keep those notes coming!

  • what i say: i'm going to write for a bit.
  • what i mean: i'm going to spend a couple hours getting in the headspace where i can write and then maybe i'll type a few paragraphs.

Blueblood: “Well, I helped as best as I could….Honest Auntie!”

Mod Note: Keep those questions coming.

(Chapter 1, Part 8 of ?)

Mod Note 2: Main story updates are organized into the link below…

Artwork Done by: @ask-professor-ponyarity

Princess Blueblood Belongs to @askprincessblueblood

Ask Sent in by…






Mod Note: Keep those questions coming…

(Chapter 1, Part 4 and 5 of ?)

Mod Note 2: Main story updates are organized into the link below…

Artwork Commission Done by: ask-professor-ponyarity

Rye Belongs to myself…

Princess Blueblood (rule 63) belongs to askprincessblueblood.

Asks Sent in by…





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As 2015 draws to a close, it is important to recount the recent history of the blog we all cherish and celebrate:  Through trials and achievements, successes and triumphs, you have stood with us, delightfully enjoying the prime content that has been created just for you!

And who can forget all that great content that we presented for you this past year!  From art posts to more art posts, to answering asks about the art posts, officialunitedstates has always stood at the forefront of the growing artistic blogosphere movement.  The chief artisan in the field of post-post-modern introspective narrative accumulation, officialunitedstates has surely inspired many who are lucky enough to know - and appreciate - its content!

We want to thank everyone who has participated in the art.  Just by liking and reblogging, you are playing a very important and relevant part in the artistic experience.  You truly are an artist yourself, and we wish to make that fact ever so clear to you.  So keep it up!  Keep those notes flowing.  There’s surely more deserving and relevant content to come!

And 2016 is only just the beginning! Together over the many future years, we will usher in a new era of stability, cooperation, and prosperity.  Thank you for another great year of blogging from us here at officialunitedstates enterprises, and may you have just as great of a year as we surely have!

Thank you,
Your Friends at Officialunitedstates Enterprises

So I removed Mr Klotz from today’s mailing list (he was only going to be included today anyway just for the merch topic) but it’s great to see that our emails are getting through to Disney. 

“Admire your spirit though” This is such a great thing to hear. Let’s see if we can get the execs to feel the same! Keep those emails for the execs coming! 

(Also a note for the topic on the 16th August. It will be a fanart submission. So if you don’t have one already (It’s fine to email them old works) then I just want to give you all a fair warning so you can start early if you want to participate!)

#10 - Wrists

author’s note : not to sure about this one?? thanks anyway for the notes, love you all. keep those requests coming!! 

(very) mild smut warning.

Ashton : “You always smell so good.” Ashton loved it when you wore that perfume he’d boughten you for a gift, the delicate scent spritzed gently on the insides of your wrists. 

He’d grab your hand on your way out of the restaurant or wherever you had been, bringing your hands up to his lips to kiss your knuckles, knowing he’d catch a whiff of your scent. 

“You smell like a bouquet of roses, all the time." He murmured, dropping your hand and kissing your lips as your cheeks burned at his compliment. 

Calum : "Are you nervous?” Calum wondered, gripping your hand as the two of you waited for the tattoo artist to prep your ink. He’d suggested the idea almost a year ago, and you had immediately had refused. 

“What if we don’t last?” You’d prodded him, trying to get him to see your point of view. Calum had just laughed, and nudged your shoulder. 

“You’ve put up with me this long,” He had laughed, “I don’t think you’re going very far." 

So he’d asked, and asked, and asked, until you finally caved. 

"We’re getting tattoos together.” You breathed, as the artist made you sit down on the chair, the bearded man prepping your skin. It was your first, but Calum had promised it wouldn’t hurt as much as you thought. 

“So you’re getting the lock, and he’s getting the key, right?” The man asked, glancing up at Calum from where he was watching you in the chair. You both agreed, and the man laid the design down on your wrist, temporary blue ink staining your skin. 

“It’s okay, baby.” Calum chuckled as you sucked in a deep breath. “Pretty soon I’ll have the key to your heart.”

Luke : You had hoped he wouldn’t notice, but he did. Luke came into your bedroom, a confused look plastered on his delicate face. You knew he was looking for it, so you tried to hid your left wrist behind your body as you finished applying your mascara. 

“Uh, (Y/N), have you seen my blink-182 bracelet?” He wondered, poking around his dresser. “I can’t find it anywhere. I thought I left it on the bathroom counter, but…” Luke trailed off, watching you apply your makeup before meeting your friend for lunch. 

“I haven’t seen it.” You lied, trying to stifle a giggle. 

“You’ve never been a very good liar, (Y/N).” He chuckled, pacing over to you and grabbing your wrist, which was encased in his bracelet, along with a few others. "’I haven’t seen it.’ She says.“ 

You shrugged, letting him pull it off your wrist. "Sorry, Lukey. It just reminds me of you." 

Luke sighed, holding the bracelet in-between his fingers. "Alright,” He groaned, giving it back to you. “It looks better on you anyway.” He laughed, and kissed your nose. 

Michael : You knew it was a bad idea, and had reiterated that fact to Michael, but he still persisted. He was so adamant to try them out that he had slipped the bag into the dresser drawer to be drawn upon the next time you two were in the thick of it, making excuses as to why it was a good idea while you just shook your head. 

So he waited, waited for his chance to bust out the handcuffs he’d boughten and clip you too the bed, restrained from him while he did as he pleased. And it worked. Late one night after a rather rowdy dinner with the boys, Michael’s lips were rough on yours, his body pressing you further down onto the sheets as you gripped his hair, your dress long discarded as well as his shirt and pants. 

He slipped a finger around the hem of your panties, looping against your skin as he tugged, making you struggle to keep from moaning like a whale. 

“(Y/N),” Michael breathed, moving his lips down to press kisses down your neck and against your collarbone, knowing your weak spots. “How about we try.." 

He was interrupted by your conformation, slightly surprised. You’d secretly wanted to try them out too, and wanted some form of release in anyway you could get it. He chuckled slyly, rustled through the door and clipped your wrists together, looping the middle chain through the headboard. 

"Please, behave.” You whimpered, tugging at the cold metal casings around your wrists, feeling the pull in your shoulders. 

“Can’t promise.” He smirked, and you suddenly wondered if you had been right about this being a bad idea all along. 

beansterpie  asked:

modern AU where Arthur and the Knights are all FBI agents, and Merlin is a masked vigilante who anonymously helps them out.


  • Arthur is the prince of the department and everybody knows it, groomed to take over from Day 1 even without aspersions of nepotism. Uther Pendragon leads the Bureau with an iron fist and no leniency and Arthur does everything strictly by the book because his father would accept nothing less. He is good at his job, fantastic even, and his team is the best there is, hand-picked early on and trained as he saw fit. Their track record with mundane crimes is near-spotless, their reputation sparkling, but there are some criminals who are simply beyond their means. Magic makes everything so much more complicated and Uther outright refuses to allow anyone with magical skill under his employ. Arthur curses the fact that there are no laws in place to prevent this particular form of discriminatory hiring practices, but bites his tongue and toes the line. As he always does.
  • The first envelope turns up on Arthur’s desk out of nowhere. There’s no name on it but Arthur’s, no return address or information about the sender or what department it may have come from, and no one from the mailroom had delivered it or seen it at all. Arthur slips it to Lancelot to have it discreetly tested for various poisons and toxic substances and it comes back completely clean. He’s still hesitant to open it, but open it he does after it’s sat on his desk taunting him for three days. Inside he finds a photograph of a man with a badly scarred face, a lock of hair, and a small container filled with what looks to be blood. There’s a note which reads I didn’t know which would be better for DNA testing but here’s your man for the Panacea trafficking ring, test it against the rape kits. His name is Edwin Muirden. It had a date, a time, and an address at the bottom. It wasn’t signed. Arthur had five hours to make his decision before the deadline set on the note, and Arthur mobilized his team (and two other teams as backup just in case) at the last minute, hoping to all the gods that may or may not be that this wasn’t a trap or some sort of practical joke. When he returns to HQ with Muirden in handcuffs and fourteen traumatized girls wrapped up in shock blankets, Arthur is forced to explain to his father where he’d gotten his information. Arthur is put on probation, but he can’t bring himself to regret it when he sees those girls reunited with their families.
  • The notes keep coming, any time they have a case they just can’t seem to solve, a sorcerer they can’t pin down. They’re never signed, there’s never any indication of how exactly they came to be on Arthur’s desk, and they never fail to lead Arthur to an arrest. After the first, the messages get longer, including not just the information he needs but also the source of it and how Arthur could have gotten it. They gave Arthur a story to tell his father to keep himself from getting in trouble again. And after the third case closed with the mysterious help, Arthur can’t bring himself to regret flouting protocol and lying to his father anymore.
  • It was bound to go south eventually. On an assault ten months into his collaboration with the anonymous letter-sender, Arthur and his team finally meet someone they can’t bring down with guns and fists. Nimueh runs the largest crime syndicate in the country, an enormous underground network of criminal activity peppered liberally with sorcerers, and she herself is an enormously powerful sorceress, more powerful than they’d anticipated. With Leon, Percival, and Elyan down for the count, unconscious not dead please not dead, and Gwaine limping and disarmed, Arthur only wishes his team didn’t have to die with him. Arthur fires his very last bullet, praying to all that is holy that it will do its job, but Nimueh catches it with magic and laughs as she turns it around, sends it flying straight for Arthur’s face. And yet it never connects. It stops abruptly and hangs in midair an inch from his nose and Nimueh gives a cry of outrage. Someone dressed in all black with a mask around over his face steps forward from a shadowed recess of the room, hand raised and eyes blazing gold. Arthur falls back, gaping, as the man engages Nimueh in a battle unlike anything he has ever seen before. He and Gwaine watch open-mouthed as one of Nimueh’s blows connects, a ball of flames catching the man full in the chest, and Arthur thinks their savior has been defeated and they’re all going to die, but unbelievably he climbs to his feet, heaving chest blistered and red, visible through the charred remains of his shirt. The man raises a hand to the sky and a bolt of lightning shatters the ceiling over their heads to strike Nimueh, leaving behind nothing but a pile of ash and an echoing shriek. The man collapses to the ground and Arthur almost rushes to him, but that’s when their backup finally arrives, agents swarming the scene, and by the time Arthur looks back the man has vanished.
  • That night–or maybe the next morning, he isn’t sure, but he’s too tired to care really–Arthur returns to his flat to find his roommate unconscious on the floor of their living room, black mask bunched up around his throat and shirt charred. As Arthur drives him to A&E, he alternates between concern that Merlin has been hurt and shock that Merlin is the man who just destroyed the most powerful magical crime boss in the city’s history with terrifying displays of magic. And when Merlin wakes up in hospital a few days later, Arthur doesn’t shout because that would be terrible indiscreet but instead hisses furiously at him for a very long time. He demands to know when Merlin had started with the magic, to which Merlin says always. He demands to know why the hell Merlin had started butting into his cases, to which Merlin says because you always look so upset when you can’t do it yourself, besides what’s wrong with helping people? But when Arthur demands to know why Merlin had had to go all vigilante and not tell him about it, Merlin smirks and says it was a lot more fun this way. Arthur only doesn’t hit him because the nurse might actually kick him out if he does that.

send me an au and i’ll give you 5+ headcanons about it