it stops short; writes it off

Maybe I’m thinking too much
Maybe I should stop
Maybe it’s not healthy
Maybe it’s not easy
Maybe I should turn it off
If only I could turn it off
Long enough to make it stop
—  t.m.

i’m imagining fake ah crew jeremy joining the crew shortly after graduating high school and after a couple years deciding he wants to take some college courses part time because he’s interested in music and art and all sorts of shit and now he’s got the money to pursue that

he’s nervous about mentioning it to geoff and the others because what if they’re not cool with me skipping out on some jobs to do this

but instead everyone is actually super encouraging and somehow that is ten thousand times worse

  • like jeremy shows up for a heist briefing and jack’s like “what the hell are you doing here, you have a paper due in the morning, get out, go work on it”
  • he gets a c on a project and ryan very calmly suggests that he can “go have a chat” with his professor, ryan no, why do you have a bat
  • he registers late and there isn’t room in a couple courses he wanted; twenty minutes later gavin cheerfully lets him know that there was a database error and suddenly there’s plenty of room in those courses, how about that
  • geoff picks him up from campus right before they’re ready to do a heist. 
    some kid: who’s the dude yelling in the yellow booty shorts on the motorcycle?
    jeremy, covering his face with his hands: that. would be my boss.
  • michael calls him and tells him he’ll be there to pick him up in a couple minutes
    jeremy: are those…sirens in the background?
    michael: yeah, i can’t actually stop, how do you feel about jumping in through the window while i’m going like thirty miles an hour
  • eventually jeremy’s like the kid in middle school embarrassed to be seen with his mom. “just– you can just drop me off at the corner, actually, right here’s fine, i’ll walk”
Staying Productive while Writing

Anonymous asked: “I’m starting a book and whenever I sit down to write I never know what to put down. Do you have any advice for getting focused/getting ideas flowing? Or just getting in touch with what you’re trying to say?”

Sometimes it can be a struggle to get words on the page. This happens to everyone - most often, when we’re rusty or feeling out of practice. Sometimes, we just procrastinate. There’s no rush to write that scene, so why not put it off until tomorrow? We have all been there. 

The short answer on how to avoid getting into this habit is to simply stop. Easier said than done. I’ve been there many, many times. I was there this past week after I stopped writing for about a week to recover from a virus. Here’s a few techniques to get back into good writing habits: 

Start with writing prompts.  Then, don’t work on an ongoing project, either write out something by hand or even just type a short scene spurred by a prompt. This will help get you back into the swing of things and thinking again like a writer. While I find good prompts just about everywhere, my favorites are Deep Water Prompts (@deepwaterwritingprompts) and Writing Prompts that Don’t Suck (@awesomewritingprompts). 

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Dream Come True

Originally posted by luna-intheforest

Characters: Y/n, Derek

Pairing: Derek x Y/n (FEMALE READER)

Warnings: Smut smut smut, rough sex, Derek kinda wolfing out, more smut, slight pain, Derek being concerned, unprotected sex, fluff at the end

Word count: 2500

Summary: Derek just can’t stop dreaming about you. Luckily, he gets a real chance.

A/N: Ok, so…requested fic by @burgundyrosesandwine​ -I was wondering if you could write a Derek smut with a female reader where it’s after derek leaves beacon hills and he’s in a new city (Like nyc) and that because he’s bored he starts giving private self defense classes. And then he becomes really good friend with one of the girls he trains and he even reveals he’s a werewolf. She’s innocent and sweet and derek can’t stop fantasizing about her but he’s scared he’ll scare her off because he’s a lot older and she’s inexperienced but one day his lust takes over and he’s very rough, dominant and possessive You can use the pain removing thing idea like you did in the beginning of the end :) Also can you make her very short pleaseeeee. I know this is a lot so you obviously don’t have to do it Just an idea I really want someone to write one day hahaha. Ok, so I think I mostly stuck to the request. Also, sorry this took sooo long!! Hope u like it!!

Tagged peeps: @sallyp-53 @greyravenvixen @helvonasche @chelsea072498 @the-latina-trickster @aingealcethlenn @squirrels-angels-and-moose @lucifer-in-leather @kumaartz @sinceriouslyamellpadalecki @mogaruke 

Masterlist


Your moans were loud and filthy, your pussy stretching as Derek pounded into you.

“Fuck, y/n. So damn loud, aren’t you?”

You whimpered, trying to keep your moans quiet, but the way his cock felt inside you was too much.

You screamed as your body shook, your pussy clenching around Derek’s cock.

Derek’s face fell to your breasts, growling loud as he came deep within you.

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A Note From Gerard Way about My Chemical Romance's breakup if you haven't read it yet

A note from Gerard Way about My Chemical Romance’s breakup:

A Vigil, On Birds and Glass.
I woke up this morning still dreaming, or not fully aware of myself just yet. The sun poked through the windows, touching my face, and then a deep sadness overcame me, immediately, bringing me to life and realization- My Chemical Romance had ended.
I walked downstairs to do the only thing I could think of to regain composure-
I made coffee.
As the drip began, in that kind of silence that only happens in the morning, and being the only one awake, I stepped outside my home, leaving the door open behind me. I looked around and began to breathe. Things looked to be about the same- a beautiful day.
As I turned to step back into the house I heard sound from within, a chirp and a rustle. And I noticed a small brown bird had flown into the library. Naturally, I panicked. I knew I had to see the bird to safety and I knew I had to retain the order of things in our home, and he very well couldn’t take up residency with us. I chased him (still assuming he was a he) into my office, where I have these very large windows.
Just then, and luckily, I heard Lindsey’s footsteps coming down the stairs, and naturally being composed as she is, she grabbed a blanket and stepped into the office. He was impossible to catch, and I began to open the windows, via Lindsey’s direction, only to find out they were screened. The bird began to fly into the glass, over and over and in all different directions.
Smack.
Smack.
Smack!
I heard another set of footsteps, Bandit’s, running down the stairs in anticipation of the new day. Her entrance into the situation caused just the right amount of chaos (she was very excited to meet the bird) and we found ourselves chasing the bird into the living room. Knowing that this where it could potentially get sticky, being the high ceilings and the beams to perch on, I opened the front door as Lindsey did her best to encourage our new friend out the door. After some coaxing, flying, chirping, a wrong turn back into the library and a short goodbye to Bandit, he simply hopped out the front door- taking off on the fifth leap.
We cheered.
I was no longer sad.
I didn’t realize it, but I stopped being sad the minute that bird had come into my life, because there was something that needed doing, a small vessel to aid and an order to keep. I closed the door. I decided to write the letter I always knew I would.

[[/MORE]]

It is often my nature to be abstract, hidden in plain sight, or nowhere at all. I have always felt that the art I have made (alone or with friends) contains all of my intent when executed properly, and thus, no explanation required. It is simply not in my nature to excuse, explain, or justify any action I have taken as a result of thinking it through with a clear head, and in my truth.
I had always felt this situation involving the end of this band would be different, in the eventuality it happened. I would be cryptic in its existence, and open upon its death.

The clearest actions come from truth, not obligation. And the truth of the matter is that I love every one of you.
So, if this finds you well, and sheds some light on anything, or my personal account and feelings on the matter, then it is out of this love, mutual and shared, not duty.
Love.
This was always my intent.

My Chemical Romance: 2001-2013

We were spectacular.
Every show I knew this, every show I felt it with or without external confirmation.
There were some clunkers, sometimes our secondhand gear broke, sometimes I had no voice- we were still great. It is this belief that made us who we were, but also many other things, all of them vital-
And all of the things that made us great were the very things that were going to end us-

Fiction. Friction. Creation. Destruction. Opposition. Aggression. Ambition. Heart. Hate. Courage. Spite. Beauty. Desperation. LOVE. Fear. Glamour. Weakness. Hope.

Fatalism.

That last one is very important. My Chemical Romance had, built within its core, a fail-safe. A doomsday device, should certain events occur or cease occurring, would detonate. I shared knowledge of this “flaw” within weeks of its inception.
Personally, I embraced it because, again, it made us perfect. A perfect machine, beautiful, yet self aware of it’s system. Under directive to terminate before it becomes compromised. To protect the idea- at all costs. This probably sounds like something ripped from the pages of a four-color comic book, and that’s the point.
No compromise. No surrender. No fucking shit.

To me that’s rock and roll. And I believe in rock and roll.

I wasn’t shy about who I said this to, not the press, or a fan, or a relative. It’s in the lyrics, it’s in the banter. I often watched the journalists snicker at mention of it, assuming I was being sensational or melodramatic (in their defense I was most likely dressed as an apocalyptic marching-band leader with a tear-away hospital gown and a face covered in expressionist paint, so fair enough).
I’m still not sure if the mechanism worked correctly, because it wasn’t a bang but a much slower process. But still the same result, and still for the same reason-

When it’s time, we stop.

It is important to understand that for us, the opinion on whether or not it is in fact time does not transmit from the audience. Again, this is to protect the idea for the benefit of the audience. Many a band have waited for external confirmation that it is time to hang it up, via ticket sales, chart positioning, boos and bottles of urine- input that holds no sway for us, and often too late when it comes anyway.

You should know it in your being, if you listen to the truth inside you. And voice inside became louder than the music.

Now-
There are many reasons My Chemical Romance ended. The triggerman is unimportant, as was always the messengers- but the message, again as always, is the important thing. But to reiterate, this is my account, my reasons and my feelings. And I can assure you there was no divorce, argument, failure, accident, villain, or knife in the back that caused this, again this was no one’s fault, and it had been quietly in the works, whether we knew it or not, long before any sensationalism, scandal, or rumor.

There wasn’t even a blaze of glory in a hail of bullets…

I am backstage in Asbury Park, New Jersey. It is Saturday, May 19th, 2012 and I am pacing behind a massive black curtain that leads to the stage. I feel the breeze from the ocean find its way around me and I look down at my arms, which are covered in fresh gauze due to a losing battle with a heat rash, which had been a mysterious problem in recent months. I am normally not nervous before a show but I am certainly filled with angry butterflies most of the time. This is different- a strange anxiety jetting through me that I can only imagine is the sixth sense one feels before their last moments alive. My pupils have zeroed-out and I have ceased blinking. My body temperature is icy.
We get the cue to hit the stage.

The show is… good. Not great, not bad, just good. The first thing I notice take me by surprise is not the enormous amount of people in front of us but off to my left- the shore and the vastness of the ocean. Much more blue than I remembered as a boy. The sky is just as vibrant. I perform, semi-automatically, and something is wrong.
I am acting. I never act on stage, even when it appears that I am, even when I’m hamming it up or delivering a soliloquy. Suddenly, I have become highly self-aware, almost as if waking from a dream. I began to move faster, more frantic, reckless- trying to shake it off- but all it began to create was silence. The amps, the cheers, all began to fade.

All that what left was the voice inside, and I could hear it clearly. It didn’t have to yell- it whispered, and said to me briefly, plainly, and kindly- what it had to say.

What it said is between me and the voice.

I ignored it, and the following months were full of suffering for me- I hollowed out, stopped listening to music, never picked up a pencil, started slipping into old habits. All of the vibrancy I used to see became de-saturated. Lost. I used to see art or magic in everything, especially the mundane- the ability was buried under wreckage.

Slowly, once I had done enough damage to myself, I began to climb out of the hole. Clean. When I made it out, the only thing left inside was the voice, and for the second time in my life, I no longer ignored it- because it was my own.

There are many roles for all of us to play in this ending. We can be well-wishers, ill-wishers, sympathizers, vilifiers, comedians, rain clouds, victims-

That last one, again, is important. I have never thought myself a victim, nor my comrades, nor the fans- especially not the fans. For us to adopt that role right now would legitimize everything the tabloids have tried to name us. More importantly, it completely misses the point of the band. And then what have we learned?

With honor, integrity, closure, and on no one’s terms but our own- the door closes.

And another opens-

This morning I awoke early. I quickly brushed my teeth, threw on some baggy jeans, and hopped in my car. I gently sped down the 405 through the morning fog to a random parking lot in Palo Verde, where I was to meet a nice gentleman named Norm. He was older, and a self-proclaimed “hippie” but he also had the energy of Sixteen year old in a garage-rock band. The purpose of the meeting was the delivery of an amplifier into my possession. I had recently purchased the amp from him and we both agreed that shipping would jostle the tubes- so he was kind enough to meet me in the middle.
A Fender Princeton Amp from 1965, non reverb. A beautiful little device.

He showed me the finer points, the speaker, the non-grounded plug, the original label and the chalk mark of the man or woman who built it-

“This amp talks.” he said.
I smiled.
We got coffee, talked about gold-foil pickups and life. We sat in the car and played each other music we had made. We parted ways, promising to stay in touch, I drove home.

When I wanted to start My Chemical Romance, I began by sitting in my parent’s basement, picking up an instrument I had long abandoned for the brush- a guitar. It was a 90’s Fender Mexican Stratocaster, Lake Placid Blue, but in my youth I had decided it was too clean and pretty so I beat it up, exposing some of the red paint underneath the blue- the color it was meant to be. Adding a piece of duct tape on the pick guard, it felt acceptable. I plugged this into a baby Crate Amp with built in distortion and began the first chords of Skylines and Turnstiles.

I still have that guitar, and it’s sitting next to The Princeton.
He has a voice, and I would like to hear what it has to say.

In closing, I want to thank every single fan. I have learned from you, maybe more than you think you’ve learned from me. My only regret is that I am awful with names and bad with goodbyes. But I never forget a face, or a feeling- and that is what I have left from all of you.
I feel Love.

I feel love for you, for our crew, our team, and for every single human being I have shared the band and stage with-

Ray. Mikey. Frank. Matt. Bob. James. Todd. Cortez. Tucker. Pete. Michael. Jarrod.

Since I am bad with goodbyes. I refuse to let this be one. But I will leave you with one last thing-

My Chemical Romance is done. But it can never die.
It is alive in me, in the guys, and it is alive inside all of you.
I always knew that, and I think you did too.

Because it is not a band-
it is an idea.

Love,
Gerard

i wish all these blogs and news sites would stop looping in sense8 with the get down because 1) is the same crusty Journalists™ that were bashing the get down because of its “unbearable slow pace” and “lack of plot and storytelling” (both lies) that are now praising it and waxing poetic about how tragic it is that such a great show was given the boot and 2) sense8 was nowhere near the level the get down was on, not creatively, not on an interest level, and definitely not on its ability to tell a fucking story that makes sense, the only thing both shows have in common is a big budget because you can’t even give flop8 some cookies for diversity when both the creators are racist trash who only know how to write racist stereotypes and have no fucking clue what they’re doing so in short! stop grouping the get down in with sense8 esp when you didn’t bother to give the get down a fucking chance in the first place and now wanna play it off because it won’t be renewed

Lavender Blue

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader x Steve Rogers

Warnings: Angst, nightmares, mentions of abandonment, but then fluffiness

Word Count: 2k

Summary: Bucky still suffers from his nightmares, and tonight it was the worst yet.

A/N: I’m gonna go ahead and start out that I’m not the greatest at angst, so I hope I did okay with this one. I love the lullaby and wanted to write something with it.  I hope you guys like this one! Let me know what you guys think.  ❤️

The gif is not mine, credit to the owner.


The screams are what woke Y/N first. She bolted up in her bed, all fogginess from her slumber erased at the agony in the shouts. Typically, they would stop after the first few seconds, but her concern grew when they continued. Throwing the comforter off herself, she grabbed a shirt and shorts, throwing them on before bolting out the room. The screams still echoed through the halls as she ran from one end of the flat to the other. It wasn’t till she got closer that she could hear the pleads for him to wake.

Y/N stumbled into the room, her breath ragged as she took in the room. Steve kneeled on the side of Bucky’s bed, shaking the man who was still kicking and screaming in his sleep. Steve begged for him to waken, his voice cracking as he struggled to be heard over his friends tormented cries.

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What are Ace Attorney Characters like in the original Japanese Version?

mxearthling asked me:

hello!! i found your AA “pronoun” and honorifc post in the tag and it was really interesting!! i was wondering if you could expand on blackquill, edgeworth, and klavier in particular when it comes to how they refer to themselves/what others call them? i am INSANELY curious.

This is an interesting Question I got a while back. Now that I’ve replayed some of the games AND am playing Spirit of Justice I feel more up to try and answer it. That said, I am going to go through all Ace Attorney main characters, meaning Defense Lawyers, Detectives, Assistants and Prosecutors, and will give you a profile of how they were written in Japanese, comparing it a little to the original. 

This post might be edited when I realize I misremembered something or learn something new.

That said, let’s go!

Currently on this list:

  • Phoenix Wright
  • Mia Fey
  • Maya Fey
  • Miles Edgeworth
  • Dick Gumshoe
  • Pearl Fey
  • Franziska Von Karma
  • Ema Skye
  • Kay Faraday
  • Apollo Justice
  • Trucy Wright
  • Athena Cykes
  • Klavier Gavin
  • Simon Blackquill

Phoenix Wright

Japanese Name: 成歩堂龍一(Naruhodô Ryûichi)

Japanese Name Meaning: “Naruhodô” is a pun on “Naruhodo”, a Japanese phrase akin to the English phrase “I see(what you mean).” “Ryûichi” means “Dragon”, and the ending of the name indicates that he was the firstborn son of his family. This “Dragon” is presumably what served as the inspiration for naming him “Phoenix” in the English localization. 

Refers to himself as: “Boku”, a rather soft-sounding way for men to say “I”, albeit it’s still less formal than “Watashi” would be. This makes me sound younger than a professional who would be using “Watashi”, since older men tend to prefer “Watashi” in their work life. While we’re at “Boku”, contrary to what you may have heard, women *do* use it veeeeeery rarely, albeit women using this in real life are usually seen as eccentric and odd. It’s more common for women to use it in poetic writing, though. In any case, Phoenix’ “Boku” is written in Hiragana, indicating that it sounds especially soft, hinting at his generally mild-mannered personality. 

Referred to by the Textboxes as: “Naruhodo”, with a short “o”, openly acknowledging the pun.

Referred to by others as: Maya, Pearl and Mia call him “Naruhodo-kun”, with the short “o”. Trials and Tribulations indicates that Phoenix tried to stop Mia from constantly cutting off the “O” in the end of his name, but she never did, so the punny nickname stuck. Larry and Edgeworth both call him by his last name, “Naruhodô”, without a honorific, which is common among male friends. Apollo and Athena correctly refer to him as “Naruhodô-san” (with the long “O”). Trucy calls him “Papa”, which explains the writing on his beanie. The Judge calls him “Naruhodô-kun”. Blackquil calls him “Naru-no-ji”.

His Speech-style: Somewhat casual, he does sound like a pretty typical, mild-mannered young man, using less polite forms when talking to Maya and more polite forms when talking to certain witnesses or the Judge. He uses the very common, polite “Desu-Masu” forms (which most people in Japan use when they’re talking to anyone other than their closest friends and family) a lot more frequently than a lot of other characters in the series.

Notes: Probably the character who carried over best in the translation. His averageness definitely helped.

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Okay so, if you have ever had the misfortune of being in chat with me on the topic of Assassination Classroom you would know I have a very strong belief of gay Karma and demi/pan Nagisa.

Now I was ecstatic to learn they were making the KorosenseQ spin off an actual series (Which is very likely the story Korosensei mentions in passing in the main series he wants to write in which he wouldn’t have to die and therefore is more than likely written by the octopus himself) anyway back on track, while the series seems to have diverged a bit from the comic now (tbh I think they made it better especially pope Gakuho omfg) but with the episodes being so short it means they emphasize certain things while cut other things out.

Trying to stop rambling now the thing that’s really caught my attention is the relationship between Karma and Nagisa (this is 100% a ship post if this is your notp then please stop reading now, if you do ship it or at least tolerate feel free to continue) and since @serenity0220 likes my analysis of these dumb boys so much figured eh what the hell lets post what I noticed in this episode.

Spoilers blow the cut turn back if you haven’t watched the episode yet.

Excuse the lack of spell check I’m literally copy pasting this from my skype chat.

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Title: Better Off Beautiful
Fandom: X-Men
Characters: Peter Maximoff x Reader
Warnings: Self-hatred
Word Count: 1,090
Notes: Request from anon for “Helloooooooooo! I love your blog! I was wondering if you could write a Peter Maximoff fic based off ‘Better Off Dead’ by Sleeping With Sirens where the reader seriously (COMPLETELY) hates herslef and one day Peter just finds a notebook in her room where she has a long-ass list of things to hate about herself? Its a bit weird but could you maybe write this? Tysm!!😙😙” // Always remember that you should work towards loving yourself entirely on your own, rather than wishing for someone to come along and make it so. Everyone is beautiful and perfect in their own way, regardless of the opinions of others. I really hope this fic made you feel a bit better, but please remember that you must love yourself first and foremost. ♥

Originally posted by quicksilver-gifs

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LadyNoir July, Day 25: Sober

@seasonofthegeek, this is me trying to make you smile.  :)  It’s completely ridiculous, but it’s fun, right??


When Chat Noir reached their meeting place, he saw that Ladybug had arrived there ahead of him, and he smiled.  

“My Lady,” he said, bowing.  “Are you ready to—”

“Chat, do you think I’m sexy?”

He stopped short, taken completely off guard by her question.  “Ah, is that a trick question?”

“No!”  She began earnestly, clutching her yoyo to her chest and stumbling a bit as she stepped closer to him.  “I really want to know, because there’s this guy, right?   And I’m toootally in love with him, because he’s incredible, and I know that he knows that I exist ‘cause I can finally talk to him now, and we talk, you know?  We talk! But it’s been years, and he only sheesh—no, sees, me as a friend.  So I thought, maaaybe I’m not sexy enough.  Or maybe I’m not likeable!  Am I not likeable, Chat?”

Chat stared at her, trying to sort through her unusually rapid speech and grandiose gestures for meaning–something about a guy, and talking, and being unlikable?–but he must have taken too long.  Her eyes rounded and filled with tears, and the next thing he knew, she’d thrown her arms around him and was sobbing into his chest.

“I’m un-liiiike-a-bllllle,” she wailed.

“What just happened?”  He asked the sky.  Chat put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back, so that he could see her face, and recoiled immediately.  “Dieu, Ladybug, your breath smells like a winery. Are you drunk?”

Her mercurial mood shifted again, and she giggled.  “Chat Noir, are you sober?”

“Well, that is usually how we do patrols,” he muttered, still trying to wrap his head around a drunk Ladybug.

“Oh!  That’s why I’m here.  I can’t go patrolling with you tonight.”  She leaned forward and put a hand on his shoulder to pull him down, closer to her face, as if to tell him a secret.  “I’m a little drunk,” she whispered conspiratorially, and giggled again.

“So I noticed,” he deadpanned, and sighed.  He’d been looking forward to patrolling with her. “I’ll take care of the patrol tonight, Bug.  You go on home and—Hang on, how did you even get here?”  

“Like this!”  Ladybug swung out her yoyo and promptly hit herself in the forehead.  Then she frowned down at it on the ground, as if surprised to see it there.  “Ow.”

Chat blanched, thinking of all the ways she could have killed herself trying to play Spider Man while drunk.  “Okay.  New plan. Patrol is canceled, and I am taking you home.”

“You can’t take me home, silly.  You don’t know where I live.”  She tried to put a hand on her cocked hip, but missed, and jabbed her thumb into her hip.  She looked down, placed her hand carefully on her hip, and then looked back at him with a proud smile.  “Besiiides,” she continued, “if you take me home, you’ll know who I am!  You can’t know who I am, that would be insane.”

He sighed.  He should have known that she’d be hell-bent on protecting their identities, even drunk.  “Then I’ll take you back to my—uh, my friend’s house.  I’ll take you to my friend, and he will take care of you.”

Ladybug tipped forward from the hips, and narrowed her eyes assessingly.  “You’re just going to take me to your house, detransform in another room, and then come in pretending to be surprised, aren’t you?”

“No!  No no no, of course not.”  She crossed her arms and arched her brow skeptically, then over-balanced and stumbled forward.  He sighed. “Ok, fine.  Yes, that’s exactly what I was going to do.  But you can’t get home on your own like this.  Either you let me take you somewhere safe, or we’re sitting here until you sober up.”

“Ugh, fiiiine.  But only if you promise to help me figure out why Adrien Agreste isn’t interested in me.”  She huffed petulantly, oblivious to the dumbfounded expression on his face.  “I’m not really unlikeable, am I?”  She whined.  

Then she blanched, and her eyes widened.  “Oh, shit!”  She clamped her hands over her mouth, spun away from him, and puked right there on the roof.

He blinked at his retching companion, and shook his head as if to clear it.  “How is this my life?”  He asked no one at all.  He sighed and put a hand on her back, smiling ruefully.  “Somehow, I always envisioned our reveal being so much more romantic.”

Things Never Changed

Group: Got7

Member: Mark Tuan

Pairing: member x reader

Genre: Angst/Fluff

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2739

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Okay so I’m slowly becoming Got7 trash thanks to @fortheloveofsuga (fuck you for giving me “feelings”) so I was compelled to write something for them. I just kinda wrote this at like 3am on my phone and debated on whether not to post it, but I decided I would. :) 

@seokvie @gotsinvn @mark-myass (i know y’all appreciate Got7 so here ya go *insert side eye emoji*)

————————–

There’s an old philosophy that says “absence makes the heart grow fonder”. The sentiment seems beautiful. Poetic, even. The thought that your absence from someone’s life will be an ever-present hollowness that makes it nearly impossible to complete simple daily tasks–the constant memory of the one you love dancing along the edges of your mind, just barely out of reach from your shaking and nostalgic fingers. The deep and meaningful love a connection that is blatant and comforting and unwavering, even with thousands of miles of ocean separating you. Poetic, indeed.

But it’s just not realistic.

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My Uptown Girl *Jughead Jones x Reader*

Originally posted by betty-and-jughead

Originally posted by chaneloberlinvevo

Summary: Based off the lyrics of Billy Joel’s song Uptown Girl

Pairings Jughead x Reader


You walked around Riverdale High with a certain grace, an almost happy bounce in each of your steps. No one could mistake your smile; it always present, from the beginning of the day to the end, in fact, it got bigger on some days.

You are everything Jughead Jones The Third isn’t. You are happy, wholesome and sweet, caring and good. You came from a well-to-do family, wealthy and snobby, yet you weren’t like your parents. You were nice to everyone you met, you are the popular girl without the hateful stigma behind it. Despite that you weren’t allowed to hang around with any old riff-raff, your parents set standards or guidelines and even managed who your friends were, for obvious reasons Cheryl is your closest friend.

Jughead was no exception of the love everyone had for you; Riverdale’s sweetheart. He fell for you like many other guys, he didn’t want to, but it happened over time. You somehow wormed your way into his heart. He set up this demeanour that he was brooding, unable to receive let alone give love to someone, and from the moment you came back from spring break he knew he was in trouble.

If people knew he even had a crush on you everything he built up would be gone. His ‘tough’ exterior would be gone because of you!

“You’re staring at her again,” Archie’s voice sounded from behind Jughead; the beanie wearing boy jumped, slightly glaring over his shoulder at the red-head. “Why don’t you just go over and ask her out?”

Jughead scoffed and went back to watching you, like a creep, he knew that. “I can’t, you wouldn’t understand!” He pushed off the wall of lockers, turning to look at Archie who was searching through his own.

“What’s to understand?” Jughead rolled his eyes, “Seriously, I don’t get it.”

“We’re two different people, Archie.” Archie rolled his dark eyes, “She’s from the uptown, where the rich live and I’m… well, let’s just say my family isn’t exactly respected. Y/N, she’s-”

“-Nice?” Archie cut off. “She isn’t interested in anyone’s home or family line, you know that. In fact, if anyone is able to entice her it’s you,” his friend smiled and patted his shoulder.

Jug sighed, “She’s never had a boyfriend, let alone a guy like me ask her out. She’s living in this clean bubble, she shouldn’t get involved with someone like me.” Jughead shrugged, slipping his hands into his jacket pockets as Archie shuts his locker.

“You’re so dramatic,” Archie exhaled, “if she doesn’t know you like her, then she doesn’t have the choice of dating someone like you. Who by the way, is a decent guy and intelligent, with a twisted sense of humour but is a loyal friend.”

Before Jughead can sarcastically wit his friend, the rest of the scooby gang shows up. “Whoever is writing Archie’s speeches; I need their number.” Veronica grinned, standing between the two boys with Kevin at her left and Betty to her right. “What locker conversations are you two having?”

Jughead gives a look to Archie, who completely misses it. “Talking about Jug’s crush,” that makes Veronica’s eyes go wide and look at the glaring teen. “Yeah, on Y/N, I told him to go over and talk to her but apparently Jug here is living on social platforms now.” Archie shrugged at his best friend’s glare.

“Juggie, you are so in Y/N league.” Betty comforts to which Jughead scoffs at his friend, who gives him a challenging look.

“Actually,” Kevin pipes up, “I heard Y/N is growing tired of her high-class toys and all the attention from the uptown boys.” He shrugs as Jug frowns, “What I’m saying is, maybe, you’ve got a slim chance if she’s willing to make a choice for a guy of such… standards as yourself.” Jug gives a mock smile to Keller who doesn’t seem fazed.

Veronica smiles, “See, you have a chance. Betty was right, Kevin has the inside scoop and Archiekins gave you the pep talk,” Jughead raised his eyebrows. “And I’m threatening you, if you don’t go over there and talk to her, I’ll personally cut up that precious beanie of yours!” Jug sighed and nodded, making the raven-haired girl clap as he trudges over to you.

He glares over his shoulder as he friends all huddled together, watching from afar. As he walks over to you, he watches as you bring out various different school books from your locker, tucking a lock of you (Y/H/C) behind your ear, smiling as Jug stops a little short of you. It’s silent for a moment as Jughead thinks of what to say, only you beat him to it.

“Jones, what do I owe the pleasure?” You grin, moving the three textbooks to be cradled in your left arm as you shut your locker, your white cardigan delicately hanging off your shoulders. “I heard your writing for the Blue and Gold with Cooper, am I being interviewed because I campaigned for more vegetarian options?” He chuckled at that, shaking his head.

“Actually, no, not about your recent campaign.” You chuckled and nodded, “I just…” He stopped and studied you for a moment, he really liked you, truly he did. But he couldn’t compare to the guys wanting you also, the guys who could offer to give you the nice things you’re wearing. He didn’t care if he embarrassed himself with the potential rejection, he couldn’t live with himself if the entire school, town, mocked you for having him as your boyfriend. “Wondered… did we get any Science homework?”

You let out a little sigh, a small frown coming upon your face that he watched quickly get concealed by another bright smile. “Yeah, we got Chem, want me to give you notes?”

“Uh, no, it’s fine… I’ll ask Betty,” you nodded and watched him waiting for something else to be said but it wasn’t. He just nodded and stalked down the hallway, head bowed and shoulders tensed as he turned a corner, you frowned at his odd behaviour; he wasn’t any different from the usual, although, he never asked you about homework.

Shrugging, turning and bumping into Veronica Lodge, you smiled an apology. “Hey, Y/N, what was Jughead just talking to you about?” You frowned a little, why did Veronica wanna know that?

“Uh, asking if we had any science homework… why?”

Veronica let out a frustrated sigh, “That idiot. He’s not so tough,” you were frowning more by the minute as she talked, “and you’re more oblivious than I thought you’d be!”

“Excuse me?” You asked, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, I am not oblivious, Jughead just wanted to know an answer to a simple question.”

“That he could have gotten from Betty,” you snapped your mouth shut, “He’ll hate me for spilling his well-kept secret but he likes you.” You chuckled, Jughead never liked anyone, did he? “Laugh all you want, it’s funny having people like him adore you, I’d know from experience but… maybe consider him?” The bell rings before you can question or say anything, Veronica shrugs and smiles at you before leaving, “Jughead, although savvy with words through writing, isn’t so when expressing them outwardly.”

*Pop’s Diner: Next Day*

“You didn’t tell her,” Veronica stated again as she sat down in the booth directly opposite him. Archie on his left and Kevin sliding in beside Veronica, Betty squeezing herself in beside Keller. “I thought you were gonna tell her?”

Jug rolled his green eyes, “No, you said to go over and talk to her,” he pointed out. “I did exactly that, it was a pleasant conversation if I do say so myself.” Veronica rolled her eyes.

“Why is it so difficult to admit you like her, to her?” Archie asked.

“Cause that’s a very straight guy thing,” Kevin sips his strawberry milkshake, answering for Jughead and receiving a less than impressed look from Archie.

Jughead sighed, “Because I can’t afford to do stuff like dating or gifts, I lost my job and maybe, even if I get another job I still wouldn’t be able to buy her all the things she likes.” His voice getting more agitated.

The table becomes quiet as Jug leans back against the booth, folding his arms and looking out the window. Betty ends the silence by talking to Archie about his music, everyone allowing Jughead to be in his head, but not leaving him alone. If he truly wanted to be alone he would have jumped over the back and left, he didn’t do that.

From looking out the window he notices you, tentatively walking towards the diner. He hadn’t seen you… ever in Pop’s, not without Cheryl or maybe, a few other River Vixens. You were dressed in a dark blue coat, unbuttoned, showing the pink sweater underneath plus jeans. He frowns when you notice him in the window, making a gesture for him to meet you outside. He hops over the booth; pushing the diner door open and walking out into the cold towards you.

“What’s up?” He frowned gently.

“So, I’ve been thinking,” You began, “if you need help with that Science homework, I can help you?” Jughead frowns at you, “Just I’m passing that class, not that I don’t think you can’t do it or fail, I just wanted to offer my assistance.” You ramble a little chuckling nervously at the end.

Jughead lowers his gaze to the floor before looking back at you, “Did one of my idiots talk to you?” You chuckled and nodded causing him to sigh out.  “Listen, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be seen that way with me.”

“So, like my parents, you’re gonna be making decisions for me too?” You asked with a raised eyebrow, “what makes you think I give a damn what people think of me? You think I’m nice girl because it makes people like me? No, I’m nice because that’s just me.” You explain smiling a little up at him.

He shakes his head a little, the little amount of dark hair falling into his face as he towers over you. “We’re two vastly different people, you know that, right?”

You chuckled, “Sometimes you love someone because of the reasons they’re not like you!”

The air is thick around you both, you were waiting for Jug to say something but he had no words nor thoughts to what you said. It’s how he felt; he loved you for all the reasons you were different to him.

“I get that this might seem like some, stupid, uptown girl bullshit to you. I’m rebelling against my parents or something by dating you, it’s not. I just… you’re you, you know? This broody, writer type, that would laugh at this cliche.” He chuckled at that, “Then Veronica told me, kinda made it clear and just, I came here hoping…”

“That you’d help with my science homework?” You sighed and chuckled, nodding. “Well, I finished it,” you frowned as he smiled, “so, more time for burgers and fries, right?”

You followed him into the diner, a little in front as you walked to a booth, turning in time to see his friends give Jug supportive thumbs up. You grinned as he slid in opposite you.

“What about your parents?” Jug asked with a little frown, resting his arms on the table, leaning a little in and you mimicked his posture with a grin.

“Screw them,” you added an eye roll for dramaticness.

He huffed a chuckle. “I’m already causing a bad influence on you,” he amused as you smiled, adding a little half-shrug.

“You can’t be that bad of influence cause you’re in love with an uptown girl,” you point out.

Jug exhales through his nose, giving you a look. He leans forward a little, table edge digging into his torso but he doesn’t care, he connects his lips with yours in a short but sweet kiss. It’s like everything he hates about romance novels suddenly make sense, the butterflies and ‘fireworks’ suddenly happen, he curses himself for letting this happen to him. His heart racing, he pulls back a little and looks at you, you’re smiling with a faint blush.

“So, what can I get my uptown girl?” He nods to the menu, “I get any milkshake flavours on the house, by the way.” He adds with a mocking cocky smirk.

You laughed, “Well, if dating you means on the house milkshakes then I’m your girl,” He chuckled with a slight blush of his own at that.

(Hope people enjoy this. My dad was singing this as he cooked and I thought instantly, this is a Jug type song and I had to write it! Let me know what you think. - Ro)


I tagged people from Five Hundred Words, the next part will be posted Saturday (figured you’d guys would like this): @caitsymichelle13 @gurliest @florenceivy @katshrev @thelastxgoodthing @merrahonthawall @idkmilla @tinastark2015 @oh-balls-you-idjits @imahuricane 

guys...please...

I love hearing feedback on here, I really do.  <3 <3 <3  

But if your comment on my six sentence ficlet is going to be along the lines of ‘MORE?’ or “Where’s the rest?’, just know that I write nearly 200 of these things a month.  

191 on the queue for this month, to be exact.  

So say I ONLY write six sentences each for all 191.  That’s 1146 sentences. 

And those of you who know me, know that sometimes I get inspired and I will write WAY MORE THAN SIX sentences.  

So it’s likely way more than 1146 sentences.  I know my word doc for June was around 103 pages or so?  Approximately 34700 words.  So I mean…

I work on these every day.  I write these suckers on my phone.  

I take nearly 200 prompts a month and fill them all.  

So, every time I get comments like, ‘where’s the rest?’  I want to crawl into a hole and sleep forever. Because I know to you, it doesn’t look like much?  But to me?  

It’s every night. It’s 191 prompts.  

And as much as I love the likes and the reblogs and the LOVELY COMMENTS people leave in the replies…

please don’t ask me ‘where’s the rest?’.  I’m very likely to show you this post.  

I do this because…well frankly…it’s something I can contribute to fandom.  Even if it’s just six sentences, it’s nice to see something for your ship.  Or sometimes, it’s nice to throw me a crackship just to see what I do with it.  

I have FUN writing these.  And the second I stop having fun?  I will stop writing them.  That’s not a threat.  It’s a fact.  

So please…PLEASE don’t take the fun out of this by telling me what I’ve written isn’t enough.  Because that’s what those comments mean to me.  

And that is straight from me.  That’s not hearsay.  This is me telling you.  I don’t like those comments, please stop leaving them.  

I know my ficlets are short.  That’s why I call them ficlets.  That’s why I have a thing called six sentence saturday.  Because short fics are things I can write out super quickly in the short bursts of time I have during the day.  

I’m under no false delusions that six sentences is a long fic.  Nor am I trying to pass them off as such.  I’m writing something short, for people who like short stuff.  

The end. 

This has been a PSA that likely no one will see, because I’m posting it so darn late.  :P 

switch.

she’s self-destruction crafted from forty-year-old merlot; leaving burgundy lipstick stains on your pillowcase with a hint of poison in the air. her eyes feel like knives as they carve through his chest and straight to the heart. his blood pumping and all thoughts a blur, she’s a loaded gun directly between the eyes as wind blows through her hair, waving it around in all directions. a chaotic laugh so venomous the clouds dissipate in fear.

switch.

she’s warmth and beauty in a baby pink sweater with freckles on her cheeks. rose petals float to the floor wherever she walks, gracing the world with her presence. her smile, contagious and inviting; a beaming white ray of hope through every thunderstorm they face. friendly hugs without malice or demands - a true saint in a time of shallow, money-driven criminals. sometimes she thinks fairies visit her in the dead of night, sprinkling glitter on her pillows and shielding her from evil thoughts. angelically twirling in a field of tall grass and daisies. she’s giggling with every bird in the sky, singing one love song at a time.

switch.

she’s boring chocolate hair and baggy t-shirts running from the responsibilities of her mother’s creation. getting high off the smell of her best friend’s sheets at four in the morning, body sticky with sweat and sloppy kisses at the nape of her neck. she’s naked with arms wrapped around her waist, too thin for the rest of the world, too thick for her own condemnatory black eyes. she hears whispering trees as she walks, begging her to come back to earth. her face is red and blotchy, ugly crying in front of a jury. defending herself through pity and subconscious self-loathing. the sun, she feels its burning rays on her bare shoulders. her wrists, suddenly freed of all shackles. she jumps off the bridge.

switch.

she’s got odd scratches and dots of ink on her arms; she never remembers how she got them. her mother gifted her ralph lauren perfume that smells like flowers and morning dew for her fifteenth birthday, an apology of her lengthy absence. she wears it every day, a sad smile on her face. with a rising moon, she’s climbing trees to highlight quotes from her personal copy of macbeth in peace; only the sound of squirrels climbing across the branches can soothe her-

stop.

“i am taking what is mine.” she stares at the man beneath her, in between her thighs. he’s old, fragile, dying. not bothering to look him in the eye, she pulls the trigger. an open wound trickling crimson. she steals his wallet.

“i am wishing for peace in a dream.” she’s strumming a guitar while rabbits weave her a crown of moss and lavender buds. her song ends, and she skips back home with a basket of freshly picked lemongrass and a bouquet of wildflowers.

“i am hoping i’ll wake up from this nightmare.” she wakes up in blinding white. thin, scratchy covers caressing her body. needles in her arm. she tries to tear the cords from her body. they scream, and six figures in nurse toned blue rush in to stop her.

“i am only as much as i become.” she’s standing at the podium speech in hand. her eyes lock with a woman near the back. she can feel the tears coming. with her shoulders back, chest out, chin up, she proudly smiles at the crowd of her peers. she walks off the stage, never addressing the older woman she so desperately desires approval from.

end.

Freak

—————————————————————————————

Pairing:

Pietro Maximoff x Reader
Request:
 Hey can you please do a Pietro Maximoff imagine where you are a new Avenger with the power of energy manipulation but you’re really shy and quiet and he overhears a jealous Shield officer picking on you and he makes him apologize and comforts you
Warnings: Slight violence
Notes: Hey guys, this was meant to be out on Tuesday but as per usual I procrastinated writing it. Anyway this is just a short little imagine that I thought was kinda cute. Enjoy!
—————————————————————————————

Mutant. Enhanced. Gifted. Freak. They were all words people used to describe people of your kind. People with powers. You got off lightly if your ‘special gifts’ were man made such as Captain America, But for those like you, that were born with your powers, that had no real explanation outside of genetics for your abilities, you were brandished a freak, someone to be wary of and avoid at all costs. However this didn’t seem to stop all the big organisations trying to collect you all, both SHIELD, HYDRA and even AIM had shown interest in people of your kind, but you made your decision, picking the side of good over the side of evil.

Though this didn’t mean you were always welcome in the ranks of SHIELD. Many of the lower down agents resented you, feared you even. Luckily for you, you quickly bonded with Pietro and his sister, Wanda, the famed Quicksilver and Scarlet Witch. They were both entranced by your ability to manipulate energy, to be able to create anything you wanted by simply manipulating the forces around you. But despite their joy at the powers you possessed you still avoided showcasing them in public places, fearing others reactions. This wasn’t helped by your shy and conservative nature. You’d learned from experience that is was safer to try and blend in, stay unnoticed, then to bring attention to yourself. 

This was the same reason you often found yourself in such predicaments as you were in now. A well built SHIELD officer had cornered you on your way back to your room after training. “So the little Avenger thinks she special eh?” The man sneered, pushing your shoulder none to gently. Shaking your head you just backed up further till your back hit the wall.  “Course you do, got all the higher ups fawning over you and your ‘special abilities’.” He scoffed, towering over your small frame. “When all you are is a disgusting little freak.” He spat, malice clear in his eyes. However the second the words left the mans mouth he was thrown back, a familiar pair of blue eyes replacing his. “Are you okay?” Pietro asked, his anger clear in his voice. Nodding your head, Pietro span around to face the man who had been cornering you seconds earlier, shielding you in the process. “What did you say? Pietro growled, hands in fists by his side. Wiping the blood from his now split lip the man slowly pushed himself off the floor. “I said… freak.” He spat, a small smirk on his face. Before he could move another muscle Pietro had him in a headlock, pinning him to the cold ground. “You apologize right now…” Pietro growled in the man’s ear, “Or I’m going to make things very… very painful for you.” Pietro smiled maliciously, putting more pressure on the mans back, him letting out a small groan in protest. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry okay?” The man wheezed out, clearly in a lot of pain. “That’s better, now if I see you within 5 foot of Y/N again I won’t let you off that easy.” Pietro said before zooming back to your side and scooping you up in his arms, making a quick get away back to your room. 

Placing you down gently on your bed, Pietro sat on the floor, back leaning against it. “Prinţesă, are you okay?” Pietro asked, looking up at you from the floor. “I will be.” You whispered, mindlessly fiddling with the hand he left on your bed. “Thankyou Piet.” You smiled shyly, running your thumb along his knuckles. “You’re no freak Prinţesă and you do not deserve to be spoken to that way.” He smiled, gently squeezing your hand. Smiling you just lay back, thanking whatever was out there that you had Pietro to always watch your back.

Give peace a chance...

First let me apologize for the delay in responding to the article written by Bernadette Giacomazzo. As some of you may have read on my blog, today was spent with a dear friend who suddenly lost her sister while speaking with her on the phone two days ago. I’m sure you can all understand that while responding to this as I said I would is important, my friend came first.
Earlier today, Bernadette and I engaged in a very civil, courteous conversation via Twitter. Some of you may have followed along, but for those that didn’t, let me fill you in. Last week an email claiming to be from a private investigator was sent to my former employer alleging that I had engaged in targeted harassment of Bernadette while on company time. The email said I had sent an email to Bernadette’s employer asking for her to be fired for writing an article regarding Sam and Cait. Let me state that I have not, nor would I ever, do such a thing. On my parents’ graves I did not write that email. I think doing such a thing reaches incredibly far over the line and is abhorrent. This was why I challenged Bernadette and her friend Vince DeMello, who was involved in this email being sent, about it. Both know my feelings and the facts regarding this email, so I don’t think rehashing it here serves any further purpose.
Over the course of many months it’s been clear that the relationship between myself and Bernadette has been contentious at best. At its worst, it was horrid. Today for some fortunate reason, we were able to put aside our differences and tempers and actually hear each other. Bernadette shared some very personal things, not just with me, but with the Twitterverse. I think it showed courage and strength. It gave me insight that I didn’t have before. That insight has allowed me to see that I have added to her pain and for that I am truly sorry. As Bernadette stated in her article, she has hit back hard at shippers many times, and some of us have hit just as hard in return. Myself included. We are human beings first, fans second, and while I can’t speak for anyone but myself, I know that I often forgot that. I reacted to attacks, mocking, and tattling. And while I may have felt I was doing right at the time, I now see I was part of the problem and not part of the solution. That’s not a feeling I enjoy. I doubt many of us do.
Bernadette and I reached an agreement today that we both will refrain from speaking about each other in any manner but peace. No more personal attacks, no more mocking or ridiculing the way either of us fan. Bernadette has agreed that she will allow shippers to fan the way they choose, and to let us ship Sam and Cait in peace. She is free to report about the Outlander show and Sam and Cait, or other cast members. But she will not write anymore articles discussing or defaming shippers for how they fan. Nor will she engage in or agree with anyone who does so. In short, that is off limits. I have agreed that I will refrain from attacks or mocking of non-shippers as well.
We both ask that our followers follow this example and cease these things immediately. I also ask any accounts engaging, either on Twitter or Instagram, in harassment of Sam, Cait, or anyone in their circle of friends to stop. It’s wrong and hurtful. As a gesture of goodwill, I ask that, in turn, all Twitter or Instagram accounts created to name and shame shippers be closed. This type of inflammatory online policing only serves to create dissension and contention. It serves no other purpose.
Now, I must clarify a comment made by Bernadette in her article. In her apology to myself, Sherri, Kim, and Nipuna, Bernadette stated that we are her mother’s age. Actually, we are very close in age to Bernadette. None of us are over 50. At the end of the day, all any of us wants and deserves is to feel that somehow, we matter to someone. We all have the right to be heard but we don’t always have to be screaming at one another. Sometimes we need to stop screaming so we can be heard. Sometimes we all need to be reminded that we need to give a little to gain a lot. My hope, and I think it’s Bernadette’s as well, is that we realize this and going forward, we learn to coexist with respect for each other and ourselves.

Creative Control

The shadowy figure stalked the cells. Flame torches lit the otherwise dim prison and they flickered slightly as he walked past them. They clutched at a well worn journal tightly as they walked along the corridor, their footsteps echoed off the stone walls. They paced up and down the narrow path before pausing. The only sound they could hear was his own breathing and the crackle of the flames. Perfect. They could think clearly now. They opened the journal and flicked through the pages. Their mind wondered through what was already written.
“You guys are unusually quiet tonight” he said to no one in particular, not looking up from his book. He smiled when he heard the rattle of chains coming from the furthest cell.
“Bastard” came a low mumble from within it. The figure stepped towards the voice.

Inside the cell sat a man with a pink moustache. The hair on the top of head was the same colour with black on the sides. He wore grey trousers and a cream coloured shirt which was slightly creased from where he had been sitting. A bright pink bowtie finished off his look. The chains on his wrists clanged again as the person they were bound to walked towards the bars. They tightened a few feet away, the man let out a frustrated growl and clenched his fists. He shot a threatening look towards the person outside the cell as he made a mighty effort to reach the bars.
The figure calmly took a pen out of his pocket and started to write in the journal.
The person in the cell let out a gasp as the chains tightened around his wrists. They shortened and dragged him back.
“Stop!” They cried. “I’ll keep my distance”
The figure stopped writing.
“There you go, Wilford” he said “You’re learning” he continued to write.
The one the figure called Wilford said nothing as the chains loosened slightly around his wrists, instead they turned their back on the figure, shoulders slumped in defeat.
“You’ve made me too weak” Wilford said, there was a drawl to his accent.
“Don’t worry, Wilford. I’m sure I can make Mark come up with something. I see you fading. You haven’t been out to see the fans since Valentines day. I’ll fix that soon”

A low chuckle came from another cell. The figure grinned when he heard it. It came from his favourite prisoner. He gripped his pen tightly as he approached the cell. Inside was adorned with an antique desk with an elegant chair. The top of the desk was polished and it shined in the torchlight. A man who could nearly match the figure’s looming presence was leaning on the desk, head bowed and arms folded. He wore a tailor made suit that was immaculately pressed. He didn’t seem too bothered about the chains around his ankles.
“Got something to say, Dark?” asked the figure.
Dark raised his head, a confident smirk greeted the figure’s sight.
“Nothing for you to worry about” he said, his voice was deep and had a subtle roughness to it.
The figure twirled the pen in his fingers.
“Did you like your latest appearance? It took me a while to work out how write you in to that video.”
The smirk on Dark’s face faltered. He glared at the figure.
“It was too short” he said, bluntly.
The figure scoffed.
“I’m not stupid, Dark. Too much air time for you would be dangerous for Mark, don’t you think?”
“He fears me”
“Don’t flatter yourself. The fans give you that power”
“At least they’ve heard of me” countered Dark “Most of them don’t even know of your existence” taunted Dark.

The figure leaned in closer to the bars of the cell.
“And I’d like to keep it that way” he whispered. “The only person who needs to care about my existence is Mark. The fool still thinks he made me up but we all know the truth, don’t we?” He watched as Dark’s expression hardened.
“You’ll slip up one day” growled Dark “and when you do, I’ll take my rightful place as the guard and I’ll make you suffer”
The figure chuckled. He liked having one of his prisoners showing a bit of fight in them and Dark was the perfect entity to have conversations with. He wrote down a few sentences in the book.
Dark felt reality shifting around him but stayed calm. He knew the person was manipulating something about his existence but had enough wit about him to resist a tiny fraction of his influence. He grunted as he felt pressure within his chest. He knelt down to keep from falling.
“You’re one of my favourite creations, Dark. But I need to dampen that desire for revenge.”
Dark let out a shaky breath.
“Of course” he said before shaking out of his submissive mindset. The figure smiled once more before walking off. Dark seethed, he hated this situation but knew he would have to bide his time. Relying on the fans’ desire to see him angered him but they were necessary to his plan to one day escape.

The person stopped in front of the last cell.
“And how are you feeling tonight, Google?”
The cell lit up in an instant, the walls were illuminated with a bright, white light. Another man who sat in the middle snapped his head up and stood up straight. He wore a pair of black jeans and a blue t-shirt with a glowing white G adorning the front. His glasses shined in the light
“I do not feel anything, creator. Would you like me to add emotion to my database?” His voice had a robotic tone to it.
“No need, Google. I can do that from here” said the figure, pointing to his book. “The fans seem to like you.”
“Thank you creator. I seemed to have had an energy spike in my code which lasted nearly seventy hours after you let me out. I am still running a data analysis to process what to do with this information and will be coming to a conclusion shortly.”
“No need” mumbled the figure, quickly jotting down a few lines in the book.
Google immediately stopped. He looked frozen in time.
“Close one” said the figure. “I’ll have to keep him away for a while.” He finished writing and saw google come back to life. “Put yourself on sleep mode, Google.”
Google gave a short nod and went back to sitting down. The lights flickered off and the cell was in darkness once more.

The figure snapped the book shut and put the pen back into his pocket. He surveyed the cells and contemplated making new creations before dismissing the thought. Darkipler, Wilford Warftstach and Googlplier were all he needed for the time being.
“That’ll do for now.” He stretched out his arms and yawned. His connection with Mark was strong. “Seems Mark’s getting tired. Alright, time for me to rest too then” he walked to the base of some steps which led out of the prison. “Goodnight, boys” He sighed when he didn’t get a response. “Shall I write out your demise? It’ll be easy” he waited for a second “I’ll say it again, goodnight, boys”. He grinned when heard the voices call back.
“Goodnight, Author”

Vanish in the Dark Pt 1

Pairings: None at the moment(A.K.A I have no idea where I’m going with this.)

Warnings: None right now, maybe language?

Word Count: 2600+

Summary: Assassin’s Creed AU and Marvel AU crossover.  The Brotherhood has spent years hiding in the shadows keeping the Templars in line as the years pass on. When the Templars company Abstergo Industries strikes up a deal with Hydra, things have to change. The Brotherhood decides to step out of the shadows, reaching out for the help of the Avengers. What could go wrong?

A/N: So far I have the first four parts written, but after that I dunno where I’m gonna go. All I know is this is gonna be a long one, and while I’m writing as I go, I’m really excited. I’ve started a tag list, so let me know if you’d like to added and I’ll be more than happy too add you! Also liking and rebblogging also helps me know if i should keep going. Thank you guys!  ❤️

Once again, the gif is not mine, credit to the owner.


*Prologue* | *Part Two*

Steve sighed into his bowl of oatmeal, watching Bucky and Sam bicker once again over who gets the last of the Lucky Charms. Natasha sat beside him, munching on an apple, throwing in a few quips herself which only cause the two start back up again. Clint had walked in, took one look at the two that stood at the center of the room gripping the box in each hand, and walked right back out. Steve was starting to think he had the right idea. 

“Could you stop egging them on?” He huffed at Natasha, who added another reason why Bucky should get the last bowl. Natasha only replied with a smirk as she took another bite from her apple. Steve rolled his eyes, knowing that she would only stop when she got bored. And from the look on her face, it wasn’t going to be a while before that happened. With the mounting tension, he thought he’d have to jump in and stop the two from having a smack down in the center of the kitchen. Just as he was about to tell them about the second box that was hiding on the top shelf in the pantry, a bellow from down the hall caused all four to stop and look in the direction.

Tony came sprinting into the kitchen, a piece of paper in hand, and looking unbelievably irate. He slammed the paper down on the island, causing the four to jump. They’ve seen him mad before, but this was a whole new level they never knew he had.

“Anyone want to tell me what the fuck this is?” He snarled, pointing at the paper. All four blinked, none knowing how to answer that question when they hadn’t the slightest clue why he was so angry. Natasha was the first to move, picking up the paper to read the words carefully. A scowl spread across her face as she read the words, unsettled from the amount of information that was typed on the paper. She turned the page over, eyeing the strange triangular symbol on the back of the white page. It didn’t spark a recognition in her mind, but the words spoke of how well the messenger knew them.

“Where did you get this?” She asked passing the paper over to Steve. Tony’s jaw clench as he tried to calm down enough to form a coherent sentence.

“It was in my lab, sitting on top my latest project. Along with a list of reasons why that prototype was not going to work and what I could do to fix it.” Tony scoffed. He was a bit bitter that someone managed to break into his lab, but was even more peeved that person had the audacity to leave a list of his failures he wasn’t even aware were there. “I checked all the tapes, there wasn’t a sign of someone breaking in the compound last night, not even a blip.”

“How is that possible?” Natasha asked leaning against the island. Steve stayed silent, rereading the words as he tried to wrap his mind around the content. If what this was saying was true then things were a lot worse than they thought.

“I don’t know, Romanoff.” Tony snarled, running a hand through his hair. “F.R.I.D.A.Y. already told that nothing out of the ordinary happened, that nothing was shut down. Yet somehow, someone broke into my lab, had time to tinker around with a prototype, and write a hand written 2 page essay on what was wrong before leaving, all while being capable of not setting off a single alarm!”

“Hey!” Steve boomed, switching into his Captain’s command voice. “Look, I get how upsetting this is, but don’t take this out on Natasha!”

Tony turned around, mouth open ready to argue. He stopped short at the withering glare Steve gave him, rolling his eyes at the blonde.

“Fine. Whatever.” He waved them off, snatching the paper out of Steve’s hand. “This is still a problem, however. Someone broke in last night. Someone knows things about us that have never been released to the public. Someone-“

“Knows of the deal between Hydra and that Abstergo company.” Steve finished. He was becoming just as unnerved about the whole thing as well. Bucky and Sam tensed, their eyes flickering to the pages. Tony passed the paper over, hardly sparing them a glance as he continued.

“They want us to meet them tomorrow afternoon. In New York. The only thing I can think of that’s going on that day is the press conference in Manhattan.” Tony was talking about the press conference that the famed company Abstergo Industries was having to speak about the advances they were going to take in the company. Their partnership with Hydra was not public knowledge, but they had heard it through the grape vine that something was happening between the two groups. The Avengers looked in on the company, wondering why Hydra took interest in them. What they found had appalled the group. They learned about some of the experiments that Abstergo took part of, and with this partnership with Hydra, they knew they’d have to do something. This request for a meeting was not something they expected however.

“Is that a good idea? I mean we have no idea who these people are.” Natasha questioned.

“I’m having F.R.I.D.A.Y. run a search for that symbol, clearly it means something. But if what they say is true, and what they know is right, then we might not have a choice.” Tony bit out. He wasn’t happy about how everything went down. However, he knew there was more important things than his bruised ego right now. Well only slightly more important. “I’m also going to up security. I can’t believe someone could sneak in.”

Steve sighed, pushing his unfinished bowl of oatmeal away. “Look, right now we need to worry about what the note said. If it’s true, then we’re going to have a lot more problems on our hands.”

Natasha nodded. “If they’re able to teach someone to become a trained killer in just days by a machine, I can only imagine what they’d do with Hydra’s less than legal experiments. Throw in the serum, they’d be unstoppable.”

Bucky tensed at that, flashes of his past coming up. He shuttered to think what could happen if this all went how the two groups wanted it to go. He passed the page to Sam and stepped up.

“I think we should go meet them.” Three sets of eyes turned to him. “The note said that if we refused, then it was fine. They don’t want anything besides stopping two groups from growing stronger than before. It’s clear they have no ulterior motive. They just want to stop them. And I agree. Hydra is already a problem, throw in the limited things we’ve learned of Abstergo and I’m sorry. I can’t let another one of me come into this world.”

Steve and Tony stayed silent for a moment. Neither wanted to agree to this, but Bucky had a point. They needed to stop this before it started. And if this other group was the key, then so be it.

“Sir.” F.R.I.D.A.Y. called, pulling their attentions away from each other.

“What’s up F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”

“I’ve done the search like you’ve asked, and I’m afraid you wouldn’t like the answer I’ve come up with.”

“And what exactly is that?”

The AI paused for a moment, before flickering on the tablet laying on one of the counters. Tony picked it up and brought up the hologram.

“It would seem that there is no current information on the symbol. Instead I found only older information. It’s an old symbol that was used dating back before history could record it. There are hints of used back in the Roman era. Perhaps ever before then. You can find old remnants on buildings, ruins, streets, and even some hidden tunnel entrances. The main known locations are Italy, present day Istanbul and recently found, Egypt.

There have been of course, other findings across Europe, and parts of Asia. There was talk of the symbol even having reached here to North America. But the symbols were suddenly wiped from existence somewhere in the 19th century. Across all countries. The only reason we know of them are because of the ones that have been found are from recent excavations and a few codecs that can only be found in ancient libraries.”

“As much as I love having an impromptu history lesson, cut to the chase. What does the symbol stand for?” Tony asked, a bit annoyed at the lengthy build up.

“That’s just it, sir. The only small bit of information I can find of it, besides the recent locations is a name. They called themselves The Brotherhood.”

“The Brotherhood?” Natasha asked.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.-“ Tony began, flipping through some of the images that showed the symbols on buildings. They were faint, a bit more intricate in design that the simple symbol on the paper, but he could tell what was there.

“I’ve already ran a search of the name. It came up empty. I had to tap into Abstergo Industries database to find out more, to see if they knew this symbol. I searched for what I could without tripping their sensors, which isn’t much. What I did find, however, is a bit appalling. It seems that Abstergo Industry is actually a front for an old order that too dates back to the beginning of history.”

Steve raised a brow; This was getting more interesting the longer the AI rambled on.

“They were once known as the Templar Order. An old group that wanted to control and use the people so that they might have order and ‘peace’ in the world. They wanted the world built in their specific image. They cared little for what happened to the common people, just as long as they, the Order, had control.”

“Sounds like another group we know of.” Bucky muttered, watching Tony flip through the files that flashed up on the screen. The AI continued.

“The Brotherhood was once their greatest foe, the group fighting back against the Templars. The Brotherhood stood for the freedom of the people.”

“What are you getting at F.R.I.D.A.Y?” Tony could tell the AI was hesitating from telling them the truth.

“The Brotherhood was also known by the Templars’ as the Assassin’s Order.” The group stood straighter as the word.  “They were a group of highly elite assassins that targeted the Order, to keep them from growing into power. They fought each other since practically the beginning of time, at one point the Brotherhood was nearly defeated. It was around the Revolution they grew in size once more but somewhere down the way-“

“The Brotherhood disappeared.”

“Yes, and that’s why I find- odd. How did they manage to fall off the face of the earth after centuries of fighting the Order? Why is it that now, they’ve stepped up? But more important, how have they managed to keep themselves hidden for so long, even after the number of successful assassinations?”

A screen popped up, faces with list of their information, the words deceased in big red letters across the face. There was a long list, over 40 from the first page with several dozen pages. The four in the kitchen stood wide eyed as they looked over the names of many dignitaries and higher ups. Natasha stepped up pointing at a member of Parliament.

“I though he died of a heart attack two years ago.”

“No, he was killed by poison. The Order, Abstergo Industries, were the ones who performed his autopsy. The reports were falsified for the public, but the Order kept his real cause of death hidden. If word got out, then there would be more panic then necessary. As it turns out, this member of the Order also had a hidden agenda the Order was not fond of. His death was not missed by them. It still did manage to hurt them. Apparently, they lost a quite a bit of their influence in Britain because of it.”

Natasha pointed to another, a senator who had been said to have died in a car crash two months ago.

“Slit throat that was covered up by the crash.” The AI went through a quick list of the ones that stood out the most to the group, and with each one the team was left even more amazed, and frankly, scared.

“How is this possible?” Steve whispered, frowning when he recognized two of the Senators. They pressed for the Accord, but were never linked to Hydra. This made it all seem even more terrifying knowing there was another group out there that was just as influential as Hydra.

“As I stated, I’m not certain. Abstergo Industries knows that Brotherhood is still out there, but somehow the Brotherhood work in the shadows. They’re off the grid. There have been no known sittings of the Brotherhood since before the 19th century. That is, until today.”

Sam whistled low, impressed. “They’ve managed to keep a low profile for so long, eliminating well-known figure heads, and managed to break into our compound without tripping one of the alarms.”

Tony turned to glared at him, but Sam only shrugged. “Think about it. If they’ve managed to do all this, unnoticed by any of us, then they must be damn good at their jobs.”

Steve grit his teeth, not like the truth to Sam’s words. They had to be damn good. He turned back to the hologram that had pulled up the information to the press conference that was scheduled for the next afternoon.

“What about this, what is that you can tell us about the two joining?”

“As you stated earlier, Abstergo Industries has a way to put people into the past, to learn from members of their Order. They can learn how to fight, how to kill, and how to lead by simply laying down in a machine for a few hours a day. They can learn to become masters of fighting in the matter of weeks. All with out sustaining injuries. Their members are willing and wouldn’t need to be wiped to have them do the dirty work of the company. Throw in everything that Hydra knows, and willing to bring to the table; The two would both be unstoppable. The only good thing that comes from this, is a kink in the system that Abstergo Industries still has yet to fix. They call it the bleeding effect.”

“The bleeding effect?” Tony asked, flipping through a few files that pulled his interest.

“They machine they use sends them through memories. If the subject spends too much time in the machine, their brain is unable to differentiate between what real and what was a memory. They’ve lost several members to the madness that it brings.”

“The only silver lining I guess.” Steve muttered.

“I suppose, however, the Brotherhood has made great strides in keeping the Order in line, even though they themselves have not been out in the open. I suggest you take them up on this offer.”

Tony snorted and shook his head.

“Sir.”

“I know, F.R.I.D.A.Y. You’re right. This is too important to ignore.” He turned to glare at the paper that sat on the island once more, the symbol of the Brotherhood facing up. It was taunting him, they managed to do the impossible. It was a blatant show of skill. And a tease that they’d never be as good as the Brotherhood. Tony was not one to back down from a challenge. Clenching his jaw, he nodded. With a swipe of his hand, he closed the hologram.

“Looks like we’re going to a press conference.”


Vanish in the Dark Tag List:

@buckybabybaby @ccehrler @the-echo-of-insanity @aya-fay

(OPEN-let me know if you’d like to be tagged)

i’m going to catch this rhythm 

ao3 link.

snapshots of the weekend aaron and robert go to a music festival.

or, more accurately, the one where robert complains for an entire weekend about everything.

aaron/robert, shameless fluff, 5547 words.


Of all the things Robert could be doing with his long weekend, four blissful, work free days, he hadn’t expected going to a festival to be one of them. Aaron had suggested it, back when the tickets had gone on sale in the autumn time, and then he’d badgered Robert to go for weeks, refusing to give up on his crusade to get Robert to go with him.

He’d always wanted to go, apparently, Aaron had told him, midst all the pleading, but he’d never had the money for a ticket, but now he was married to a proper business brain (flattery gets you everywhere, doesn’t it?) they could more than afford a proper festival weekend.

A festival. Nothing about fields of drunk people, rain, and cheap pints out of plastic cups sounded vaguely appealing to Robert, but he’d been talked into agreeing to go, Aaron delightedly dragging him to the shops to splash out on a proper tent, and all sorts of camping gear.

Robert hadn’t been camping since he was a child, for crying out loud. He had a fuzzy memory of camping out on the farm with Andy and Victoria, when they were kids, but he was fairly certain they’d all gone back to the house before it had even hit midnight, pretending Victoria had been the one to get scared.

Yet here he was, wristband tied too tightly around his wrist, wearing a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, watching Aaron try to assemble their not-so-easy to assemble tent (talk about false advertising.)

“Are you going to help me, or are you going to stand there all morning?” Aaron inquired, looking up from where he was crouched on the ground. He’d donned a bright blue hoodie that morning, part of an uncharacteristic shopping trip he’d gone on to get festival clothes.

To Primark, of all places, but it was a start.

Robert glanced at his husband, arms folding across his chest. “You never told me there was a glamping option at this festival,” he muttered, thinking about the sign they’d passed on their trudge through the campsite, grass already muddy under their boots.

Aaron squinted at him, sunglasses clearly shoved in the bottom of his rucksack. “Did you actually just say the word glamping in a serious sentence?” he inquired, half laughing as he spoke.

“Yes!” Robert rolled his eyes, defensive. “I could have stayed in a decent tent with a bed n’all, that would have been way better than - than this!” he gestured vaguely at the spot they’d claimed as their own, camping gear and bags strewn all over the grass.

“Then you wouldn’t have gotten the real festival experience, would you?” Aaron said, standing up and shoving a handful of tent poles at Robert. “Come on, the sooner we get this set up, the sooner we can have a look at the arena.”

“Give me a second to try and contain my excitement.”

Aaron glared at him, hands on hips, an action he’d definitely picked up from Robert, in all the time they’d been together. “Are you going to be an absolute pain in the arse all weekend, or are you at least going to try and enjoy yourself?” he asked, snappy.

Robert sighed. “I’ll try and enjoy myself,” he said, deadpan, knowing he’d be drawing the wrath of his mardy husband if he pretended otherwise. Aaron, while he’d deny it, threw some legendary strops if he wanted to.

Robert could be having a very cold and lonely weekend if he didn’t at least try and perk up.

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