length repeater

Starbucks AU

Okay, so most everyone knows I work a stupid amount of jobs. Well one of those jobs recently is to work for Starbucks and Lord in Heaven, it’s hard work but it’s fun and I’m enjoying myself.

Naturally, I have spawned an Au. @destiny-islanders and a few others but mobile won’t tag?? God.

Anyway, this may be little more than a coffee shop AU and filled with inside jokes, but I had a blast talking about the positions the boys would be in.

(this is a real photo of my roommate in the carafe BattleSuit :tm: but as Gladio)

Headcanons below~

Keep reading

Creepypasta 1294: Repeat... Repeat... Repeat...

Length: Short

At first, I was scared.

But then I started to enjoy it. I mean, what would you do if every morning you woke up to the same radio talk-show about Trump’s hair, the same rainy day and the same old man tripping on the loose rug in the hall (that was still funny even on the 12th repeat), you’d have some fun, right?

Because that’s all I could do after the hotel trapped me. The hotel everyone warned me not to go to. I should’ve known from the way the receptionist… but I digress.

At first I was scared, confused and most of all, lonely. I tried everything to break the curse. I went to sleep in another bed, I drove as far away as I could… I even killed myself. But every morning, I wake up here. Every morning is the 16th July.

I started having fun. At first, I laughed openly at the old man who tripped, not worrying about the non-existent consequences, and continued my day in a similar fashion.

Then I started going further, enjoying the freedom to do whatever I wanted. I’ve stolen cars, robbed stores… I don’t mean to brag but there aren’t many women left in this town that I haven’t managed to seduce (after a few attempts of course). The world was my bitch, I could do whatever I wanted, to whoever I wanted.

The old man was always my first target though, the first victim of the day to get me in the mood for some mischief.

I saw what would happen if I knocked the tray out of his hands; he gave me a death stare. A week later I punched him in the gut. A few weeks after that, I shoved him down the stairs. The sound of his bones crunching sent delightful shivers down my spine - fuck him and whatever has me trapped here.

The day after that was different.

When I opened my door, the man was not walking down the corridor, about to trip on the rug.

He was standing at the end of the hall staring at me.

I rushed past him to see if I had broken free, but everything else was still the same.

The next day, he was staring at me again, only this time he was standing closer.

I yelled at him to fuck off and left.

The next day he was closer still.

And closer.

Until one repeat I awoke to him standing in my room, staring at me.

I started beating him, stabbing him, strangling him. Anything to try and get him away.

But every morning, he got a little closer.

Every morning, his face got a little angrier.

And now here I am. I deserved this.

Every day I awake to darkness. I can’t breathe. There’s a pillow over my face. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve died and re-awoken. I thrash and squirm and panic but his strength is too much.

Is this hell?

Credits to: MaadV (story)

Sweet Child O’ Mine 3

Originally posted by lukes-diner

Originally posted by slverlining

Part One                  Part Two

“The fuck you mean they took him?!” You yelled. “I just saw him.”
“(y/n), calm down.” Jax said patiently.
“Dont tell me to fucking calm down! Tele where the fuck Ope is!”
“(y/n).” Chibs warned.
You glanced at him and your rage subsided. A sigh left your lips and you ran your hands through your hair.
“Im sorry, Jax.” You said quietly.
He nodded slowly before speaking again.
“Opie came after you. He wanted to talk to you but the Chinese stopped him and took him. Prospect saw them drag him into their van.”
Your body trembled and you ran your hands through your hair again.
“So where is he?” You demanded.
Jax sighed and shook his head.
“I dont know, (y/n). But we will find him. I promise.”
You nodded.
“Wh-what about the kids? Should I go get them from school?” You asked.
Jax and Chibs exchanged a look before Jax turned back to you.
“Nah. Pick them up after school like normal and bring them to the clubhouse. Don’t leave unless you have someone with you.”
You nodded slowly and he turned to Chibs.
“Take her back to the clubhouse then meet us at Laroys.”
Chibs nodded and they slapped each others shoulders before turning towards their bikes.
You walked with Chibs and he passed you the helmet once more.
You lifted it to your head and watched as they other members rode out of the driveway and down the street.
“Ye alright lass?” Chibs asked you.
You nodded swung your leg over the bike behind him, your arms wrapping around his waist.
“We’ll find him.” He said and squeezed your knee gently and brought the bike to life.

You sat with Gemma at the bar as you watched Kenny and Ellie do their homework on the table in the clubhouse.
The boys were in Church, trying to figure out where the Chinese were holding Opie and how they were gonna get him back.
The kids didn’t know he was missing, you had decided not to tell them yet. There was no point worrying them when they already had so much going on.
Gemma made small talk with you and you answered her questions, but you weren’t really there.
You had always been close with Opie. He was the only family member you had that wasn’t completely insane. You couldn’t lose him. Those kids couldn’t lose him.
You fidgeted with your fingers, praying silently that wherever he was, he would be alright.
He had to be alright.
The doors opened and you turned as the club filed out of Church.
The kids didn’t look up and you met Chibs’ eye as he crossed the room.
“You boys heading out?” Gemma asked.
Jax nodded and slid his gloves onto his hands.
You and Chibs watched each other closely and Jax gestured for them to head out.
You stood and Chibs wrapped his arms around you tightly.
His scent filled your lungs and you soaked in his touch.
He looked into your eyes once more as he pulled away.
“Be careful.” You whispered.
Chibs nodded and followed the rest of the club outside.
Gemma wrapped her arm around your shoulder and you sunk into her, as you both stood and watched the boys walk out of the clubhouse.

Chibs walked back into the clubhouse and ran his hand through his hair.
They hadn’t found Opie. They still had no leads.
And the thought of disappointing you was killing him.
The rest of the club sat around the bar and drank. Jax offered him a beer but he shook his head.
He just wanted to shower, and to sleep.
The hallway was quiet as he walked through it and he assumed you would stay in Opies room.
He longed to have you in his arms but you both knew now probably wasn’t the right time.
Neither of you could deny the chemistry between you, and the others were beginning to notice.
He knew they wouldn’t care. Of course, Opie wouldn’t be pleased but they all knew if she was going to be with anyone it was better it was Chibs and not one of the other members.
Chibs would look after her.
He sighed as he opened his door and saw the empty bed, and he couldn’t help but feel disappointed that you weren’t in his bed after all.
He walked to the bathroom and turned it onto hot. His clothes fell to the floor and he ran a hand through his hair.
What was it about you?
No matter what he did, he couldn’t get the thought of you out of his mind.
Your voice, as pure and sweet as if from heaven echoed through his ears and no matter how loud he had the music, you were always louder.
Your eyes burnt through him and he felt so vulnerable with you, like all his demons and the scars from his pasts were open on the table.
He sighed and stepped under the stream of water, letting it soak into his skin.

You tossed in the bed.
It smelt like Opie and you couldn’t sleep.
His scent filled your lungs and you felt sick with guilt.
Of course, you were worried about your cousin. All you wanted was to have him back, safe and sound. But that wasn’t why you felt so guilty. No, guilt filled you because you should be sick with worry for him, but all you could think about was Chibs.
You weren’t sure why he seemed to have such a hold of you, but when you were around him you just couldn’t resist him.
He was wise beyond his years, and he emitted a sort of danger and mystery.
You wanted to know everything about him. You wanted to know the story behind his scars, the story behind the pain in his eyes.
You sighed and threw back the covers and hopped out of bed.
You were wearing only your panties and you lifted one of Opes SAMCRO t-shirts off the ground and slid it over your body.
Your footsteps were light as you walked across the room. Gemma had put the kids to sleep in an empty dorm and you didn’t want them to wake up.
Quietly, you opened the door and slid into the hallway.
The sound of distant talking made you lift your head.
They must be back.
You moved silently down the hall and it was only once you’d passed Chibs door that you stopped.
You could hear the shower running inside and you gulped as the thought of him played through your mind.
Minutes passed and you leant against the wall silently, listening to the sound of the shower running.
Eventually the shower stopped but you still didn’t move.
You could hear him moving through his room and you took a deep breath before turning and opening the door slowly.
Chibs looked up, standing only in a towel, and he watched as you entered the room and closed the door behind him.

“What are you doing, lass.” He said quietly.
You moved forwards, your eyes burning into his with lust and desire.
“I couldn’t sleep.” You whispered.
Water slid down his body and you licked your lips as you studied him.
Soft footsteps carried you forwards and you stood before him.
The t-shirt hung loosely around you and you looked beautiful, your hair ruffled around you and sleepy eyes.
“(y/n),” Chibs whispered.
You held a finger to his lips, shushing him.
“Dont talk.” You whispered.
You licked your lips and lifted the t-shirt over your head, letting it drop to the floor.
You stood before him, wearing only your lacy black panties.
Chibs gulped as his eyes ran over your body and his erection grew beneath his towel.
Your finger was still on his lips and you traced it along them softly.
His eyes met yours once more and you smiled softly before you stepped closer and reached up.
His hands wrapped around you desperately and his lips pressed against yours.
His towel fell to the ground and he lifted your body up and pinned it against the wall.
A moan escaped your lips as he kissed you roughly and his body pressed against you.
Your legs wrapped around his waist and his hands due into your hips, and you knew you would have bruises in the morning.
Impatient lips devoured the skin on your neck and you clawed your nails down his back as he pushed his body against you, creating friction you so desperately craved.
You moaned softly again as he pushed his hips forward and your hands lifted his head from your neck and you pressed your lips against his once more.
He kissed you back hungrily as your hands held him to you.
“Fuck me, Chibs.” You whispered against his lips.
Chibs growled and pulled you away from the wall and crossed the room.
He lay your body on the bed and kissed your lips roughly and hovered over you.
He lowed his body and you wrapped your legs around him.
You swung him over, rolling him onto his back and he gasped slightly as you knelt over him.
His hands traced over the skin of your breast and you kissed down his neck hungrily.
Your hand moved between your bodies and you found his large member.
Licking your lips you pulled back and looked him in the eyes as you lowered yourself onto him, a moan escaping your lips as he filled you.
Chibs groaned and held your hips firmly, his eyes roaming to your breasts.
You rolled your hips back and forth and you moaned at the sensation of him inside of you.
Passion filled your bones and his hands lifted your hips.
Slowly he lifted himself into you and you gasped as his full length entered you.
He repeated the movement and his thrusts blame faster as he filled you.
Your hands  rested either side of his face and your eyes were locked on his as he slid in and out of you.
You bit your lip as he poured into you and you could feel your orgasm building.
His eyes glanced to your breast that were bouncing with your body and he groaned as he felt himself nearing release.
“Chibs!” You moaned loudly.
He growled and pounded into you faster than before and you both found your release.
You rode out your high as you both moaned and your juices flowed over him.
His lips kissed yours and you held his face to yours as your bodies slowed.
You rolled off of him and stared at the ceiling and you both caught your breath.
His head turned to you and he studied your features, glistening with sweat.
“You are so beautiful.” He said quietly.
You rolled onto your side and looked at him, a smile on your face.

The next morning you sat with Gemma at the picnic table outside, a steaming cup of coffee in your hands.
The boys were getting ready to go out once more.
Juice thought he had a lead and they were heading out, all of them hopeful that they would return with Opie.
Gemma wasn’t blind. She had seen the hickies all over your neck but for once she had kept her mouth shut.
Your hair hung around your neck now, covering them from the rest of the club and you couldn’t help but smile when you thought about last night.
You turned to see Ellie and Kenny standing behind you,schoolbags slung over their shoulders.
“You ready?” You asked and they nodded.
You gulped down the rest of your coffee before placing it on the table and standing.
“C’mon.” You smiled to them.
You ruffled Kennys hair as you walked to the car and he glared at you.
You laughed loudly and from across the lot Gemma smiled as she watched you with the kids.
Chibs walked out of the clubhouse and sat next to her on the picnic table.
She smirked at him and he nudged her gently with his arm.
“Shes a good kid.” Gemma said, as they watched you talking to the kids as they got into the car.
Chibs nodded as he pulled a cigarette out of his pocket.
“Shes good for you, Chibby.”
Chibs looked at her and she winked, and both of them smirked as they watched you pull out of the lot.
It was a few hours later when you were cleaning the tables in the clubhouse when you heard the roar of motorcycles fill the lot.
You put down your cloth and ran to the door.
The bikes were lining up and the black van was parked to the side.
Your heart was beating in your chest and you thought you were going to faint when you heard the van door slide open.
And there he was, slightly beaten and bruised, but still the same Opie, home in one piece.
You ran across the lot and threw yourself into his arms.
He laughed loudly and lowered you onto the ground.
“Easy, (y/n).” He smiled down at you. “Hey, what the fuck is on your neck?”
Your hand instantly went to the hickies from last night and you blushed deeply.
Laughter filled the air and Opie shook his head as he looked at you.
“Seriously? I get taken and you decide to fuck my brother?”
Your eyes went wide as you stared at your cousin and more laughter erupted behind you.
You turned to see the boys all laughing, and Chibs looking sheepish.
“You knew?” You asked.
Opie laughed and ruffled your hair.
“Please tell me you used protection. The last thing we need is a little scottish version of you running around.”

CO20: *yo,k2tog* turn. purl wrong side.*k2tog,yo* turn. purlwrong side. repeat for length desired. BO loosely.
  • Them: So, how many languages do you speak?
  • Me: 4
  • Them: 0_0 Fluently?
  • Me: Yep.
  • Them: Wow! What do you speak?
  • Me: English, Spanish, knitting, and crochet.
  • Them: What? But...those aren't real languages.
  • Me: *slides across the table a simple knitting pattern*
  • Them: What is this? I can't read this. It makes no sense!
  • Me: Actually it does. You see...it's a simple lace pattern. All you do i cast on 20 stitches and then work in a 4 row repeat. The first row you work a yarn over and then knit 2 stitches together. You do that all the way across and then purl evenly back on the wrong side of the work. Then on row 3 you knit 2 stitches together and then yarn over. Do that across and then purl back on the wrong side again. Repeat that 4 row repeat for the length desired and bind off loosely.
  • Them: ....
  • Them: ........
  • Them: ............
  • Me: Would you like to see a crochet one?
  • Them: ...

gallusrostromegalus  asked:

Question: Is putting in a tag to the effect of "Thank you tag wrangler!" appreciated or just more work for you?

Aw, what a sweet question!

That’s fine if you feel like doing it, though no one should feel obligated to do so. I doubt most wranglers would consider a single thank you tag “more work,” given that we don’t have to connect it to anything and can just move it over to the land where everything that doesn’t belong in a single fandom lives. It would honestly be a rather nice counter to the times people randomly curse at us in the tags. :’)

Without seeing the wrangling interface, I think it can be hard to know what’s really work and what takes a few seconds at most?

Tags that are “work”:

  • Unmarked OCs that might be minor characters from canon, especially a canon that doesn’t have a wiki. More info here.
  • Tags in a language that very few (or no) members of the Translation team speak. (Omg, if any of you speak Turkish as your first language, please apply the next time Translation recruitment is open. Please. I’m begging you. You would be a hero to wranglers.)
  • Confusing tags that stay in draft forever, or where the character or referenced thing doesn’t show up yet in the work, so we have no idea what the tagger really means.
  • You know those collections of tiny Tumblr ficlets that people put into a single work instead of a series? And then some of those people only tag with first names for characters and relationships? While tagging like a dozen fandoms, so we’re not sure which Jack and which Harry they meant? Yeah. Full names are a wrangler’s best friends.
  • Generic character or fandom names being used for different characters or fandoms, forcing us to do the disambig dance. It’s not the fun kind of dance. It’s more like the macarena out of tune with zombies kind of dance. Save us from the macarena zombies. More info here.
  • Works tagged with RPF fandoms but that have just fictional characters, and works tagged with a fictional fandom that have just real people characters. More info here. (This is one of those things people yell at us for in the tags, but we have no control over it.)

Tags that are easy:

  • Single-use freeforms/additional tags that clearly either have a filterable meaning or not. Syn and done or move and done. Wranglers can handle hundreds in an hour if they’re all clear, regardless of length. To repeat: we don’t care about length! Chatty is fine. “Tumblr-style” is fine. It’s not more work for us.
  • Using a tag that already exists (canonical or not) for the same meaning that it was originally used for. We never even have to look at it.
  • Original characters that are marked with (OC) or something like that. So fast, much move.
  • Characters from canon with their full names used, or if they only have one name, the fandom name in parentheses after it.
  • Relationships using characters’ full names.
  • Fandom tags that use the full fandom name, and if that’s kind of generic, having the media or author or year in the tag as well (depending on which makes the most sense for the fandom). No longer the sad, plaintive wails of “which Empire? which Librarians? which Ghost?” No more zombie dance.

Basically, every time a tag is clear and unambiguous, a wrangler smiles.

It’s His Nature [6]: Crow - Bucky x Reader

Originally posted by erebussociety

Summary: You learned through moments after meeting Bucky what his “animal” side was like. [Aka. Using metaphorical animal stereotypes to describe pieces of Bucky ]

in this chapter: He’d come home with random girls and you’d see them leave your shared floor the next day. If he was doing it to get a rise out of you, he was doing a swell job.

Series Warnings/Themes: I’ll always be cussin’ please close ur ears, kids. Slowburn. Angst. Fluff. Innuendos/Dirty Talk. 

Author’s Note: Jerk!Barnes is a rude bitch. Also, I cracked up writing the ending. What a good time. 

Y/N = Your Name

Crow: Troublesome, Cocky

The distance set between the two of you only increased stress. Whenever you and Bucky were in a room together, the silence grew and everyone around you scrambled out in attempt to escape. The tension in the air could be cut with a butter-knife, and it worried the whole team. What exactly had made your relationship go south so quickly? 

For one, it was Bucky’s constant one-night stands. 

When he brought his first date home, you were simply surprised and kind of excited for him. He was finally opening himself up to the world. 

Then, it became pure torture. No one missed the sour expression on your face when he invited the girls to breakfast or the clenching of your fist when he walked through the living-room, pulling a female into his bedroom. You fail to notice the looks of pity from your friends. 

Instead of taking you up on your offer to hang out, he was hitting the bar for his next target. What a fucking dick. 

Yes, he had no obligation to spend time with you, but it didn’t hurt any less. 

It definitely didn’t help that your rooms were on the same floor. 

“James…” a voice whines before a fit of giggles is heard from behind the wall. You mutter something under your breath, shoving earbuds into your ears and turning up your music at a deafening volume. Of course you were fucking jealous. Instead of asking someone who cares deeply for him on a date, he picks up strangers and brings them home with ease. 

What really twists a knife in your gut? Bucky’s laugh back at whatever the hell she says. It booms past your music and fills your ears. You hadn’t heard it in so long. Just the sound of it makes your heart hurt. 

Keep reading

One Step Closer (An Adlock Fanfiction - M)

(Dedicating this to dear @battledress​ who requested for a sensual and passionate Adlock moment. I don’t know why it ended up this long tbh, I have no idea how to write ‘scenes’ like these. Haha. Excuse the typos, as always.)

Eight months. One week and three days. Nine hours, thirty-two minutes, fifty seven seconds. Fifty eight. Fifty nine.

Sherlock splashed his face with water for the second time, trying to ease the heat rising up his neck. His grip on the sink was tightening, knuckles almost white as he glared at his own reflection. Gliding his fingers through his hair in agitation, he gave himself a quick scan. 

He looked at the circles under his eyes, the visible pounding of his chest from under his shirt, his ears and neck evidently crimson as well as the nerves by his temples, leading to a solid conclusion: his blood pressure was extremely high. 

Cussing, he gritted his teeth, knowing that the very reason for his frustration is something that was incredibly simple: Irene Adler. 

The longest she has ever gone silent ever since they parted ways in Karachi was three months. She had always made sure to let him know where she is or how she’s doing; an endless myriad of clues and codes for him to decipher, or somehow even act upon a ‘casual’ rendezvous. But now, for the first time in years, she vanished like a ghost. 

He was never one to initiate their communication, maybe only once or twice out of sheer desperation to which he wouldn’t admit out loud, but this was just devastating. There was a physical and emotional aching in him that he could not comprehend fully, every fibre of his being begging to reminisce the feel of her touch. 

Shaking off his head, he resigned to the living room, dimming the curtains and basically shutting the world out. This was no mere carnal desire; this was madness beyond belief. 

Irene had kept various numbers for specific locations she had come to reside in, and Sherlock, having each locked away in his Mind Palace along with every memory of her, had started to type one number over the other, eyesight growing dim from anger, even more so, worry, at every rejection of the call. By his 67th attempt, he typed in a series from when she was Iranaya Dafovska. 

His senses tingled as the other line started to ring. 

One. Two. Three. Four. And it stopped. 


He felt a pang in his chest as soon as he heard Irene’s voice, his fingers clenched over his phone, and the other hand digging deep into the armrest of his chair. 

“Are you in any danger?” he asked, voice grim. 

He could almost see Irene’s questioning look from across the line. “I’m always in danger, Mr. Holmes.”

“And letting me know where you’ve been has never crossed your mind?” he hissed. 

“I didn’t know I was supposed to report my every move.” Irene spat back. 

“I wasn’t asking you to. And not that you have an obligation to do so.” Sherlock could feel himself trembling. There was contempt in his voice, resulting from an undeniable frustration from her response. Of course he wasn’t allowed to expect. What were they to each other anyway? And why is he feeling distraught over her dismissal? This was pathetic. Petty. 

God, he would most definitely need a cigarette after this. 

“Then what are you asking from me?” Irene’s voice was unreadable, holding both promise and poison that Sherlock grew to be familiar with. 

“I’m not asking anything.” he replied almost too silently. 

“But you are.” Irene simply replied, challenging and teasing at the same time. 

“Where are you?” was his only answer. 

“You already know where to find me. Think.” 

The familiar halls. The very number carved through the door’s metal plate. The same Woman. 

Plovdiv was like a requiem to one of his last few stops before fully reclaiming his life as Sherlock Holmes after dismantling Moriarty’s network. He could recall that it was no brief goodbye between him and Irene Adler, his entirety yearning for her in the most human way possibly, the taste of her lips more exquisite than cocaine restarting his body. 

He was standing there, yet again, his mind reeling at his reasons. Just as he was about to raise his hand to knock, it was like the everlasting mysteries of the universe did her text alert halted him. The next thing he heard was the unlocking door in front of him. 

And suddenly there she was, hair pinned loosely in a bun, donning a monochrome dress that emphasised her silhouette. Her eyes had that familiar sharpness she always carried, lips rouged in the shade of blood. 

“Well, I….” Irene started, but as soon as their eyes locked, she stopped. 

He could feel the heat radiating in his own body, her eyes boring deep into him like a flame. She was close enough for him to touch, but his brain was telling him that if he let go right at this moment, every bit of control he has left will vanish into thin air. 

She stepped away to let him enter, like a chess piece retreating at the sign of a threat, but she held her gait like she took it as a challenge. This scene was pure and almost foreign, for mostly every encounter was led to this moment through a conversation, an argument, or a much needed fix. 

But this time it was different. There was a certain danger to Sherlock’s eyes, a certain question, and they both know that every inquiry requires – or more appropriately – demands, an answer. 

“Do it.” Irene’s voice was barely a whisper, but she was still holding his gaze. 

Sherlock moved one step closer, studying the way Irene breathed. The atmosphere was thickening around him, almost like he was being drugged. The sensation was certainly addicting, adrenaline rushing through his senses, and it was certainly curious considering that it wasn’t like he has never been intimate with her before. 

And yet, every single time, he finds himself in a battlefield. 

“Why… how are you doing this to me?” his voice was low, fingers flexing against his sides. 

“You’re doing it to yourself.” Irene replied. 

“You’re not?” Sherlock quipped back, seeing that The Woman was also breathing as hardly as him now, her fingers also fidgeting at the sides of her dress. 

“Well, it won’t be us if it’s not mildly masochistic. We are both very proud, to say the least.” she purred, giving him that signature smirk of hers. 

She took one step closer to him, leaving their distance to an arm’s length. 

“Do it…” she repeated. “Touch me.”

Closing in the gap between them, his index finger reached for the tip of her nose, cascading down to her lips, and finally cupping her chin, eyes dazed and drunken as he looked at her. 

It was a small gesture, but enough to make Irene gasp under her breath. He felt her hands grab on to the cuffs of his coat, tugging him closer to her. 

“What are you waiting for?” Irene whispered, trailing her grasp on the lapel of his coat. 

Sherlock leaned down to meet her face, stopping just close enough for his forehead to touch hers. One of his hands caressed the curve of her body, the other now resting on her cheek. He saw Irene close her eyes, expression softening at the subtlest movements. His lips planted fervently on her forehead, her lashline, the bridge of her nose, and finally, he stopped, feeling the warmth of her breath against his mouth.

To his surprise she smiled, lips brushing softly to his as she did, and her words unlocking the depths of his humanity. 

“Make love to me, Sherlock Holmes.” she mused, closing in the gap between them completely. 

He felt his head spin as their lips collided, hands grabbing her hair in the most aggressive way possible. Her pins fell to the floor and dark locks cascaded to her shoulders, almost in unison to him rolling his Belstaff off his back. 

He busied himself to the zipper of her dress, almost angrily ripping it off her frame to feel the warmth of her skin, tearing of the clasp of her bra in the process. She, in return, moved her fingers to free him from his shirt, buttons undoing one by one almost flawlessly, then reaching for bulge under his trousers. 

Every distance from each other’s lips meant contact elsewhere, from one’s neck to shoulders to chest, until both hungrily reunite. 

Sliding his hands to her derriere, he lifted her up to the nearest surface he could find, all his senses sharpening on her and blurring on the rest of the room. He could feel her nails biting his skin, legs wrapped around him like an invitation to their non-existent distance. His tongue rolled down her lips to her earlobe, making her pull his face deeper into the crook of her neck as he simultaneously casted his fingertips over the curves of her breasts. 

“I wonder what a year apart could do to you…” Irene moaned against his touch. 

Instead of replying, he ripped her sheer tights and slid it down her legs along with her knickers, tongue skimming her thighs as soon as he was done. He set her legs apart and threw one of them over his shoulder, causing her to let out a groan. 

“Oh, try me.” he breathed, sending her a look before diving his hungry mouth down the apex of her thighs. Irene let out a whimper, fingers curling over the detective’s hair in pleasure, her body resonating with every roll of his tongue. 

He then raised his head and stood, just marvelling at her flustered figure before carrying her to the bed, mouth meeting hers once more. 

She rolled him over as soon as he laid her, tugging down his pants and revealing his erection entirely, before straddling him with a teasing grind. 

Being Sherlock Holmes, he managed to roll his eyes at her before half-sitting to meet her smug smile and kiss her, his hand tugging on her hair slightly to tilt her head up and make room for him to suck on her neck. It caused Irene’s body to involuntarily move against him again, and he couldn’t help but let out a moan when she pressed down his cock. 

She looked at him, eyes smoldering against the dimness of the room, and her expression spoke volumes. Her breasts were pressing against his chest, and he felt that her heartbeat was just as fast as his, partially from their present activities, and the rest presumably from yearning. 

His kissed her again, more fervently and intoxicatingly this time around, murmuring in her lips that he was to enter her with his length, and she moved along him in harmony, both of them gasping in pleasure as soon as he filled her. 

Hands caressing her body earnestly, his tongue swept through every inch of her skin that he could reach as she moved on top of him, his returning thrusts causing the bed to shake underneath them. 

They were deaf to the noise of their own making, Sherlock shifting Irene to lie on her back to switch dominance. She was grasping the sheets underneath her fingers with much effort, the sound of his name escaping her lips in such a pleading tone causing him to push into the tightening walls of her womanhood even more. 

She was then reaching for him, and so he lowered his head to accommodate the arousal present in her breasts, his lips closing in on her taut nipples as he pounded harder, making both of them give off sounds that exceed pleasure and desire. 

“Irene… I….” Sherlock whimpered, burying his face to her glistening body, but was unable to finish the words escaping his mouth as she moved to meet him, hands cupping the sides of his face with pure absolutism. 

“I… I know, love. I know…” she uttered between breaths, giving him a smile before throwing her head back as they both reached their climax. 

He moved to be in level with her, both eyes hazy from their shared moment, planting a soft kiss to her lips before pulling her closer in the haven of his arms, mouth resting in silence at the crown of her head. 

Irene’s hand rested on his chest, tracing some of his battle scars, as she calls them, index finger lingering to the one just inches away from his collar bone – the mark that signified their great escape that night, so long ago, in Islamabad. Sherlock noticed her smile when he realised that he was mirroring her actions with his thumb circling the scar on her right shoulder blade, also a tangible souvenir from that fateful night.  

Words need not to be said, for with him and The Woman, everything comes to pass without the mundane confirmation as expressed by statements and claims. They were people of thought and action, and somehow, the mind game never truly ends. It was at times like these when beyond their impulses dictated by biology need sufficing, that they hold each other’s sanctuary as the intricate solution for this emotion that they know how to name, but would rather rediscover over and over than just say. 

tekhearthazenyatta  asked:

❃ // i could have danced all night,

❃ = dancing with them

“I didn’t know you could dance.” 

It’s a murmured interruption to his own steady humming, a murmur almost against the side of Zen’s head, their bodies close. It’s been a long time since he’s danced with anyone, and he certainly wouldn’t have expected it to be Zenyatta - but then, is there anyone Genji would truly have chosen over him?

Were there a facial expression to study, Genji might have drawn back to gaze at it; as it is, they focus on the steady thrum of Zenyatta’s fans and processors, the faint grind of metal joints, the glow of ringed orbs. They fit together well, the two of them, regardless of the occasional bump or mis-step.

“I did not really expect you to say ‘yes’ when I asked,” Genji admits, hand squeezing Zen’s affectionately as they sway together. He draws back just enough to press his forehead to the Omnic’s, eyes closed beneath the visor. “But it was a delightful surprise.”

Also Travis’s combo was great but the song was weird as shit it was instrumental and it was like the same 5 sounds in different orders and lengths and repeating I was very confused

Missing You

Originally posted by hongshiyoung

Artist/Person : Lee GwangMin

Group/Crew : Yelows Mob

Genre : Angst/Smut

Word Count : 1215

Requested: No

A/N: I’m sorry that it took so long, but I hope that you enjoy~

We stared at each other, his eyes void of any emotion. While mine were the complete opposite. There were tears welling up, threatening to go against my ego and fall down my flushed cheeks. My lips were trembling and my hands were shaking at my sides, gripping onto the fabric of my knit sweater. The image of him and the other girl was still painted in my mind. From the way he was holding her, to the way he was kissing her. Even the way he stared behind her at me with emotionless eyes. It was all slowly breaking me down, making what was left of my security crumble away into nothing. “Well, if we’re done here. I have somewhere I need to be.” He stated with a bored tone, pulling me from my thoughts. I turned as he walked past me, towards the door of our shared apartment. “Lee Gwangmin…if you leave out of that door right now, better believe when you get back…I won’t be here waiting.” I stated, my voice cracking at the end as I watched him tug on his shoes. “Well, you better start packing your things.” He stated coldly before walking out the door. The tears fell, as so did my body. Loud sobs racked through me as let out all my pain.

~Two months later~

I was pulled from my sleep by the obnoxious ringing of my phone, the caller obviously craving my attention to be calling in the middle of the night. Rolling my eyes and groaning, I answered it. With the mistake of not checking the caller I.D. “What is it that you want?” I grumbled, rolling onto my back. “Y/N…” I heard the familiar deep voice, along with the sound of the city in the background. “Gwangmin? Why are you calling?” I spoke softly, sitting up as my eyebrows knitting into a frown. “I just- I don’t…where do you live? I need to see you…” He sighed out finally, his voice thick with an emotion I never heard from him. Sadness. “W-why?” I stuttered out, feeling my stomach knot in fear. “I just need to see you…please…” He whimpered, making my eyes widened. And without much thought, I told him my address. “I’ll see you soon…” He stated before hanging up. I shot up from my bed and rushed into the bathroom, brushing my teeth and fixing my hair. Just as I walked out, I heard a soft knocking on the front door. I felt my heart twist and my stomach drop, my legs moving on their own.

Unlocking the door and slowly pulling it open, I came face to face with the very person I had been trying to avoid. Without any words, I moved to the side and opened the door wider as he slipped inside and removed his shoes. His head was hung low, hands stuffed in his skinny jean pockets, as he followed me into the living room. “Have a seat. Do you want something to drink? I have water, juice, soda…” I stated softly, looking at the top of his head. Watching him shake his head had me sigh, well there goes my chance of escaping this tension. I took a seat at the other end of the couch, my hands sitting in my lap as I cleared my throat. Finally, I looked to him and broke the silence with the question that had been running through my mind since he called. “Why did you call me?” His head slowly lifted at that and his red, teary eyes made their appearance. Along with his dark circles and the bags under his eyes. At the sight, I reacted the only way I knew how. I moved towards him, pulling him into my arms. His arms wrapped around me tightly, holding me as he silently started to cry into my chest. “I’m sorry, princess. I’m so, so sorry.” He cried, holding me tighter as his tears wet my t-shirt.

Hours later and we were still holding each other close. His tears had stopped flowing a long while ago, yet neither of us pulled away. Just sat back and enjoyed the feeling of the greatly missed embrace of the other. “Y/N…” His voice broke softly, still raw from his sobs. I let out a small hum, my eyes staying shut as I listened for him voice. But, instead I felt his lips on my neck. My eyes shot open, and my body went to pull away but his arms tightened around me. “Gwangmin…what are you doing?” I spoke in a soft tone, feeling my eyes fluttering shut as he made his way to my soft spot. “I’m showing you how sorry I am…making it up to you the best way I know.” He whispered, nipping and sucking gently at the sensitive area. “Just tell me if you want me to stop…”

We were in my bedroom in no time. Our clothes thrown around the house in trail back to the bedroom. My back was against the wall with his arms wrapped around my waist as my thighs gripped his hips tightly to keep myself up. Moans were spilling from my lips continuously as sucked at collar bones, his hips grinding against mine, having his clothed length brushing against my bare core. “Fuck…Gwangmin I need you…” I whimpered, my fingers tugging at his dark strands of hair. I felt him nod before he slipped his boxers down, stepping out of them before aligning our cores with each other. “Ready?” He breathed, looking at me with soft eyes. At my nod, he smiled and slid into me with ease. Pushing in until our hips touched, he paused and rested his forehead against my shoulder. “Gwangmin…move…” I whimpered, fingers digging into his shoulders. “Wait…I can’t move just yet…” He grumbled, his grip on my thighs tightening. “Gwang…are you close already?” I whispered, letting a chuckle slip when he let out a grumbled ‘yes’. Pulling his head from my shoulder, I smiled and pecked his lips. Rolling my hips as we stared at each other had him whimper, before pushing me against the wall and pulling out slowly. He slammed his length back, repeating the notion over and over again. I cried out each time, gripping his shoulders for dear life. Slamming his hand on the wall next to my head and placing his head in the crook of my neck, his other hand gripped my thigh as he fucked into me quickly. “Y/N…” He whispered softly, only getting a broken hum from me in response. “I love you.” He placed a soft kiss on my jaw, a soft smile pulled onto my lips at his words. I clenched around him, my hands moving up to tangle into his messy hair as my orgasm ripped through me in blissful waves.

His hips were moving quickly, turning into messy thrusts as his grip tightened and he twitched deep within my core. He stilled, his body tensing as his high took over him. Then, he relaxed against me and let out a soft sigh. I lifted his face to mine, connecting our lips as I smiled. “I love you, too.” I muttered against his lips, my hands cupping his cheeks. “I missed you, princess.” “I missed you, too, Gwang.”

signs as shit from the secret history
  • Aries: 'A week or two before the paper was due, he had started showing up in my room about two or three in the morning, looking as if he had just narrowly escaped some natural disaster, his tie askew and his eyes wild and rolling. “Hello, hello,” he would say, stepping in, running both hands through his disordered hair. “Hope I didn’t wake you, don’t mind if I cut on the lights, do you, ah, here we go, yes, yes.…” He would turn on the lights and then pace back and forth for a while without taking off his coat, hands clasped behind his back, shaking his head. Finally he would stop dead in his tracks and say, with a desperate look in his eye, “Metahemeralism. Tell me about it. Everything you know. I gotta know something about metahemeralism.”
  • “I’m sorry. I don’t know what that is.”
  • “I don’t either,” Bunny would say brokenly. “Got to do with art or pastoralism or something. That’s how I gotta tie together John Donne and Isaac Walton, see.” He would resume pacing.
  • “Bunny, I don’t think ‘metahemeralism’ is even a word.”'
  • Taurus: 'Late that night—two a.m.—my house chairperson pounded on my door and yelled that I had a phone call. Dazed with sleep, I put on my bathrobe and stumbled downstairs. It was Francis. “What do you want?” I said.
  • “Richard, I’m having a heart attack.” I looked with one eye at my house chairperson —Veronica, Valerie, I forget her name —who was standing by the phone with her arms folded over her chest, head to one side in an attitude of concern. I turned my back. “You’re all right,” I said into the receiver. “Go back to sleep.”
  • “Listen to me.” His voice was panicky. “I’m having a heart attack. I think I’m going to die.”
  • “No you’re not.”
  • “I have all the symptoms. Pain in the left arm. Tightness in chest. Difficulty breathing.”
  • “What do you want me to do?”
  • “I want you to come over here and drive me to the hospital.”
  • “Why don’t you call the ambulance?” I was so sleepy my eyes kept closing.
  • “Because I’m scared of the ambulance,” said Francis, but I couldn’t hear the rest because Veronica, whose ears had pricked up at the word ambulance, broke in excitedly.
  • “If you need a paramedic, the guys up at the security booth know CPR,” she said eagerly. “They’re on call from midnight to six. They also run a van service to the hospital. If you want me to I’ll—”
  • “I don’t need a paramedic,” I said. Francis was repeating my name frantically at the other end.
  • “Here I am,” I said.
  • “Richard?” His voice was weak and breathy. “Who are you talking to? What’s wrong?”
  • “Nothing. Now listen to me—”
  • “Who said something about paramedic?”
  • “Nobody. Now listen. Listen,” I said, as he tried to talk over me. “Calm down. Tell me what’s wrong.”
  • “I want you to come over. I feel really bad. I think my heart just stopped beating for a moment. I—”
  • “Are drugs involved?” said Veronica in a confidential tone.
  • “Look,” I said to her, “I wish you’d be quiet and let me hear what this person is trying to say.”
  • “Richard?” said Francis. “Will you just come get me?Please?”
  • There was a brief silence.
  • “All right,” I said, “give me a few minutes,” and I hung up the phone.'
  • Gemini: 'Access to the snail's interior was gained by a child-sized tunnel.[...] From this tunnel, I was extremely startled to see protruding a pair of adult male feet, shod in some oddly familiar brown-and-white spectator shoes. I caught and shook a bony kneecap. 'Charles.'
  • He began to flounder wildly, as if he had waked to find himself in ten feet of water. At length, and after repeated assurances that I was who I said I was, he fell on his back again, breathing hard.
  • 'Richard,' he said thickly. 'Thank God. I though you were some kind of creature from space.''
  • Cancer: '"Richard old Man
  • are you Frozen? it is quite warm here. We live in a Penscione (sp.) I ordered Conche by mistake yesterday in a restaurant it was awful but Henry ate it. Everybody here is a damn Catholic."'(Bunny's letter)
  • Leo: The barmaid- in her fifties, with turquoise eye shadow and lots of turquoise rings to match- looked us over, our suits and ties. She seemed startled by Charles's order of two double whiskeys and a club sandwich. [...] When his sandwich came he picked it apart, ate the bacon and left the rest, while I drank my drink and watched the Lakers.
  • Virgo: ''Now,' he said. 'A single cap, roughly this size, of A. phalloides is enough to make a healthy seventy-pound dog quite ill. [...]'
  • 'Henry, how do you know this?'
  • He was silent for a moment. Then he said, 'Do you know those two horrible boxer dogs who belong to the couple who live upstairs?'
  • It was dreadful but I had to laugh, I couldn't help it. 'No' I said. 'You didn't.'
  • 'I’m afraid I did,'he said dryly, mashing out his cigarette.'
  • Libra: ''The poison doesn't take effect for at least twelve hours,'he said. 'So even if I overdose I'll have a certain advantage, a grace period. With an antidote on hand for myself, just in case...'
  • 'An antidote?' I said, jarred, leaning back in my chair. 'Is there such a thing?'
  • 'Atropine. It's in deadly nightshade.'
  • 'Well, Jesus, Henry. If you don't finish yourself off with one you will with the other.''
  • Scorpio: 'We went through a brief spate of target practice, shooting at mason jars that were lined on a wicker tea-table we'd dragged into the yard. But that came to a quick end when Henry, who was very nearsighted, shot and killed a duck by mistake. He was quite shaken by it and we put the pistol away.'
  • Sagittarius: 'The guard turned quickly, and somehow his gaze landed not on Henry but on Francis, who was standing staring into space. "So it's you, is it?" he said with venom. "Mr Off-Campus who thinks he can park in the faculty parking lot."
  • Francis started, a wild look in his eye.
  • "Yes, you. You know how many unpaid violations you're carrying? Nine. I turned your registration in to the Dean just last week. They can put you on probation, hold your transcripts, what have you. Suspend your library priveledges. If it was up to me they'd put you in jail."
  • Francis gaped at him. Henry caught him by the sleeve and pulled him away. [...]
  • "Why the hell haven't you paid those parking tickets?" Henry whispered to him.
  • "Leave me alone."'
  • Capricorn: 'What I did experience when alone was a sort of general neurotic horror, a common attack of nerves and self-loathing magnified to the power of ten. Every cruel or fatuous thing I’d ever said came back to me with an amplified clarity, no matter how I talked to myself or jerked my head to shake the thoughts away; old insults and guilts and embarrassments stretching clear back to childhood—the crippled boy I’d made fun of, the Easter chick I’d squeezed to death—paraded before me one by one, in vivid and mordant splendor.'
  • Aquarius: '"Well, if you wake up intending to murder someone at two o'clock, you hardly think what you're going to feed the corpse for dinner."
  • "Asparagus is in season," said Francis helpfully.'
  • Pisces: 'Once, over dinner, Henry was quite startled to learn from me that men had walked on the moon. 'No,' he said, putting down his fork. 'Its true,' chorused the rest, who had somehow managed to pick this up along the way. "I don't believe it."
  • “I saw it,” said Bunny. “It was on television."
  • 'How did they get there? When did this happen?'

Pairing:Jumin x MC (You)

Rating: M / NSFW

Summary:After Living with Jumin for quite some time you try to remember the life you had before him, but he makes things so easy to forget.

Word Count:3,320

Ada’s Notes: Firstly, a quick disclaimer: I love Jumin with all my heart. He’s def my favorite character out of the MM peeps. And I am aware he is problematic (which is where this fic sort of originates) but I love how you slowly have to come to understand him and he opens up to you. Now, this fic is not about you understanding him. I wrote this right after getting his famous Bad Ending 2, and of course my mind went to very dark places (when does it not really?). 

This is the first time I write this kind of smut, so it might not seem like much to some people, but to me it was a whole new territory (which I was glad to discover with Jumin hehe). 

Also since this fic is so long I decided to place it under the cut after the first paragraph. Also to keep chaste eyes pure if you aren’t into this sort of things.

Warning/Triggers: Dark Jumin (as in possessive, obsessive, and unstable) / Some bondage / NSFW (obvi) / slight loss of control kink / slight pet kink / brainwashing 

Everything aches. That’s most of what you know, or what you’ve known for quite some time now. Your breaths are still uneven, although it has been hours since he finished for the night. You can’t smell the musk of sex in the air anymore, he gathered you in his arms and took a bath with you as soon as he had been satisfied — you can’t really remember anything apart from that, you were ready to fade into darkness before that happened.

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anonymous asked:

What are Problem Bears top 5 signature moves in bed?

Top Five, huh? Well, since it’s me you asked we’ll have three good ones and two not so great, because there’s no such thing as perfect sex.

Beard + Oral = Awesome. You know what else carrying around 10lbs of shield all damn day is good for? Forearms that can hold somebody’s hips on the bed, no matter how much they try to squirm away.

Gets Them off Repeatedly. Sounds great, is great, until one day they realize he’s just trying to make sure they are in a shagged-out stupor, so he can sneak off once they’re asleep. (May not apply indefinitely. But certainly in the beginning.)

For the Inquisitor of a certain mindset, older dudes are easy to edge. Repeatedly. There’s a lot of cajoling, then threatening, then outright begging. Heavy on the gravelly-voiced-growling. Every so often he’ll put an end to it rather than behave. (Unless Inky ties good knots.) But that just keeps things interesting.

Might be thrown off by an exclamation or a shout in the wrong tone of voice. Occasionally he can’t tell for sure that it was “The Good Kind of Ouch”

He may not always be able to make reliable eye contact, but hell if Problem Bear won’t talk dirty. At length, without repeating himself too often. Absolutely filthy stuff said into the crook of their neck, beard tickling, teeth adding punctuation as needed. He says things that on remembering, the Inquisitor forgets how words work on the big map: they end up just idly scooting little brass markers around the Frostbacks, knowing their face is too red to look up and have to explain.

Charms, Amulets, and Talismans

Before we get into the grunt of the post, I feel it is best that I first cover some magical theory. Not all will agree with me, I understand that and seek not to change solid opinion, but inform those who do not know or those who are curious in regard to other systems of belief held around familiar totems. With that being said:

Where does the power come from?

I know that seems quite general a question, but it’s important to understand the source of power that one must imbue magical items with. I, personally, have a mixed background on the matter and thereby have a mixed methodology in creating magical jewelry. The animist in me imbues these items with spirit – I use this method when creating an amulet or talisman ruled by a specific spirit. For me, these become as much devotional as magical. They become not only an item used to bring about protection or drawing, but an item to solidify a connection to a specific spirit. As an example, I have two bracelets and a necklace that are connected to my yayá, Rosa Caveira, so as to keep her close at hand. I wear them both as a sign of my devotion as well as a link to her power and energy. In essence, this loosely parallels the use of collares/elekes. The source of power is the blending energy of Rosa’s force and my own, it is a symbiotic relationship.

The other type of magical “accessories” I employ are those not bound to spirit. These are the ones I use more readily and are the collection of items, symbols, herbs, etc. – each with its own signature – that, when brought together and aimed with intent, transform something from mundane to magical.  In the case, the source of the power is the signature: the blending of items (that possess their own signature), the ambient energy/current of the Universe/etc., and your own – which come together in a way to serve what purpose you desire of it.

As an aside, this ambient energy/current of the Universe is what I really wanted to talk about with this question. All that is is comprised of energy: there is “raw” energy (electricity, plasma, etc.), the energy of motion, gravity, and all matter which is comprised of slow moving energy. Think atomically – these vibrating particles that sustain us and all things. Everything is energy and energy is everywhere. All things possess the current of the Universe, and it can be drawn from anywhere, and it is the key to witchcraft. When a witch draws from him/herself, they are drawing from the Current. When the witch draws from herb and curio, they are drawing from the Current (through the particular lens or signature of that item). When they draw from the Earth, the moon, the cosmos, they draw from the Current. And when the draw from the Gods or the Universe, they are drawing from the Current. So, in essence, both methods stem from the same source and thereby work equally as well, it simply depends on which course you favor.


I cannot say much on the specific construction of these items because there is no specific way to construct them, as there are ways innumerable. They can be comprised of simple things: a stone, a slip of paper, a coin, etc. Or they can be made of a collection of things, expertly combined for a very pointed purpose. They can be forged in gold, set with diamonds, emeralds and rubies, or sticks, stones, herbs and bones carried in a mojo bag. There are no instructions save the ones of your tradition or the ones of your imagination. Do not be afraid to get creative and trust, above all, your intuition.


This is without a doubt the most important part of creating an amulet/charm/talisman. This, too, can be simple or complex. For instance, drawing a sigil or prayer on a sheet of paper, in clay, or on a stone to carry is – in itself – a means of charging. Not only does this writing lend itself to the construction, but to the charging as well. The same can almost be said of combining using the law of signatures, except there remains that small missing piece of intent. While you create, you may speak over the ingredients their purpose, add to them a symbol charged with intent or fumigate the charm with smoke from your lips. These methods may be unnecessary for some seasoned professionals, who subconsciously imbue each ingredient with specific purpose that combine to form a collective purpose during creation, but for those new to the art, I recommend making sure to pointedly note your intent. Clarity is always a great quality to any spell.

Another important facet to charm/amulet/talisman construction is to feed the curio. Many traditions have varying ways of accomplishing this, from oil or alcohol dressing, smoke and prayer charging, or even simply the act of holding the fetish and reminding it of its role. Personally, I’m rather fond of oil dressing, but do what feels right to you or what is dictated by your own tradition.


You guessed it: the means for disposal are as varied as the means for creation. Nonetheless, this step is very important, for after the item serves its purpose, it needs to be properly retired. Some have a much longer “life expectancy” than others, for instance: a protective amulet will be tasked with serving you much longer than a love-drawing talisman. In the case of amulets, it may be carried until it begins to show wear or improper maintenance (falling apart, symbols smearing or chipping, etc.) at which point is should be retired and deconstructed (if comprised of multiple components). Once it has been retired, and it’s parts cleansed, it can then be reconstructed or constructed anew until it once again shows sign of disrepair. Wash, rinse, repeat. The length of time a talisman is carried depends heavily on how long it takes to accomplish its task, and once that task is completed, it’s important to dispose of it properly. Some methods include: burial (often at a specific location: graveyard, crossroads, yard, etc.), fire, deconstruction, and feeding into running water. I recommend the same here as I have above: trust your intuition or your tradition about how best to get rid of a specific charm.

Any questions I’d be happy to answer to the best of my ability!

anonymous asked:

Can you do a one shot where you and harry have been daiting for awhile and he catches some punk trying to kiss you and he gets all protective? Oh and can you add some smut;) thanks love your work!!!!

Thanks dollface!! 

You don’t know if you’ve ever seen Harry so quiet.

His hands are wrapped tight around the steering wheel, jaw clenched and muscles taut. Next to him in the passenger seat, you struggle with the idea of trying to speak to him or let him cool off on his own. Even though you know he’s not angry with you, you can’t help feeling a little guilty. Maybe if you had taken Harry’s suggestion to go home early instead of insisting on a few more dances, one more drink or two, then that drunken idiot wouldn’t have staggered over and put his hands all over you. The man (you didn’t bother to get his name, only knowing that he was an acquaintance of a friend of a friend) had been sloppy and uncoordinated, and although he was tall and heavy on you, you’d managed to push him off of you easily enough. You caught Harry’s eye from over several people’s heads, and you remember clearly the sharp look in his eye, his face showing annoyance as he waited by the bar to bring you your drink. It was when you were trying to communicate with him from across the room that you were okay, that you had things under control, that Drunk Man had groped your ass and pressed his clammy face to your neck in a terrible excuse for an affectionate gesture.

You’d barely gotten over your revulsion when Harry appeared seemingly out of nowhere, and with a fierce right hook he had sent Drunk Man sprawling to the floor. Shock rippled through the small crowd of onlookers, several of whom knew Harry on some level and never thought they’d see the day when he socked someone in the face, yet there he had stood over the guy’s prone body, and you had scarcely seen him look so menacing. Fists clenched and ready for round two, Harry would have none of it when whoever it was that had come with Drunk Man tried to pick his inebriated, sexually aggressive friend off the ground, looking appropriately ashamed as he attempted to apologize for whatever transgressions had been committed. Amid various obscenities and admonishments and threats, Harry wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you so tightly to his side that you were almost purely leaning against him, and hauled your speechless self off to angrily collect your coats and then it was out to the car.

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  • quit shaming regina for having sex
  • quit shaming regina for crying over robin
  • quit shaming regina for wanting a romantic relationship w a man
  • just q u i t

Happy Smuturday!

Features: sort of top-y, cockslutty bottom!Thor and jotunn!Loki with a kinda weird penis

Does Not Feature: anything that resembles a plot


Thor relaxed deeper into the pool, the steaming water loosening his muscles and leeching the chill that had settled over him since stepping foot on Jotunheim. He was too lazy to even crack his eyes open when he heard the scrape of the door being open, despite the fact that he specifically waited late into the night to bathe so he’d be alone when he did.

“You look like you’re enjoying yourself. Guess I don’t need to ask if the water feels nice, then.”

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e3 photoblog part 3/3

an inkling visits e3. Hands on impressions:

Star Fox Zero: The motion controls are a natural addition to existing Star Fox gameplay. Really feels like piloting an advanced fantasy starfighter. Accuracy is top notch and I love switching between tv and gamepad views. I wonder if difficulty will reach Sin and Punishment levels!

Blast Ball: At first, it seemed simple with Wolfenstein 1 type running and gunning. However, you can lock on the ball then use the gyro to hit particular parts of the ball for different effects, such as a pop fly or top spin. Fast paced and intense!

Mario and Luigi Paper Jam: Turn-based rpg battles with quick time action prompts. Very similar to Mario and Luigi Dream Team. Paper Mario is out of place, but amusing. Special attacks’ length can make repeated use tiring.

I don’t blog normally so these posts are a bit out of place. Please understand. E3 was very exciting, and I was happy to meet Nintendo staff, play games, and see the industry!