mostly nonsense

Jumin’s route is so disconnected from the main plot, but the implications for it are interesting.

  • V actually comes to the party in this route.
  • He promises to tell Seven everything and looks like he’ll keep his word.
  • The Valentine’s Day DLC shows that he took pictures at Jumin and MC’s wedding, meaning he’s alive.
  • He can also see well enough to take the photographs in the DLC, when in Jumin’s main ending he can barely see out of his left eye.

Jumin being part of the Deep Story never made any sense to me, considering you barely learn anything and don’t unlock a single secret. But while Saeran and Rika are never mentioned and nothing is resolved on-screen, it almost feels like Jumin’s route is an AU where V comes clean and lives and gets the surgery. 

Just let me have this.

Shitty knows way too much about housing codes and property law.  He initially learned property law to save the Haus from being condemned, but then he realized that reading archaic, flowery law opinions while high was the most fucking hilarious thing ever.  Everyone at his law school is confused by and a little afraid of Mr. B. Knight, because while no one else wants to touch all those old, mostly nonsensical British common law cases, Shitty eats that shit up

anonymous asked:

i re-watched CA"TWS and have some serious Steve/Nat feels, what about something where that experience make them realize their feelings for each other?

Shared life experience.  Natasha thought a lot about that phrase as the road and the silence stretched out in front of them.  

Love is for children.  She thought a lot about that one, too.  She knew Steve’d heard it on the helicarrier through the security feed.  

And now they’d gone their separate ways (for the time being): he to find Bucky, and she to reinvent herself.  And maybe rediscover, too, after everything that’d happened.  

He’d been an experiment.  Had spent his whole life fighting for something that was his.  Had had to find himself again when everything fell away from underneath him.  

Steve had trusted her where Fury had not.  


Steve lay awake staring at the peeling paint on the ceiling of another cheap hotel.  They were no closer to finding Bucky and he was wondering if it wasn’t worth going back to New York.  Bucky would find Steve when he was ready to be found.   

And Natasha was in New York.  Or at least, was checking in occasionally.  He’d been thinking about her more than he wanted to admit.  Who do you want me to be? She’d asked.  A friend, he’d told her.  

He didn’t want that, not really.  Not anymore.  She may have felt untrustworthy; she seemed it enough at Sam’s, when they’d made it out of the bunker alive.  He’d seen how she’d taken interest in the middle distance, when Fury’d told them he wasn’t sure who to trust.  But Steve trusted her.  She was running from a past she couldn’t ever quite escape and finding it there behind her at every turn was exhausting, he could tell.  

Frustrated, Steve sat up and made his way out of bed and then out of the room without disturbing Sam.  He’d never get to sleep lying awake thinking about what’d already happened and things that might never happen.  He needed a distraction and he headed outside.  

He didn’t make it more than two blocks before he was texting her.

One of these days I’m going to visit someplace new without an agenda.

Her response came not two minutes later, his phone ringing and the screen lighting up with her photo (one from the last Halloween party where she’d dressed up as a fluffy sheep with fake wolf’s teeth and making a face, nose scrunched up and chin pulled in towards her chest, eyes crossed).  


“Where’re you thinking?”

“I dunno.  Just. Someplace that won’t remind me of work later.”

She hummed, and his phone buzzed with a text from her, linking him to a page about Croatia.  

“Ever been?”  

“No.  Do you like it?”

He could hear the smile in her voice.  “I’ve never been, either.  I could be convinced, though.”

Steve huffed out a laugh and then steeled himself.  He wasn’t interested in more fitful sleep.  “Come with me.”

“Tony’ll talk.”  She teased (but weakly, to Steve’s sleep-deprived brain.)

“Good.  Come with me, Natasha.”

There were several moments of silence on her end of the line before she spoke again.  “Is that double entendre, Steve?”  He could hear the wicked edge to her tone.   

“You asked me once who I wanted you to be.  I meant what I said but-“

“-Shared life experience.  Yes.  I’ll come with you.  We can practice your kissing.”

Steve laughed and gripped his phone the slightest bit tighter.  “When’re you in New York next?”

“I can arrange to be there anytime I need to be.”  She was smiling, he could hear it.  Steve felt lighter, calmer, excited.

“Two weeks from tomorrow?”

“Sounds like a date to me, Steve.” 


They said their goodnights and Steve didn’t quite remember walking back to the room, but he did remember how quickly he fell asleep.  And in the morning, how much he was looking forward to being back in New York.

Keith Kogane
age: 22
country: korea

tfw ur working on a quick comic and decide to draw an outfit ref real quick, but it turns out really e x t r a.. 

♥ yoi au ♡

leave room for space jesus

Prompt from @orangeycookiekay -  helloooooo how about a tuckington fluff prompt– slow dancing (or very noble attempts)??

This was a super cute prompt and I really hope I did it justice!

Also on AO3 here

Warnings: N/A

Rating: T

Pairings: Tuckington, implied Grimmons

“Wash, c’mon, it’s not that hard.”

His eyes are still doubtful, but he takes Tucker’s hand anyway and lets him pull him to his feet again. “I still don’t see what the point of this is. I doubt Grif and Simmons are going to want to dance much.”

“So? Other people will.”

“What do you mean, so? It’s their wedding, Tucker.”

Tucker snorts and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, but if it was up to them, they’d just hop a ship to the Vegas quadrant to get married and never tell anyone. The reception is for Donut, and he wants people dancing, so c’mon.”

Wash still thinks it’s pointless, and that it’s weird for someone’s wedding reception to not actually be for them, but he lets Tucker drag him to the middle of their room. They’ve shoved all the furniture aside for these little ‘dance lessons’. Which Wash is still pretty sure he doesn’t need, although Tucker hadn’t backed down once he’d made his off hand comment about never dancing much.

That had been his first mistake.

Keep reading

pale-silver-comb  asked:

♥ "Don't go", Sterek.

For you, my dear, I had planned to write some bottom Derek smut, but all my ideas for this had feelings all over them. So I wrote them all instead of picking one. I hope you enjoy it!

Four times Stiles and Derek say “Don’t go,” and two times they are exactly where they want to be (for @pale-silver-comb)

Derek’s voice is sleep roughened but edged with a practiced concerned awareness, gained from too many late night emergency phone calls, “Stiles? What’s wro-”

“Derek!” Sites interrupts with his usual exuberance, tinged with the softened slur of unaccustomed drunkenness, and Derek relaxes marginally as Stiles continues. “How are you man? I haven’ seen you in like- wha’ time izzit?” Stiles whips his phone away from his ear to check the time, but he’s too intoxicated to fight his own momentum and ends up twirling after the arc of his arm, stumbling. He barely manages to catch himself before he falls to the ground, but Derek is on his feet and getting dressed as soon as he hears the muttered “Oh, shit.”

Before he can yell for the human, he hears an honest to god giggle through the tiny speaker, and he relaxes ever so slightly. He can hear the indistinct baseline of something irritating and popular distantly playing in the background, the sound of the wind a low whistle through the phone line, and Stiles, laughing.

“Stiles, where are you?” Derek is grabbing his keys and toeing on shoes as he prepares to collect the human before he can get into trouble. Beacon Hills is relatively safe, if you don’t count the supernatural threats, but a good looking and clearly intoxicated seventeen year old shouldn’t be out wanting the streets at one thirty in the morning.

“I wuzzat a party with Scott. But he left with this girl, an’ he said I shouldn’ stay long, but he was ‘sposed to be my ride, and Der’k, I’m drunk,” he finishes seriously. “I’m drunk, an’ I can’t call my dad, and you’re like, my bes’ friend, an’ your car is awesome, an’ i-“

Derek is caught off guard by the sincerity in Stiles’ voice, but he focuses on the rising panic and cuts him off with a gentle, “Hey, just tell me where you are, I’ll be right there.”

Stiles slurs through his location, and Derek is relieved to hear it’s only a few minutes away. He keeps Stiles talking as he speeds to close the distance faster, and the wave of pure relief that washes over him at the sight of Stiles slumped against a lamppost is like an electric shock.

Stiles pours himself into the passenger seat with more grace than he usually possesses and flashes Derek a grateful smile. He’s more tired and regretful drunk than boisterous drunk now, and he lets his head rest heavily against the seat as Derek drives at a much slower speed toward the Stilinski house.

“Thank you for coming to get me, Der,” Stiles’ voice is clearer, but small sounding, his words not quite their usual crispness. “I’m glad it’s you, because I don’t have to worry about not saying how burning hot Derek is, or how I want him to push me up against a wall and kiss me, because you’re not him, and, oh fuck! You’re you!” he says accusingly, as if Derek had forgotten who he was talking to, and not the other way around.

Derek can feel the hot blush color his ears and flash down his neck at the image Stiles paints with his accidental confession.

“Stiles,” he begins, gently, but Stiles doesn’t let him finish.

“Derek, can we please blame the alcohol and forget that pretty much this whole night happened?”

Derek considers it. Stiles is clearly embarrassed, his scent gone sour and his heartbeat unsteady. It would be easy to ignore it, he’s had plenty of practice ignoring his feelings. But if Stiles wants him, and he doesn’t have to pretend he doesn’t want him back- why should he? “What if I don’t want to?”

Stiles gasps, and it sends a shiver down Derek’s spine. “You- what?”

“We’ll talk when you’re-recovered. Alright?”

“Yeah, sure,” Stiles doesn’t sound convinced

After a brief internal argument, Derek reaches over and takes hold of Stiles’ hand and gives a reassuring squeeze. He’s immeasurably gratified when Stiles sighs happily and the tension melts out of him, his scent spiking sharply with contentment, fingers wriggling slightly to settle between Derek’s. Derek can hardly suppress the echoing sigh from his own chest.

Stiles careens back to drunken rambling quick enough to make Derek’s head spin, but since Stiles is now using their clasped hands to gesture as he speaks, he lets a fond smile curl his lips as a steady stream of mostly nonsense tumbles from Stiles’ lips.

As they reach the Stilinski house, Stiles speech has slowed and gone heavy with sleep, Derek tries and fails to not find it endearing, especially in combination with the lazy drag of Stiles’ thumb along the back of his hand. Derek opens the passenger door to assist Stiles in exiting the car, both of them making small surprised sounds when Stiles stumbles and crashes into Derek’s chest. Derek steps back reluctantly, draping Stiles’ arm over his shoulders and holding his waist. Stiles leans heavily against him, murmurs things like “You’re so strong,” and “All that scruff and you’re so soft under the grrr,” as he draws a finger along Derek’s jaw and stares through barely opened eyes gone hazy with sleep and liquor.

Derek manages to get Stiles upstairs and into his bedroom, settles him on the bed and kneels to remove his shoes. Stiles groans above him and something that sounds an awful lot like “Not fair you’re on your knees and I’m too wasted…” and Derek can feel the rush of blood through his entire body as he catches the meaning. By the time Derek is done with Stiles’ shoes, Stiles is flailing above him, half trapped in the sleeves of his shirt. Derek is torn between watching him struggle and helping him, but the strained, frustrated sound Stiles makes pushes him to help. He very pointedly does not look when the overshirt catches his t-shirt, lifting it to reveal a tantalizing strip of creamy pale skin and a hint of hair leading into the waistband of Stiles’ jeans.

As Stiles falls back into the bed, Derek helps to guide him onto the pillow, wrestles the covers from under him and tucks them gently around the sprawling form of Stiles’ body. He can’t help but smooth Stiles’ hair away from his forehead, the gesture hopelessly fond, and Derek is fairly certain he’s never done it so easily before.

Derek turns to leave the room, return to his own bed to try to sleep, knowing the clock will mock him and that all he’ll be able to do is hear Stiles’ drunken declarations on repeat in his head. As he makes to step away from the bed, his feet gone heavy and uncooperative with reluctance, he feels the brush of clumsy fingers at his wrist, wrapping around it in a loose grasp and sending a pleasant tingle through Derek’s arm, settling warmly in his belly.

Stiles’ voice is sleep soft, but steady, the words cutting through Derek painfully, “Don’t go. Please? I don’t want to be alone, I’m always- please. Don’t go.”

In the face of Stiles’ plea, Derek finds himself not only powerless, but having absolutely zero desire to turn back toward the door. The relieved whimper that Stiles releases as Derek drops gently onto the edge of the bed and turns his hand so their palms meet, threading their fingers back together, is like a punch and an embrace all at once.

They wake in the morning wrapped around each other, and it’s shockingly easy to smile at each other as they untangle their twined limbs.


When Derek is visiting Cora, his phone rings, and he smiles at the ridiculous picture Stiles set as his profile. “Hey, you,” he answers fondly, voice going soft and light like it always did now that he and Stiles were DerekandStiles. It quickly bleeds into panic tinged concern at the hitch in Stiles’ breath; the realization that Stiles has been fighting tears, has a reason to be, is a painful weight in Derek’s chest. “What’s wrong, Stiles. What is it?” His urgency is a palpable thing, an uncomfortable sizzle under his skin.

Stiles releases a shuddering breath, “God, I will never not appreciate how the sound of your voice makes everything feel better.” Derek’s worry is ameliorated slightly by the knowledge that he’s a comfort for the hyperactive human he calls his mate.

“I’m glad to hear that, babe, but what’s going on?”

“You’re going to hate it,” Stiles is hesitant, his voice is tinged with uncertainty, and Derek wishes he were there to wrap his arms around Stiles, to hold him and reassure. He makes an affirmative, encouraging sound, “Try me,” he says with more enthusiasm than he feels.

“So, there’s this… thing. Some kind of monster. We haven’t figured it out yet…” Stiles goes on, details a truly horrible plan, one that relies heavily on Scott’s frankly laughable leadership and Stiles as some kind of glorified bait. It’s a shit plan, and Derek does in fact hate it. Hates it so much he’s growling, actually, and it takes Stiles’ pleading “Der, please,” to break him out of it, to wash the red tinge from his vision.

All Derek can do is choke out a pained “Don’t go!” He knows it’s desperate and can’t bring himself to care, “Stiles, please. Please don’t go. This plan is fucking terrible. You know it is. I will get on a plane, I will be there tomorrow morning, just wait. Don’t go, any of you, but you can’t. Please?” He’s begging, and will continue to beg until Stiles agrees, “I can’t lose you. Don’t go. Remember, the night we started this? You asked me the same thing, please, Stiles.”

“Ok, Der, ok, ok. I won’t go. Please, don’t cry. I won’t go.”

Derek takes a deep breath, it catches in his chest, but he pushes past it, “Thank you. Thank you thank you, thank god.”

Derek is on a plane two hours later. Twelve hours after that, Stiles is in his arms; unruly hair sweet smelling and tickling his nose, wide, smiling lips pressed into his own.


When Derek needs to leave Beacon Hills, Stiles understands, he really, truly does. But it also feels like he’s being slowly pulled apart.

They stand quietly in Derek’s loft, silently embracing, Stiles still in his dressy graduation clothes, intermittent tears running down both their faces, until Stiles grips the front of Derek’s shirt tightly, hauls him impossibly close to devour his mouth in a desperate kiss. Their teeth clack, and their tongues swirl together in practiced rhythm, lips dragging slick and wet together. A great, sob of a moan tears out of Stiles’ throat and he buries his face in Derek’s neck.

“I can’t ask you, I know I can’t, but I want to, Der. I want to ask you to stay with me. I want to beg you. To scream ‘Don’t go!’ But I won’t. You deserve to go, to be ha- to find happiness, even if-”

Derek feels his heart breaking; hurting Stiles is killing him. He can’t bear the ache in Stiles’ voice, the sorrow laced through his scent. “Come with me,” rushes past his lips with force and sincerity, and he can’t believe he hadn’t thought of it before.

Stiles looks at him, hopeful but unsure, so he kisses the confusion off his face, cradles his jaw with careful hands. “I mean it, Stiles. It’s summer, you don’t start school for months. Come with me. Please?”

The smile that breaks over Stiles’ face is bright and honest, it’s everything Derek loves about the boy.

“Yeah. Ok, yeah, let’s go,” Stiles replies eagerly, peppering Derek’s face with kisses, hands restlessly petting as thigh assuring himself Derek is still there.

Derek laughs lightly, “I thought maybe we’d have a last go in a real bed, before it’s all motel rooms and truck stops for a while. And you know, pack, first.”

Stiles makes a considering sound, “Both good things. I’m especially interested in the first part,” he grins as he grabs Derek’s hands, walking backwards toward the bed.


Two and a half incredible months later, they’re laying naked in a motel bed, tangled together and still catching their breath, trailing gentle fingertips over one another’s faces, cataloging details. Preparing for time apart.

Stiles’ half packed suitcase sits on a luggage stand across the room, taunting them with the short time they have left measured out in clean and dirty socks.

Derek traces the curve of Stiles’ mouth, their eyes searching, but unwilling to leave the others gaze for more than a second or two. “You know-” the words are stuck in his throat, heavy on his tongue, he clears them away with a hard swallow, “I want to ask you. I guess it’s my turn to know better, huh?” He laughs without a traces of humor, and Stiles kisses his furrowed brow, smooths it with a long finger.

“You’re not ready to not be moving, and Berkley is pretty stationary, babe,” Stiles answers easily, his voice tinged with regret. “I understand,”he says, quieter than the rest, but without a stutter in his heartbeat, and Derek would know it’s true even without the added senses. Because Stiles understands Derek probably better than Derek does, and the loss of his constant presence is already aching dully in his chest.

“I’m going to have to say it. Just once. It’s practically tradition, now,” Derek attempts to joke, but the truth is it feels like the words are tearing at his throat.

Stiles kisses him, long and slow, as if to cool the burn of the things he can’t say. It almost works. They part reluctantly, hands and lips both clinging together, and it breaks out of him with a sob, “Don’t go.”

Stiles gathers him close, let’s Derek bury his face in his chest, strokes his back in soothing circles and holds his neck. “I have to,” he says simply, pressing kisses to Derek’s head. “But I promise I’ll always come back to you, wherever you are, until you’re ready.”

When they wake some time later, Stiles has to leave. Derek drives him to the bus station, because Stiles wouldn’t let him set a foot in California until he was ready to. Derek isn’t sure he will be, but he wishes he was now so he could steal those last miles with him.


They wake to cool morning light filtered through the curtains, and the muted sound of a cell phone ringing in the other room.

It’s been six months since they last got to wake up together, and it feels indulgent and surreal all at once. Video chats and constant phone calls and texts are an ok way to bridge the distance, but there is nothing so wonderful as waking up like this. Sleep warm skin and muscled limbs tangled together, warm breath on the back of his neck. Stiles is afraid it’s a dream.

Derek wakes, runs his nose along Stiles neck and places a long, hot kiss there. “Morning,” he says sleepily, arms tightening briefly before he shifts in the bed. Stiles panics, grabs Derek’s forearms in suddenly shaking hands, “Don-.”

Before he can finish, Derek is wrapping himself around him again, “Not going anywhere, babe. You’re not either.”

Stiles takes a deep breath, calms his heartbeat. “Sounds perfect, because I have plans for us that don’t involve leaving this bed unless it’s to hydrate or pee.”

Derek laughs into Stiles’ shoulder, the sound rich and deep, the rumble in his chest echoes through Stiles’ chest pleasantly. “I like the sound of that.”


A small cry pierces the predawn quiet, and Stiles and Derek startle awake at the same time. They blink tiredly at one another for a moment, taking time to acclimate and assess.

Stiles smiles at Derek, notices the slight greying of his still artful stubble, the lines starting to show around his eyes that he knows are from laughter instead of worry.

Derek smiles back, taking in the defined jawline, and the more beard than stubble that his husband has favored these last few years.

They say in unison “I’ll go,” and then laugh, kiss. Let it linger just a moment until the baby reminds them why they’re awake so early. Stiles places a quick kiss on Derek’s cheek, runs his thumb over his jaw briefly.

“You got her down last time, it’s my turn. Go back t’ sleep.” Derek makes a sound that Stiles takes as agreement, and he heads to the nursery across the hall, scooping up the small, unhappy bundle from the crib and settling her against his chest.

When Derek stumbles in moments later, Stiles is in the rocking chair, cradling their daughter and dozing slightly. Derek crosses the distance with a few long strides and moves to take the baby from her current Daddy shaped pillow and back to her own bed, intending to do the same with Stiles after, when he feels familiar fingertips against his wrist.

He looks down to where Stiles is holding him, turns his palm so their fingers thread together with the ease of years of practice. They smile at one another for long moments, until the sun starts to rise and add a warm glow to the soft lilac walls.

But Elias is so really so good at cutting through the BS?

Even though a good number of times I suspect he’s the one speaking nonsense. 

But he’s got such a straight face that it makes you really hesitate. 

I just love how when he tells Yousef to Stop flirting with my sister, I had to really pause and wonder if he’s just simply teasing and doesn’t actually believe they were flirting. Or that he’s fully aware and is giving a friendly warning. Or he’s aware and still teasing?

Originally posted by kid-inside

Which is it??

Originally posted by skamly

anonymous asked:

Was wondering if you could give a little WIP of something you're working on... or maybe something you'd like to do in the future? Thanks! :D

WOW YASSSSS I’M SO GLAD YOU SENT THIS ANON! Because, as luck has it, I just happened to write a little snippet of something that I’ve had floating around in my brain for awhile, and finally sat down to write a dramatic scene between Hiccup and Astrid.

So this is a Ghost AU snippet, who knows if I’ll finish it or not. :P I actually have the whole plot written out, just haven’t had the time to start it. But, I was in the mood to write it this morning, so… this happened…

               “Hiccup, we don’t have a choice.” Astrid stated firmly, stepping closer to him. “I know that… well, this isn’t going to be easy and-“

               “No… no it’s not that.” Hiccup’s voice stuttered as he stumbled with the words, his arms going to wrap around his chest as he ducked his head. “Ast, I’m a ghost.”

               “I’ve noticed.” She teased lightly, but softened when she noticed the little waver he made… no, she had to keep him calm. Having him get worked up and embarrassed would be no good right now, she needed to talk to him and she couldn’t do that if he decided to fade out on her.

               “I-it’s not that either…” He mumbled. “Astrid, I’m a ghost. Not human- like Tom- and…” He gave a little shudder, and she noticed the glow about his eyes and figure was getting stronger. “Ast, if we break this curse, I’ll die.”

               She stared for a moment, the truth of his words slowly sinking into realization and shock. Her jaw slackened and her eyes went wide. No… no that- that couldn’t be true…

               How had she not realized it before? Unlocking the curse would mean Hiccup would return to his true form, and him returning to his true form would mean he’d age rapidly, seeing as how he’d been a ghost for over a hundred years.

               He would die.

               “No…” She whispered, but Hiccup just turned away and shuddered even more, the hazy glow about his body growing stronger. “No… Hic…”

               “I-I don’t want to…” Hiccup’s voice was cracking with every syllable, his shoulders shaking and his head ducking even lower. “I don’t want to die…”

               “No… you- you don’t know for sure- right? I mean, there has to be something…” Her mind refused to wrap around the idea of Hiccup leaving forever, of him not being there, of her not having him… how would she survive?

               She gave a little gasp when she realized the full-blown truth. Hiccup… Hiccup was a ghost, he would disappear as soon as the curse was lifted.

               She couldn’t let him die…

               “I’m pretty certain…” Hiccup whispered back. “I-I d-don’t know…”

               She didn’t hesitate. She noticed how he was beginning to fade, how he was starting to disappear from her sight once again. She couldn’t let him do that, to wallow in such grief that he forced himself to bear it alone. So she stepped forward quickly, wrapping her arms around his back and pressing her cheek against his shoulder blades. She could feel the shiver he gave, and how his breath hitched. She pressed harder, burying her face into against his shirt.

               “It’ll be alright…” She murmured.

               “No… no Astrid you don’t- you don’t understand.” Hiccup stuttered wildly, his hand coming up to tightly grip hers. “I can’t…”

               “I know, you don’t want to die-“

               “No, no…” Hiccup gave a sigh in exasperation, and Astrid could feel him shake as he lowered his voice. “It’s not just death that scares me… I-I don’t-“

               He paused, and Astrid silently urged him on by circling her thumb over his hand. Hiccup sighed again, before letting out in a harsh whisper:

               “I- I can’t lost you… I don’t know what I’d do…”

               She smiled slightly, pressing closer as she rested her head against his shoulder. “I know, and I feel the same about you, but… breaking the curse and allowing you to be free would be better than letting you remain as a ghost and having to stay that way- even after I die.”

               “I-I know…” He murmured. “But-“

               “Hiccup…” She pulled away and ducked under his arm, facing him with stern but gentle eyes. He wasn’t looking at her, his slightly hazy green eyes directed towards the opposite wall. She lifted her hand and cupped her finger around his jaw, directing it back in her direction so she could look deep into those beautiful green irises of his- the ones she couldn’t see full force because of the glowing haze they always carried.

               “You’ll just have to wait for me…” She whispered, “I’d rather spend an eternal life time with you then only eighty years together, knowing that when I die you’ll be left behind alone.”          

               “It would be worth it.” He whispered back, giving another shudder. “I can’t do- I can’t do any of this without you. I don’t want to do any of this-that… without you there with me.”

               She lifted both hands to cheeks, letting her thumb gently rub against his soft freckled skin… again, the skin that she couldn’t see clearly because of the slight glow. But it was still visible, and she could see the freckles, letting her fingers rest against them as she mentally counted the larger ones visible.

               “I’ll be there soon enough. A couple decades isn’t too long…” She smiled and leaned closer, burying her face against his neck. “I-I don’t want to do this without you either… living out my life without you in it is going to be very dull, but-“ she glanced up into his face. “it’ll be worth it if you’re free.”

               “Astrid…” He choked, the sound of harsh sobs escaping him as his shoulders shook violently. “I-I…”

               “I love you too.” She whispered, pressing her lips against his jaw. He sobbed harder, wrapping both arms about her and pulling her close.

There’s more to this, but that part I haven’t gotten typed up or edited, so… heh, you just get this beginning half of the snippet. :D 


I haven’t done a redbubble update in a while, so this is some of the new stuff. 

Also, some other things: 

There’s a buckykingofmemes twitter now, which is here, and it updates exactly the same stuff as this blog does, but without the tags. 

Would you guys be interested in me archiving some of the asks/answers and storytimes in AO3? I can set up a series or a multichapter fic to do that, if you’d like me to. 

A couple anon questions:

(For mod Hel) where do you find all the time to answer these? XD (thank you BTW): Bucky might be the king of memes, but I’m the king of procrastination. Most of the art gets drawn while I’m in class, which is why it’s kinda eh sometimes: no references. The posts happen whenever, and usually I answer asks when I’m bored, and I totally don’t get to all of them. I get like 10+ asks a day. And right now I’m supposed to be studying for the Torts midterm I have on friday, but you can all see how well that’s going. 

Hey, mod - Mind if I use the Howling Commandos story in a fic, if I give you credit for it? You are more than welcome to do so with any of this blog content, but please link back to me, and I love when people send me links to their work, just because I love to check it out! 

Generally, if you’re sending a message for mod hell-me, not bucky, and you want a response, please sign in! I don’t like to break character on this blog, so I’ll leave them unanswered. Otherwise, you’re welcome to hit me up at hellenhighwater, which is my (theoretically) main blog. Mostly it’s nonsense, but I’m more down with answering anon messages there, since there are so many less. And I swear I won’t go and stalk your blog if you send me a logged-in ask, and you’re always welcome to ask me not to publicly publish your ask if you’d like. 

To the rest of you lovely people who have been sending me holiday greetings, thanks! There’s too many of you to respond to individually, but I do read and appreciate it a ton. You’re what makes doing this nonsense fun!

Kisses by Sunflower Beds

ao3 // for @reallyelegantsharkfish

It’s not like Cas didn’t know it would happen eventually, inevitably. Maybe he thought he’d be the first to go. He’s the immortal one, but the Winchesters did have a knack for surviving.

Still, knowing that something is going to happen, knowing that Sam and Dean would not live forever even though it felt like they should, doesn’t prepare him for when it does happen.

Sam and Dean go out like they always promised they would. Fighting. It’s an honourable death but what is the point of an honourable death, Cas wonders, when your loved ones are lost to you.

In his last moments, Dean sees his life flash before his eyes which is how he knows that this time it will stick, knows it’s for good and there’s no coming back from this one.

In truth, he doesn’t actually see his life but feels it. He’s overwhelmed by a sense of accomplishment and he associates it to every time he took care of Sammy when they were children, got them through the night, got his kid brother to laugh instead of ask questions. He associates it with the first time he shot a firearm and his dad called him a natural. The first time he saved a life. The first time he saved the world. The first time he made Cas come.

A wave of joy hits him after that. Prank wars with Sam. Antics with Charlie. Driving Baby. His first lazy sunday with Cas. Every lazy sunday with Cas after that.

With his dying breath, Dean smells motor oil and pie and sex and honey and it all smells good. It smells perfect melded together, though it shouldn’t, and if it were bottled the label would read Life of Dean Winchester. He doesn’t smell blood or burning flesh or sulfur.

He hears his favourite tune along with Cas’ clumsy mumble and Sam’s off key singing.

Dean feels his life slip away with all his senses save for sight. That’s not to say he doesn’t see anything. He sees tree twigs that look big in the chubby hands of children, he sees long dark hair he hasn’t encountered before, a stone path and a bed of sunflowers and the sight of an ugly yellow backpack in Baby’s backseat. He doesn’t remember any of these things, not really, but he still somehow recognises them. They feel like memories that belong to him.

He doesn’t spare it much more thought than that. Oddly enough, Dean’s last thought is of the botanical garden Cas had wanted- insisted on- them going to. Dean didn’t care much for it but agreed because he wasn’t one to deny Cas anything. Still, it took them years to find the time to make the trip.

Sam decided to come along because there’s a library in the area that has a whole section on south american lore, something the men of letters bunker was lacking. He knew he was essentially crashing their date so Sam offered shotgun to Cas.

He was a little cramped in the backseat and had to angle his body sideways to make room for his legs but he noticed how when Dean’s hand wasn’t on the gear shift it was in Cas’ so he didn’t mind so much.

Halfway there was when they got the call that lead the brothers to their final case. To this final moment where Dean’s only regret is that he doesn’t get the chance to be led around between patches of greenery by Cas as the angel prattles on about one fact or another.

Castiel drives the impala back to the bunker. He could have flown it but that didn’t feel right. He gets pulled over once and he thinks the officer takes pity on him. Cas can imagine what he looks like, the blue of his puffy eyes contrasting with the veiny red, hair looking like it’s been tugged at- because it has, his chapped gnawed-at lower lip stained red from the blood he can taste.

He doesn’t make it to the bed he shares with Dean. He pretends it’s because the bedroom is so far down the hall and he’s so tired and but it’s because he can’t bear the sight of it. He stumbles- he is exhausted- into a random room, sheds his trench coat halfway to the bed before he lands on it. Or lands on something on the bed.

SUPERNATURAL by Carver Edlund

It’s the room Charlie would stay in, he knows now. He doesn’t mean to, but he ends up cracking open the book and reading all about the time Sam and Dean came across the croatoan virus for the first time.

It’s the real Dean, the depiction is accurate and these are real events from the hunter’s life but it’s not really Dean. It grows the already too wide hole inside of Cas. He can’t bring Dean back. But he can’t be without him. So Cas leaves to meet versions of Dean he hasn’t come across before, versions of Dean even Chuck didn’t take the time to write about.

Dean is three, almost four, when Cas, invisible, appears in the boy’s Lawrence home. Dean is kneeling on the sofa beside a pregnant Mary who keeps telling him that it’s ok to touch.

“It’s your little brother in there, Dean,” She says.

Dean purses his still thin lips, scratches a hair full of hair that’s only blond like Mary’s in the summer, and says, “That’s where daddy put him?”

Mary chokes a little when she laughs and moves into a tamed explanation of the birds and the bees.

Cas doesn’t listen, his eyes are peeled on Dean. This little boy who has no idea he’ll one day save a dying sun. This little boy that scrunches his face just like his Dean does, that shakily places a hand on his mother’s belly all false bravado, that has freckles splayed across his cheeks.

All Cas wants to do is to move closer. Is to stare. Is to see if three year-old Dean has all the freckles his Dean has or if some appeared with time. All Cas wants is to hold this boy. To tell him he’s perfect. To tell him he is loved. Cas can’t do any of these things.

He decides that’s unacceptable.

At eight Dean already knows how to shoot a firearm, so when the kids in his class want to pretend the sticks they find along the fence of the school lot are guns he’s happy that one boy wants to stack twigs as high as he can instead.

Every recess, Dean looks for a pair of blue eyes and the darkest hair on the playground and the two go off together. Cas- though Dean calls him Scottie in this vessel- recounts to Dean these wild stories about a pair of heroes, and they run around reenacting them.

Keep reading

anyway, since all of my personal posts today were about how fucking broke me and my mom are lately (well, we p much always are, but it’s really bad rn)

please consider buying a thing off of this nifty wishlist right here!!

it’s all things i’m trying to get for my next semester, as i’m living on campus at my new school!! i can reuse some things from the first time i live on a campus 2 years ago (and already received a very generous gift of several items i had on the list). but the rest has either had to be used in my home or was ruined by the mold problem in my room. items range from school supplies to household things for my room!!

so i would really appreciate anything anyone can do!! 

Weekly reminder that: 

  • Omnisexuality is an orientation that exists and is valid.
  • Polysexuality is an orientation that exists and is valid.
  • Pansexuality is an orientation that exists and is valid.
  • Bisexuality is an orientation that exists and is valid.
  • All of the above can exist as their own orientations at the same time.

Summary: The remorse swirls up inside him again, threatening to drown him, but Sakura doesn’t leave his side. She murmurs softly in his ear, mostly nonsensical repetitions of “It’s okay. You’ll be okay.” [SasuSaku Festival 2017 – Day 4 – Prompt: “Sasuke’s Regrets”]

Disclaimer: This story utilizes characters, situations and premises that are copyright Masashi Kishimoto, Shueisha, Shonen Jump and Viz Media. No infringement on their respective copyrights pertaining to episodes, novelizations, comics or short stories is intended by the author in any way, shape or form. This fan oriented story is written solely for the author’s own amusement and the entertainment of the readers. It is not for profit. Any resemblance to real organizations, institutions, products or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All fiction, plot and Original Characters with the exception of those introduced in the books, manga, video games, novelizations and anime, are the sole creation of KuriQuinn and using them without permission is considered rude, in bad-taste and will reflect seriously on your credibility as a writer. You will be trapped in a never-ending nightmare should you be found plagiarizing.

Warning: Spoilersfor pretty much everything up to Chapter 699. Trigger Warnings: Possible

triggering subject matter. In-depth description and discussion of on-going mental health

issues (panic attacks, sleep paralysis, mentions of PTSD)

Canon-Compliance: As close to canon as fanfiction can possibly be. With a few personal additions :P Takes place during the Blank Period.

Fanon-Compliance: Takes place several years before An Inch of Gold and Unplanned.

Beta Reader: Sakura’s Unicorn


There are nights when he doesn’t sleep.

Sometimes, it’s because he’s knee-deep in some spot of trouble or another, saving people in distress, or hunting down obscure leads that amount to little more than whispers. Mostly, though, it’s because his dreams are too dark, too real for him to surrender to sleep.

Before, he dealt with the situation simply: travel until he passed out, too exhausted to dream.

It’s not so easy this time around.

Sasuke turns on his side, staring through the shadows of their small cabin. Splinters of moonlight illuminate Sakura’s slumbering form.

No, that’s not right.

His wife’s slumbering form.

It’s so strange to think of her like that, and yet, so natural. It’s been days since the wedding, since they left the village; he still wonders sometimes if he dreamed it all. But here she is, curled on her side, back to him, sleeping peacefully.

Her long hair is braided down her back, the tail of it hanging across the uchiwa symbol on the back of her nightshirt. Sasuke reaches out to trace it with his fingers, and a soft smile forms on his lips.

It’s an unexpected feeling of pride to see her wear it.

He might have his reservations about Mebuki Haruno – and she might’ve made her feelings toward him crystal clear – but her attention to detail is meticulous. Every garment Sakura owns has been emblazoned with his family’s crest, and now, whenever he finds himself lagging behind her (a lot more often these days), he gets to see that symbol flashing at him from beneath pink locks.

To him, it’s a beacon of the future, even as it remains a constant reminder of the past.

As he continues to trace the lines of the fan-shaped figure, Sasuke’s mind flashes back to another time when he stared so intently at Sakura’s back.

He sees his hand glowing with blue light, hears the shrieking chirp of birds. He can feel the heat of his chakra becoming stronger as he shoves it toward the unsuspecting girl in front of him –

Sasuke sits up quickly, the movement jarring his thoughts back to the present. He stares numbly down at where his left arm used to be, still able to sense the heat there. The tingling sensation creeps up through that missing limb – these are the only times he truly feels that phantom limb pain, and the loss of control bothers him, makes him want to fix it right away, but there’s no way to do that. Even though the air is empty, he imagines his chakra vibrating with the ghostly crackle of a nascent Chidori.

Sasuke’s heart pounds erratically, pain radiating outward across his chest, like giant fingers of flame reaching and grasping across bone and muscle. His stomach pulls tight and he feels bile rising in his throat, brought on by the incessant, desperate need to get out.

With less grace than he’s capable of, he swings around until his feet are planted firmly on the ground, giving him at least a physical hold on the waking world. Scrubbing his remaining hand down his face – it comes away drenched in sweat – he tries to erase the memory from his mind.

Keep reading

Prompt by @ashreenao
take me laser tagging and then push me into a corner and kiss me. then shoot me and walk away.

No betas were harmed in the making of this drabble.

Alec has never been a nerd. He liked his history books and he got good grades in school but nobody ever called him a nerd. In fact, one might even say he was a jock. In high school, Alec had been captain of the football team, the quarterback who never missed.

If anyone in their family was a nerd, that would be Izzy and even that was somewhat inaccurate. Sure, Izzy had always had a fascination for biology as a whole, but the fact remained that she was very much Idris High’s queen bee. Alec had been out of high school for two years now and he still heard from his childhood friends how his sister ruled the corridors with a sharp smile and a poignant glance. And then there was Jace, who by all means was considered the bad boy. Charming and unapologetic, Jace was the very last thing one would think of when imagining a nerd.

That was why Alec couldn’t fathom the reason they were on their way to laser tag with the school’s biggest nerds, Clary Fray and Simon Lewis. Why the hell were they even friends with his siblings? And why the hell was Alec going along with this nonsense?

But mostly, who the hell was that gorgeous guy smirking at him as they all got ready to a make-believe war?

Keep reading