

She shares the darkness with him, has taken a weight off his shoulders and consequently put it on her own, but they carry it together now.

Jughead thinks back to the year before this, where he once stood in the same exact spot. He walked the streets of The Southside alone while Betty left the city for the summer and while Archie had left him. He went to Southside High that year, neither of his friends by his side, and pleaded with time to speed up. It didn’t, but eventually those puzzle pieces fell into place and he was thankful for the time he had.

Now, he is here again, staring up at Riverdale High desperately hoping that time will slow down so he can enjoy this life he lives in the moment. It won’t, and soon the first bell will ring. Before he knows it the first week, then month, then semester will be over, and the rest will follow in the blink of an eye.

He tends to live life like this, anticipating the future instead of appreciating the present, but with Betty he wants to focus on the past as well.

It’s not the bell that shakes him out of his reverie, but a soft tug by a small hand on his jacket sleeve. “You ready to do this today?”

He looks down at her and his fingers itch with the need to touch. To cup her jaw and run a finger over the soft lips that sing music in his ears. To run his fingers through her hair and keep his overworked and over worried hands busy.

He settles for dropping his arm and slipping his calloused fingers through her soft ones. He runs a finger over her nails and is glad to find they are long, but the scars on her palms are older as this budding relationship.

“I think I am, are you?”

“Of course Juggie, we’ve made it this far and I’m not going to stop here for anyone but you.”

“I’ve waited a long time for this moment Betts, I wouldn’t want to do it without you.” God, he loves her so much.

They walk through the halls before she speaks again, and they stand outside her homeroom. Jughead will be late to his own, but one more minute with Betty is worth more than thousands of detentions.

“I’ll meet you outside by the truck after school, okay?” Her earnest eyes are aimed up at him through thick lashes, and he thinks they too are worth more than the emeralds they mimic.

“I’ll be waiting for you there.” He’d been waiting for her his whole life, and when she was ready, she gave him more than a lifetime of happiness just by being there for him, with him.

Her gaze is intense in a dizzying way, just like she is. His eyes drop from hers to the plush lips that helped heal his wounds, and he leans forward a fraction of an inch. The scent of vanilla lingers, but he recognizes it as the scent of home.

When their lips meet, it’s gentle, like she had been with him at his most fragile. After a moment, she signs, and melts into his grip on her waist. Their lips move against each other and Jughead feels warm and fuzzy. He’ll never get used to the feeling of having this part of her, but for them, each kiss is like the first. It feels exciting and new.

After school, she beats him to FP’s beat up old truck. He spots her immediately when he steps out of the building, and watches for a moment in awe. The sun shines one her golden skin and she has never looked more like the angel that she is.

It’s been a long day, and he craves the feeling of being wrapped up in her arms. She looks up as he strides over to her and immediately understands, setting her things in the bed of the truck and opening her arms.

He just hugs her for a moment, breathing in her comfort and loving the feeling of how she fits like a puzzle piece against his body.

“You ready to go home Jug?”

He takes another deep breath and mumbles against her ear, “I’m already there.”

anonymous asked:

"Ok, who gave her tequila?"

Thanks for the prompt :) 


Emma winces at the sound of her name being bellowed through the Diner. She barely has time to blink before Regina hurls herself into her arms. 

“Whoa,” Emma gasps as she barely catches Regina before surveying the Diner. Emma groans seeing the evidence of haphazard fireballs and drinking games. She sighs before staring accusingly at the Queens of (formerly) Darkness. 

Now their evil has faded away, with Ursula working at the pet shelter and Mal at the bank. The three of them meet up for lunch regularly but every month they make drinking plans which normally result in hungover clean-ups and apologies to Granny the next morning. 

“Ok,who gave her tequila?” Emma asks. 

Mal and Ursula feign innocence before bursting into laughter. 

Emma sighs turning to Granny, “And advice.” 

“There’s no helping them,” Granny replies with a wry smile, “Just as long as they’re all here at six a.m sharp to clean up this mess.” 

“You have her tequila didn’t you?” 

Granny simply grins, “I have to make money somehow. Regina, I’ll see you in the morning.” 

“No you won’t!” Regina cackles. 

Emma shakes her head at her, “Every month, don’t blame me when the alarm goes off in four hours.” 

“I’d never blame you,” Regina promises, “I love you too much.” 

Emma smiles, “I love you too…remember this in a few hours…”

A Cold Embrace

More Kallus fic! Linked to Kallus and the Chimera (Zero hour, Kallus’s perspective + extra stuff)

Captured and beaten in that water tower, Kallus has some choice words for Thrawn. Fits with what Bendu says on Atollon as Thrawn holds him gunpoint.

Also known as I waited for more Thrawn and Kallus enemy fic but I can’t find any so I’m forced to write more…

“You cannot see, but I can! I see your defeat like many arms surrounding you in a cold embrace.” - Bendu to Thrawn, Zero Hour

After the thirtieth or so sucker-punch to his stomach, Kallus is beginning to figure out when to breathe, and when to guard against the next blow.

These death troopers may be the cream of the elite, but they very much follow the standard Imperial protocols for interrogation; compared to the resistance-to-interrogation training Kallus received in ISB, this is somewhat…mundane.

Of course, Thrawn might be simply allowing the troopers to thin down his energy before interrogating Kallus himself.

Kallus grunts as the an armoured gauntlet connects with his solar plexus again - swallows back a mouthful of bile, and breathes evenly. He has counted the hits; he has at least twenty seconds before the next blow. More, if Thrawn decides to do some monologuing, as he is apt to do.

The aforementioned Grand Admiral is strolling calmly from table to shelf to wall, fingering the mementos Ezra Bridger left here, as quiet and contemplative as though he were visiting an art gallery - an art gallery with background music of fists meeting flesh and hisses of pain, that is.

The metal pipe above his head groans as Kallus raises his head, the chain cuffing his wrists to the pipe clinking in synchrony with the tortured metal. His shoulders feel like they are about to be wrenched clean out of their sockets, but it is worth it to glimpse the intrigued eyebrow Thrawn raises in his direction.

“You aren’t going to win, you know,” he says, conversationally. No sir, or Grand Admiral, or anything. He’d decided to drop all pretence from the moment you talk too much had left his lips.

“And how have you come to this conclusion?” Thrawn purrs.

Kallus notes that the Chiss does not address him by any rank, or even his rebel title, either. Good. A savage sort of glee rises up in him that his little act of insubordination has not gone unnoticed.

He bares bloody teeth at his captor. “My name is not my own.”

“Intriguing. I am aware of your first name, of course, but you use it so rarely I have found it largely irrelevant.”

“I’m talking about Fulcrum, and you know it. And yet you proclaim yourself a genius.”

Thrawn turns to face him, mid-pace. “Hardly self-proclaimed. If my Emperor chooses to praise me in front of others, I am only grateful for his recognition. But don’t let me interrupt. Do continue.”

“There’s more than one Fulcrum in existence.”

Those crimson eyes blink once, slowly, unimpressed. “You continue to state the obvious, Kallus. I wonder if you are so insensitive to interrogation after all.”

Kallus barks a laugh that melds into a scream of metal as the pipe between his hands shudders with the motion. He feels thick liquid bubble at the corner of his mouth. “Once again, you’ve missed my point. There will be another Fulcrum after me.”

“So we will find this new Fulcrum, and destroy their work, as we have done yours.”

Kallus’s sweat-stained hair stings his eyes, but he stares that bloody gaze down with his own gaze, eyes the colour of burning earth. “Then there will be another after that. And another. And another. There will always be a Fulcrum, until the Empire has fallen and the Republic restored. The pendulum of power will swing, and we are the fulcrum.”

Thrawn watches him for a moment, back effortlessly straight, white uniform glowing faintly in the darkness.

“You have much faith for an individual with such a shortened life expectancy,” the grand admiral states, matter-of-factly.

“None of us know when we will die. You should figure out what is worth true faith,” Kallus murmurs, head lolling back for a moment as he swallows.


“You still don’t understand, do you?”.

“Enlighten me.”

Kallus chuckles, the sound bordering on hysteria for the first time since capture.  “There may have been one, or two, or a dozen Fulcrums before me, and there may be two dozen after I am dead - but together we, the dead and the living, will snatch at your ankles and pull at your wrists and dig our bloodied teeth into your uniform until we drag you and your blasted Empire into the cold embrace of oblivion. And in that moment, you will know defeat, and you will know we dealt it.” The speech leaves him breathless for a moment, and he hacks up what he supposes could be half his guts, judging by the red - but he has said what he needed to.

Thrawn does not respond.

When Kallus is somewhat more sure that he can raise his head without losing another quarter of his abdominal mass, he finds the grand admiral is already striding purposefully towards the doorway.

Thrawn pauses there, framed by the night stars beyond, and glances back at the deathtroopers. His voice is perfectly even, and entirely succinct. “I must contact Admiral Konstantine. As for our guest - crack his ribs. And only crack them; I shall know if they are injured further. Replace his armour when you are finished.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Kallus. I shall return when my preparations are finished, and then I shall explain what will happen. Until then, I leave you to their care.” With that, Thrawn slips out into the double moonrise, white uniform washing silver for the briefest moment before he escapes from view.

“Delighted,” Kallus mutters under his breath, as he feels his armour being unclipped from his shoulders, and the first blow come lancing in.

END (read Kallus and the Chimaera for more!)

Thrawn and Kallus are a perfect combo for conversation. I needed more. Reblog as you wish, and thanks for reading!

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60 Minute Makeover

(I apologise for the length, I’ve been distracted today and I’ve just decided to throw this out there…)

60 minute make over

Tom Paris creates another new idea to keep staff motivation at a high. Whilst scrolling through the ship’s archives, he comes across an Ancient Earth TV programme called “60 minute make over”

The premise is simple. A house is chosen (usually with a family in desperate circumstances) and a team move in and redesign their home in less than 60 minutes.

Tom watches hours of episodes and he is hooked. He decides it would be great for the crew to attempt to redesign a fellow crewmates quarters in 60 minutes.

The Captain agrees and names are randomly assigned to everyone taking part. Paris and Torres, sneakily fix some of the results, purely for the opportunity of betting it would encourage.

Harry gets Seven

Seven gets Tuvok .

Tuvok gets Harry.

Neelix gets the Doctor.

The Doctor gets Neelix.

Paris gets B'Elanna (she scowls at him for this)

B'Elanna gets Tom (she punches his arm for this!)

Chakotay gets Janeway.

Janeway gets Chakotay.

To his credit, Tom hides his amusement well, though he quickly bangs out a selectively crew wide betting pool entitled “Will he search her knicker drawer?”

Harry shocks everyone with a resounding message,“Or just her knickers?”

Tom reprimands the young ensign, he reminds him that vulgarity never gets anyone laid.

The date is set for the challenge the following Saturday and everyone is abuzz with their plans and designs. Some people worriedly mention their least favoured colours and materials whilst others are just excited to see everyone’s reactions.

Chakotay is quietly confident he knows Kathryn well enough to redesign her quarters in a way that will make her happy.

During their weekly dinner, she presses him to reveal his ideas, flirting outrageously over the wine and candles laid out on the table. Chakotay merely smiles coyly and tells her she will have to wait and find out. Kathryn’s frustration with him grows and she even tries to order him into telling her. Chakotay laughs at her and moving into her personal space as he leaves her quarters merely whispering a, “Goodnight, Kathryn” his breath gently blowing the tendrils of her loosened hair around her ears.

She groans in frustration as the door closes. The truth is, she wishes she hadn’t signed up for this stupid challenge. She has literally no idea what to do with Chakotay’s quarters (except sleep there, she thinks) and is worried about what will happen in the challenge when she stands there like an idiot with nothing to offer. She’s also slightly angry with him for agreeing to take part in the first place. Why does he want his quarters redesigning when he’s already got them perfect (in her eyes) anyway? Damn him and his irritating smile!

Saturday dawns and the challenge begins. Everyone involved rushes around to the quarters they are redesigning, uniforms discarded in favour of work clothes.

Over the ship’s system, the computer merrily chirps the start of the competition.

Tom is elaborate with his designs. There’s lots of bright colours and cheap plastic involved, the replicator whirring happily with each command. He plays loud 20th century pop music to aid his creative juices.

B'Elanna is brutal in her work. She attacks each wall with gusto, cursing in Klingon as she goes. She makes use of paint and her hypospanner and brutally punishes Tom’s quarters.

Harry works with shaky hands, taking time and care with his efforts. During the replication of his materials, he also replicates a protective vest in case Seven resents his troubles.

Seven is methodical. She completes the task in 26 minutes and 25 seconds and is back at Astrometrics by 30 minutes.

Tuvok is contemplative. He works with calmness and practicality. He too completes the task within the required 60 minutes and indulges himself in some meditation.

Chakotay gets straight to work. He has stepped down to trousers only and he works solidly. He’s planned all week and though not part of the rules, has been preparing things in advance. He approaches the task with love and affection, every detail carefully thought out. As the end of the challenge approaches, he adds the finishing touches and feels a warm swell of satisfaction. He’s certain Kathryn will love it.

Kathryn meanwhile has stood in the centre of Chakotay’s quarters for 24 minutes looking lost. Finally, inspiration strikes. With a mad dash she races around, flustered and stressed and just makes it in time.

Everyone reconvenes on the bridge and Tom leads the way to explore each creation.

Harry’s efforts are first up. The doors to the Cargo bay and Seven’s accommodation swish open to reveal….pink. Everything is garish pink, right down to Seven’s regeneration pod which is delicately adorned with fluffy pink lights.

Seven raises an eyebrow.

“The colour is offensive.” she states.

Harry’s face falls, “I thought a bit of colour might brighten it up.”

Seven realises her reaction was perhaps not in keeping with her humanising lessons and she forces herself to add,

“I’ll adapt. I thank you.”

Tom whistles at Seven’s restrained reaction and smirks at Harry, mouthing, “Pink?!” at him. Harry turns a dark shade of red and shuffles his feet.

Tuvoks quarters are next. Seven leads the way with purposeful strides. As the door opens there are a few gasps of unrestrained horror. Seven has dismantled everything she deemed, “unnecessary” and left the bare minimum. Namely one chair and a bed, a single unlit candle remains on the floor.

“It is….efficient.” Tuvok states, his Vulcan restraint pushed to the limits.

“There’s no need for frivolous furnishing. Simple is the way,” Seven states.

“Indeed.” Tuvok replies, his reaction clearly perturbed, even if he would never admit it.

Tom quickly moves the group on, sniggering with Harry and B'Elanna as they leave.

Harry’s quarters are next. Tuvok keys in the code and steps back. Harry moves in and looks about himself. Nothing seems different. Except his furniture has moved about.

“Your quarters were not conducive to a clear mind. I have moved things in order to make use of the natural flow the environment requires. You will find your music will improve.” Tuvok explains.

“err, thanks, Tuvok.” Harry says, disappointed at the lack of pink.

Tom guffaws and leads the group onwards.

B'Elanna’s quarters are next. Tom elaborately unveils her new living space.

B'Elanna gapes in horror. Tom has turned her living space into a 1950’s style diner complete with leatherette booths and a jukebox. The only colours are red and black.

The language is rather blue. She moves towards her bedroom and yells a series of harsh Klingon curses as she spots the heart shaped bed and red velvet furnishings.

Tom tries desperately to appease her, B'Elanna shoves him hard and calls him a pig. She’s also currently regretting her own choice of furnishings for Tom’s quarters.

The Captain suggests they move on before B'Elanna kills her best pilot.

B'Elanna growls under her breath all the way to Tom’s quarters. She steps back as the doors open to reveal…..a 1950’s style diner complete with leatherette booths and blue and white tiles.

Tom looks at B'Elanna. She shrugs. She smirks. He smirks back. They move closer. Harry recognises the signs and quickly suggests they leave them to their differences.

Seven takes the opportunity to announce this activity is irrelevant and decides to return to work. Tuvok concurs that he has had enough furnishings and departs back towards his own quarters. Harry makes a quick escape, not wanting to be anywhere near Tom’s quarters when things really kick into gear.

This leaves Chakotay and Janeway standing together outside Tom’s door both looking a little bemused.

Chakotay leans closer and smiles, “We didn’t get chance to share our creations with each other.”

Kathryn flushes at the closeness and replies, “No, I guess we didn’t.”

“Shall we?” Chakotay suggests.

Kathryn gives a short nod and he steps aside, signalling her to lead the way. As she walks past, she feels the comforting presence of his hand on her lower back.

As they reach Chakotay’s quarters, Kathryn stops and turns to him, nervously glancing about herself.

“I…struggled with this,” she admits.

Chakotay cocks his head to one side and gazes at her, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I apologise if it’s not something you like,” Kathryn adds.

Chakotay smiles, “I’m certain it’ll be lovely.”

Kathryn huffs and turns back towards his door. She keys in his code, (Chakotay smirks at the fact she uses his actual code rather than her override). The doors swish open and Chakotay feels his jaw fall slack.

What was once his living room, gently decorated with artefacts from his former life, has now been transformed into what can only be described as a jungle of large, lush green plants.

There’s a path leading from the door that draws Chakotay forward. He walks slowly, breathing in the fresh scent of lung breathing plants. He hears the sound of water running and peering through the foliage, he spots a simulating waterfall. There are small chairs dotted about and Chakotay realises they are placed perfectly to enjoy the natural beauty of the plants.

The pathway opens out into a small clearing where his dining table now resides, the replicator blinking nearby but decorated with dark red flowers and further greenery.

His artefacts can be found, positioned in places to enhance their own natural beauty and only adding to the spectacle before him.

Until now he hadnt heard Kathryn behind him but he turns to her, gaping in awe.

Kathryn flushes, “You hate it,” she sighs.

He steps closer to her, “Are you kidding? I love it!”

Kathryn’s head snaps up and she searches his face for any signs that he is joking or trying to be polite.

“You do?”

“Of course! It’s magnificent! But….where did you get the idea?”

Kathryn looks around and flushes slightly, a shy smile pulling at the corner of her lips.

“I wanted to create something that would help you keep in touch with your heritage. You have often spoke of the impact your visit to Central America had on you as a child, I wanted to try and recreate that place,” Kathryn explains. “I wanted to create a sanctuary for you. One that isn’t all technology and Starfleet but something that is just….you.”

Chakotay feels his heart soar at her words. The fact she recalls their early conversation of his experiences with the Ancient Rubber Tree people, he had no idea she had held onto that story all this time. This act gives him real hope for the future.

“I am honoured, Kathryn,” he says honestly. “This must have taken you far longer than 60 minutes.
Are you sure you haven’t cheated? Fiddled with time again?” His eyes glint at her with humour and Kathryn can’t help but laugh.

“Sadly, I didn’t, but why I didn’t think of that, I’ve no idea!” she grins at him. “Actually, I probably wasted most of that hour stood here with no idea what to do! Inspiration finally struck me and I only just managed to finish in time. It’s not exactly how I wanted it all to turn out, but….”

“It’s perfect as it is, Kathryn,” he says softly. “Thank you.”

Kathryn smiles and pats his chest, “Well you can hardly tell your Captain you hate her designs for fear she’ll bust you down to Ensign,” she jokes, hoping to alleviate the building tension in the air.

“I’m being honest Kathryn. I’ll only ever be honest with you, always.”

Kathryn smiles softly and reaches for his hand. He takes her offer and squeezes it, smiling back.

“Now, I think we need to visit my quarters and see what you created,” she quirks her eyebrow.

He huffs slightly and pulls her back towards the doors of his quarters. A short walk and they are stood outside Kathryn’s door.

Chakotay runs a hand through his hair, “I hope you like it,” he says, genuine concern flooding his features.

“I’m sure it’s perfect,” she smiles, patting his arm.

She keys in her code and steps inside. Suddenly her senses are overloaded. Her quarters are nothing like her quarters. Instead she steps back in time to New Earth. To the place where for too few days, she knew what true happiness was.

There’s greenery everywhere, flowers and that wonderful scent that belonged only to that planet. In the corner, tomato plants grow and she feels tears pricking at her eyes as she sees the painted image of the monkey on her wall.

Something draws her forwards towards her bedroom and she gasps as she sees the beautifully carved wooden headboard adorning her bed. She looks to her right and sees her bathroom door ajar and she knows. Knows it in her bones. She moves forward as if in a dream and sure enough, there is the bath he had lovingly made for her.

She turns back, mouth open. “Why?” she breathes.

He looks embarrassed and shuffles his feet.

“It made you happy,” he says simply.

Her mind races back to that night. Their last night before Tuvok returned for them. The night that started with a bath and ended up in her bed, his body over hers.

The memories flood hard and fast. The heat, the passion, the love.

“Chakotay,” she breathes.

He steps closer, “I miss you, Kathryn,” he says softly, “I can’t forget that night.”

She swallows hard, “I can’t either,” she admits.

He moves closer again, “You looked so beautiful that night.”

She feels her chest pound and closes her eyes, “Chakotay….”

“I know, we can’t..not in the real world, but here…” his voice is barely there.

“But here…” she repeats, her mind whirling.

“It’s not Starfleet. Not here. You’re not Captain. I’m not your Commander,” he adds.

“We’re equal,” she finishes.

He moves into her space and reaches his arms around her. “I love you,” he whispers.

She closes her eyes and leans into him, “I know….I…”

“You love me too,” he breathes into her hair, “here you love me too.”

“Yes,” she answers.

He claims her mouth and she falls once more into the pure and heady sensations of him…

go (please stay)

forever and ever ago @chinesebakery requested a drunk!fitz mirror to this drabble, and here it is! Academy era. Not angsty but not fluffy.

“Thank you, officer, I can handle it from here.”

“I really am sorry, ma’am,” the patrolwoman repeated, eyeing Jemma’s pajamas and the blanket lines on her bare arms. “But he said he has no friends and your name was on the roster next to his—”

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t destroy anything else,” Jemma confirmed grimly, then shut the lab door behind her.

Fitz blinked up blearily from the lab desk they’d only been sharing a few weeks. His curls were smooshed on one side, like he too had been trying to sleep, though according to the campus patrol that had roused Jemma from her dorm room, he’d been here at least an hour, “improving” upon the other students’ experiments, in his own words.

“What’re you doing here?” he mumbled, a bright pink blush blooming across his cheekbones. He shook his head and turned back to the model in his hands – or rather, the remnants of what had once been a model before he’d handily dismantled it. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“You’re right, Fitzy, I should be sleeping.” She ignored his scowl at the new nickname. “We should all be sleeping. Our first demonstration is on Thursday, or did you forget?”

“Didn’t forget.”

“But you thought you’d celebrate with a drink, or five?” She gestured to the empty glass tumbler on the counter.

He shook his head, sharp enough she was surprised not to hear something crack. “Not celebrating.”

Jemma groaned. How the greatest minds could be reduced to a few syllables through alcohol or the presence of a shapely derriere – “Do you want to talk about it?”

This time Fitz actually laughed, a derisive scoff matched with a smug smirk he’d never have chanced with her sober. “With you?”

“Yes, with me, Fitz. You’re drinking alone on a schoolnight and breaking into private school property – you should’ve called me.”

“Didn’t want to.”

Jemma had had about enough. She didn’t need to be friends with Leopold Effing Fitz to graduate: she only needed him to pass this lab, which would require several more months of barely tolerating each other and stepping on each other’s toes, but she could do it.

“You know what?” she snapped, stepping right up to Fitz and flicking his floppy hair with one finger, “You know what the cop said? ‘He has no friends.’ And that’s true! It’s not even a pathetic self-pitying exaggeration. Because anytime anyone tries to help you or get close to you, you do this! You act all sullen and self-sufficient and you just drive everyone away!”

He was staring at her, mouth slightly ajar, and the instant she stopped speaking Jemma felt shame wrap around her.

“Fitz, that wasn’t—”

“I think you should go,” he cut her off, turning away and sitting heavily so she could see only his back and the uneven way he was breathing.

I’m just like you, she wanted to say, would’ve said if she were a different person, the type of person to reach out and touch his back and let him cry like he was so obviously about to do. I can’t do this either.

Instead, she walked away towards the door, twisting the tie of her pajama bottoms between tense fingers.

She had just opened the door when behind her, Fitz whispered, “Please stay.”

Even in the shadows

My first attempt of writing my Ryder with Reyes. Only a snippet of dialogue. No real context and no real plot. Just feels. And they are both horrible with them!

“Hey, Ryder.” Even now that they are… close, he barely uses her first name. It’s like he has only a given number and does not want to waste it.

“Hey, Reyes. What’s up. Look damn tired.” She rests next to him at the bar, her arms crossed in the same casual way he leans at the counter. They do not show many signs of affection when in public and they are fine with it. It’s like saving a first name for the private moments: A thing that only belongs to them.

“I am.” he simply answers her question, staring into the almost empty depths of his mug.

“Hardships of a king?” She teases and the smile in her voice makes him instantly feel lighter, too.

“Kind of.” his replies get shorter and shorter but it’s no awkward silence that sets in and lasts for a while. When he speaks again his fingers softly brush the back of her hand which holds her mug next to him. “It’s been a while…”

“Space travel may be fast but not that fast.” She can’t stop being sarcastic, not even with him but she knows what he means and she understands. So she adds quietly. “But yeah… I missed you, too.”

“Things seem… easier with you around.” He knows the explanation is lame but he also knows she’ll understand the meaning behind it. They are both horrible with words - and feelings - and it makes him almost smile.

“It’s only because I step out of the shadows and kick asses.” She softly bumps his hip with hers but he’s not in a playful mood.

“You know that’s not it.” he objects but there’s no anger in his voice.

“I know. Just kidding.” She realizes that she gets smoother around her edges when he’s around. Most of the time she’d not be sure if she’d like that very much but today it’s more than welcome. E-mails are fine but there’s no way of telling certain things that haunt her in her dreams whenever he is not there to calm her restless sleep. Things she feels she can’t tell anybody else, no matter how close as friends they are.

“You mind we go somewhere else?” He asks after a little more of silent drinking.

“I thought you’d never ask. What has my king in mind?” Now he smiles. For the first time today and it reaches up to his tired eyes.

“I got me some new quarters. Finally. Want to see them?” He offers, a bit of hesitation in his voice. There are nights when ‘my place or your place’ is the only option. Tonight is not such a night. Tonight is about comfort and peace.

“We’ll leave Kadara already tomorrow again.” She announces, almost out of context trying to show no emotion about it.

“Then let’s not waste any more time.” She nodds and they leave. He pays their tab. He always does now. They do not joke about it any longer. The little smirk they share is enough.

au for @everythingelsegoesherethen: dean winchester owns the marauders’ map and uses it to make sure he and castiel always ‘accidentally’ meet at strange times.

Since he became a Prefect at the beginning of his fifth year, Castiel Novak has dealt with a lot of troublemakers who clearly just haven’t read the Hogwarts rulebook.

Dean Winchester is not one of these.

Dean Winchester is clever. He knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s read the handbook and

And he never, ever gets caught.

Which is why Castiel is confused when he apprehends Dean for the third time in a month, trying unsuccessfully to get into a secret passage out of the school that Cas /knows he knows exactly how to access. And yet he’s tapping all over the one-eyes witch with his wand, cluelessly trying every combination of “Let me in!” that he can, acting for all the world as though he’s under some kind of Confundus charm.

He turns the light of his wand on Dean, and Dean turns around, doing a very good job of pretending to be startled.

“Dean Winchester?”

“Yeah, that’s me,” the boy grins, blushing and looking down at the floor but not seeming at all upset that he’s just been caught breaking five school rules at once.

“Yes, well, you’re out of bed after lights out, you’re messing with school property and you’re using magic in the corridors.” Cas is a little flustered and he can’t even explain why, but he still manages to tick at least some of the offenses off on his fingers.

“I /am? Oh, man, Cas, I’m so sorry. And I promise you it won’t happen again.” Dean is all mock-apologetic as he claps Cas on the shoulder and starts to walk away down the corridor.

“F-five points from Gryffindor!” Cas calls after him in a shaky voice.

This becomes a recurring problem. The following week, Cas runs into Dean in the restricted section of the library without a note giving him permission to be there. A few days later, he catches Dean in the act when he’s just about to set off a whole box of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes fireworks. Another time, he finds Dean on the Quidditch pitch after dark when it’s supposed to be locked up, flying loops just to show off. Sometime after that, Cas goes to take a bath in the Prefects’ bathroom at the end of a long day, and he finds the tub already overflowing with bubbles, Dean in a pair of red swimming shorts lazily swimming laps.

And for some reason it’s always harder for Cas to keep his cool around Dean that it is around anyone else. Usually he’ll dole out detentions without even blinking;the whole school respecting his authority, but something about this kid has him barely remembering the name of the red and gold house that he’s supposed to be taking points from. It /irks him, because he was given the Prefect position for a /reason, and he’s supposed to be unbiased and impartial and above such things.

After all this has been going on for a good few months, and Cas is no closer to figuring out what exactly is going on in Dean Winchester’s unfairly pretty head, he finds a piece of parchment on the floor. It’s on his normal patrol route, but not on a main corridor - it’s on one of the back routes that only Cas is responsible for walking down on his shift after lights out. It’s placed right in the middle of the corridor where Cas is guaranteed to see it. Almost as though it was left especially for him.

He picks it up. It looks blank at first, but when he unfolds it, he sees that it’s a map - an incredibly detailed map of the whole of Hogwarts castle, every room drawn, Cas believes, perfectly to scale, labelled in calligraphy, every secret passage and hidden entryway marked. Not only that, but the map is enchanted, constantly moving, staircases twisting their way through the halls in what Cas suspects is real time, and most importantly of all, tiny sets of footprints making their way through the castle halls, each with a name attached to them. Cas spots his own name next to his own footprints, which are still in the exact spot that he’s in.

He takes a step forward, and the footprints move with him.

Most of the spots are clustered in the common rooms and dormitories at this time of night; just a few Prefects and professors wandering up and down the corridors. But Cas has a sneaking suspicion he knows who this map belongs to, and the person doesn’t seem to be in the Gryffindor boys’ dormitories where he should be. Against his will, Cas finds his eyes skating over the map, looking for the potential offender.

Dean Winchester’s spot is pacing the Tallest Astronomy Tower.

Of course, none of this necessarily means that the map /actually corresponds to where people actually are. It could just be an example. Could be everyone is placed randomly and doesn’t move, no matter where they really are.

Which, of course, explains why Cas is already walking purposefully towards the Astronomy tower, taking each set of stairs two at a time, checking the map every few seconds to make sure Dean is still in the same place.

He reaches the door to the tower, and he’s not even completely conscious of why he’s doing it, but he runs a hand through his hair to fluff it up and he straightens his blue and bronze tie before he walks inside.

Dean’s there, as predicted, no longer pacing but standing in the center of the room - waiting for him? The tower is open to the heavens - not like the Great Hall, not like an enchanted version of the sky, but actually open, the summer night stars glinting down and reflecting off of magical lights that have been conjured and left to hover all around the edge of the circular tower room, a light breeze ruffling Cas’ robes as he steps towards Dean, noticing that the usually bare wooden floor is scattered with large, puffy gold and bronze cushions.

Cas holds out the map. “I think this is yours.”

Dean takes it from him, not at all surprised to see Cas there. “Don’t think it’s really anyone’s. Thing kind of has a mind of its own. But yes, I’ve been using it for a while.”

“Tell me something?” Cas asks. “You just admitted this is yours. With this you can see anyone coming at any time, you can always stay one step ahead of any professor or prefect, you never have to get found out by anyone. But you keep letting me catch you. Why?“

"That depends,” Dean says with a smirk. “Why’d you bring the map back instead of handing it into a professor? Seems like it’s a contraband object. Seems like I /should get in trouble.”

Cas opened his mouth to retort to that, but realized he didn’t have anything to say. Why /had he come here? Dean was right, after all. His first instinct, as a Prefect with designs on Head Boy at some point in the future, should have been to turn the object over to a member of staff. His mind shouldn’t even necessarily have jumped to Dean. But it had, and now he was here.

“Alright. That aside, why’d you wait for me? Why’d you pick a specific place, here, that you have /no reason to be and just pace around hoping I’d show up to find you?”

Dean spluttered, but quickly recovered. “Why’d you look for me on the map? Why’d you stare at it for so long that you saw where I was in the first place?”

“Why’d you decorate? The stars, the lights, the cushions? Why’d you set this all up for a special occasion?”

They stared at each other for a while, breathing heavily, waiting for the other one to be the first to break.

Cas cracked, and Dean gave up at the same moment, and then he both of them were lunging towards each other, Dean grabbing Cas by the tie he’d just straightened, pulling it askew, Cas fisting both of his hands in Dean’s robes, both yanking the other towards them, crashing their lips together so hard that it was almost painful when they met, their bodies falling into each other, their teeth clashing and their noses bumping and when they pull apart, they both tumble down onto the pile of cushions they’ve set up and /now Cas understands why they’re there, /now it makes sense because their landing is soft and they can reach for each other again immediately, both of them lying on their sides in the heap of fluffy pillows, kissing each other over and over and over again, each one making their lips tingle. Over time, as they grow used to the feeling, the kisses become slower, softer, more languid, and the hooded eyes when they pull away from each other are less from desire and more from tiredness, and they’re both sure they’d be happy to sleep here.

"So, what? You’ve been risking detention and house points for Gryffindor and your reputation as someone who never gets caught just to… just to get my attention?” Cas asks finally, propping himself up on one elbow.

Dean tugs him back down and kisses him again. “Well, you’re risking your Prefect position right now. But I feel like you always have to risk a little something to get the best things in life.”

And between holding hands on long walks by the lake, between screaming themselves hoarse together at Quidditch matches, between feeding each other Bertie Botts’ Every Flavour Beans while studying in the library, and between many, many more long nights in the Astronomy tower, Cas learns that as frustrating and complicated as he is; Dean is definitely one of the best things in his life.

family headcanons.

table of contents:
i. johanna
ii. grandmother tsumura
iii. aunts

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Everything I Didn’t Know I Wanted (Snowbaz blurb)

“Oh my god.”


“I mean… Oh my god!”

“Don’t you dare speak of this ever again, Snow, or I swear I will–”

Your full name is Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch?!”

Fuck off, Snow. I mean, your last name is literally snow. It fits though because snow falls from the sky and you fall down stairs,” that smirk turns up the corners of Baz’s lips. His perfect lips. I mean, not that I’d ever given much thought to his lips.

“Okay, but your name sounds like a really spiced up dinosaur. How ridiculous is that?” I can’t keep the laugh from escaping. It was just too ridiculous. This extremely proper perfectionist shares his first name with a dinosaur that barely has any arms. 

“Yea? Well, your last name literally has a piss joke made about it all the time.” The smirk was gone and was replaced by a frown. I knew I should feel proud to have made a Pitch feel ashamed, but I oddly didn’t. I felt…guilty.

“Aww, I’m sorry.. Did I upset you…..Tyrannus?” Okay, moment of guilt was gone. His name would never cease to amuse me.

“Shut up, Snow,” was the surprising response I got. He..wasn’t fighting back. Now that I looked at his expression, he just seemed tired. Not like the I’m-gonna-go-to-sleep-now tired. More the, I-can’t-deal-with-this-any-longer kind of tired. I guess he just didn’t to deal with me anymore. Aaand moment of guilt has returned. 

“Baz,” I say normally, all amusement gone from my voice. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

He looked about as shocked as I did from my words. I was apologizing? To Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch? 

“I’m not upset because of a bloody name, you idiot. I’m upset because, well because…”

“What? Dinosaur got your tongue?” I smirk at him, taking a step closer as if daring him to do anything to me. 

“Shut up, Snow,” he glares at me sharply.

“Make me.”

I smirk, knowing what I was doing.

He kisses me, and suddenly, I don’t know what I’m doing, but I’m kissing back and it feels good and right and like everything I didn’t know I wanted.

i’m officially onpanwa everywhere, guys

add me on Skype/Discord/FB/dA/Twitter if you have those!

the morning after you kill yourself:

your little sister comes to wake you up so you can make pancakes. she shakes you to wake you up; most of the time you won’t move so she’ll try again until she realizes something is wrong. she’s seen this in movies, she knows you’re not breathing. tears fall from her eyes and she can’t breathe. then suddenly she’s breathing too quickly and she falls to the floor, not knowing what to do.

your mother comes to your room to see what’s happening. she sees your sister on the floor and you laying lifeless in bed. she can see blood stains and she gets a sinking feeling in her stomach. she carries your sister to the room and tells her to remain still as she comes back into your room. she removes the sheets to see the cuts and burn marks on the sides of your stomach and on your left wrist. she blames herself for all the things she’s said to you. she blames herself for not helping you, not knowing you were hurting, not being there for you. she can’t move any longer but somehow she calls your brother and tells him to drive over.

your brother comes into the house with a smile on his face, he seems happy. then he sees your mother’s face and the smiles disappears. he barely has a chance to mutter your name when your mother begins crying again. he slowly walks into your room and what he wanted to prevent, the one thing he tried to make sure would never happen is right in front of him. he tried so hard to be there for you, tried so hard to let you know he was on your side, that he would always be on your side. he falls to his knees and tries to stay in control of his emotions but he cannot.

the rest of your family finds out one by one.

your father’s sisters and brother don’t know what to do. they always thought you were happy; they knew sometimes it was hard but they thought you were strong. how were they supposed to explain this to your cousins? how were they supposed to believe this themselves?

your mother’s sisters and brothers can’t put into words the emotions they feel. each of them waking up thinking it was a normal day, wondering what they would do today, only to find out they would be helping your mother plan a funeral.

your friends and co-workers would find out later in the day. they can’t believe it either. you were such a nice girl, always kind and smiling, hardworking too. it would affect your boss the most, the one who thought of you as a daughter.

the word would disseminate and people who knew of you but didn’t know you will feel a small sliver of hurt, remembering good things they noticed about you.

you see, you think that with death, your pain goes away, but in reality, your pain gets dispersed into the lives of all the people you loved, all the people you knew, and all the people who knew you. there are so many people here for you, look around. you’re loved, don’t wait until it’s too late to realize that.

Tour Thoughts

summary: dan and phil can’t sleep one night while on tour, so they occupy themselves with blowjobs and dirty talk

genre: smut, tiny bit of fluff

warnings: blowjobs, dirty talk, grinding

word count: 859

link on ao3!

a/n: i feel kind of glad writing smut again, or actually, just writing in general again. it’s been so long and i actually freaking love writing okay. i missed getting prompts and filling it out and oh gosh i have so many prompts to fill out and i will get to that after i start pbb and finish finals and agh i’ve missed doing this whole thing - hell, this is the reason why i’ve written so much over the summer in the first place, i don’t know why i ever stopped. anywho, you can ignore this rambling i’m so sorry, but i hope you guys enjoy. it might not be as good as the other one’s for now, but i’m looking to improve this summer. okay bye and good night <3

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No Queen Among Grimm

I do not think that Salem controls the Creatures of Grimm as a hivemind queen. If that were true, now that she seems to know that Ruby Rose, a Silver-Eyed Warrior, exists, Salem could hurl every Grimm on the continent at her until she was dead. There’d be no Volume 4.

Also, Cinder wouldn’t have needed to stir up so much fear and distrust to get more Grimm gathering outside of Vale. Further, Salem wouldn’t bother having random Grimm wandering around in the wild; if she could command all of the Grimm on one continent, then she wouldn’t divide her forces between Vacuo and Vale, but instead concentrate entirely on destroying one kingdom and then the other. She only needs to destroy one kingdom and its CCT tower to rob the other three of their ability to globally coordinate their defenses, which makes picking them off one by one even easier. After all of the kingdoms are dead, she could disperse her minions to randomly hunt for any survivors hiding in the wilderness.

But this not how the Grimm act. Even though Grimm gladly cooperate with other Grimm in their immediate presence, the Grimm do not organize. They spread out, scatter, and disperse. When they find humans, they immediately attack instead of retreating to find reinforcement, and often don’t bother to sound the alarm for any other Grimm within the sound of their voice.

If the Grimm were a hivemind, the Beowolves that attacked Ruby and Weiss, the Ursai that attacked Yang, the King Taijitu that attacked Ren, the ursa that Nora ran across, the Giant Nevermore, the Death Stalker, and every other Grimm in the forest would have all attacked at once rather than separately. But they have no such coordination. No leadership save for individually large and powerful Grimm taking the lead over other Grimm who are close enough to see them and take cues from them.

That’s not to say that Salem doesn’t have some way of controlling small numbers of Grimm. She was presumably the one who gave Cinder the glove that appeared to summon a bug-shaped Grimm. Cinder seemed able to pacify, perhaps even hypnotize the Grimm dragon. The White Fang were somehow able to transport Grimm into Beacon in bullheads without the monsters attempting to destroy the vessels or eat the pilots, and it’s quite possible that Cinder somehow charmed all of the beasts into cooperating for a time. (But only for a time, judging by the alpha beowolf that leapt out of a burning bullhead just before it crashed.)

Further, I think it is mostly likely that Salem is not a creature of Grimm.

The eyes of Grimm are solid red, with yellow pupils. Salem’s eyes have black pupils, red irises, and black scelerae. Whenever Grimm have hair, it is always black. Hers is white. Whenever Grimm have hairless skin, it is black. Hers is white. The masks of the Grimm bear almost artistic markings drawn in bright red, but the lines drawn across Salem’s face are organically veiny and dark red, or perhaps even purple. Most importantly, she has a bare face rather than a mask of bone, and a name. Pyrrha described the Creatures of Grimm as “the manifestation of anonymity”. The Grimm do not have faces, or names; no individuality or sense of self. They are beasts without even as much soul as animals. Monsters which exist only to destroy humanity.

Salem seems to have more nuanced motivations.

back to my Creatures of Grimm index