my question is that how did i get them ir who sent me

Into the Woods

I am so excited by the latest Klaroline news! So, I couldn’t help but write another post TVD drabble. This is dedicated to the amazeballs Steph @klarolinedrabbles - and so too the wonderful birthday girl Angie - @thetourguidebarbie - for the most beautiful comments on their tumblr blogs. Also big thanks to Ravyn - @cupcakemolotov - and Megan - @megansarah11 - for their assistance on twitter, much appreciated ladies!

The Magic School hosts a Father-Daughter campout in Mystic Falls. After Alaric comes down with the flu at the last minute, Caroline has to step in and take the twins instead, unexpectedly running into a certain Mikaelson. (Points of view will vary between locations, hope you like it!)

5 years 1 month post TVD finale…

Meeting Point

Even though it was still light, the temperature had dropped a few degrees while they’d been driving. Caroline pulled her jacket around her body to ward off the chill as she stepped out of the jeep. The twins were in the backseat, excitedly taking in the flurry of activity around them. If only she was as excited about sleeping outside in a tent with giggling tweens and their fathers.

This was supposed to be a father-daughter campout but Alaric had come down with the flu, probably of the male kind which she decided was entirely too convenient. Caroline had camped out numerous times and wouldn’t have minded except for the fact that she had to cancel her pampering spa weekend with Bonnie and Elena. It was difficult not to think about them indulging in sun tanning, facials, massages and copious amounts of red wine while she had to endure incessant talk about Justin Bieber, Kylie Kardashian and whoever else.

Josie and Lizzie jumped out of the car, running towards their friends who were milling around with their fathers in tow. By the looks on some of their faces, they felt the same way as Caroline.

“Yeah, thanks for the help, girls,” Caroline called after them sarcastically as she unloaded the bags from the trunk.

“Ms Forbes,” a familiar voice said by way of a greeting. “You look as excited as I feel.” Caroline turned to face Hope dressed in dark jeans, a black sweater and a grey woollen jacket, her freckles sprinkled over her nose and those auburn locks tied back in a loose ponytail.

She would be lying if she didn’t see Klaus in the young girl’s face every time they spoke. It had taken a while to get used to not reacting from the familiar expressions she’d wear (especially that deep set frown when she was concentrating) but after four years at her magic school Caroline was an expert at pretending she wasn’t effected by her father’s resemblance. Plus, it didn’t hurt that she’d grown closer to the youngest Mikaelson. Hope was extremely studious, talented and a complete over achiever, a tag she herself had worn back in the day at Mystic Falls High.

“Are you kidding, this is going to be fun!” She embellished, a big grin plastered on her face. “And what did I tell you about calling me Ms Forbes?”

“Not to do it,” she murmured, her face slightly downcast. She was always so surprised that a Mikaelson could be shy at times, especially with such colourful and demanding relatives. “Sorry, force of habit.”

“I think you’ve been around your uncle too long with all that unnecessary decorum, Hope. Speaking of your Uncle, where is he?”

To say she’d been surprised that Elijah was accompanying Hope on a camping trip of all things was an understatement. Not only because she assumed Klaus would want to spend quality time with his daughter but also if Elijah would be correctly attired for the outdoors given all he seemed to own was expensive suits.

“He’s not coming,” she admitted. “Something, uh, came up.” Caroline resisted the urge to roll her eyes, first her father and now her uncle. Caroline only hoped that missing out on such an important occasion was worth whatever drama they were whipping up in New Orleans.

When Hope had come to the Magic School all those years ago, Caroline assumed Klaus would be appearing frequently on their doorstep, offering his unwanted suggestions on her teaching methods and checking that Hope was receiving ample opportunities and tuition. But he wasn’t, only making selective appearances over the years. In fact she’d been quite frustrated by that very fact. Bonnie had questioned her ire a few months back, suggesting that maybe it wasn’t Hope she was only worried about. She hadn’t bothered to respond just sent a dirty look her best friend’s way. She might have been a witch but she was way off track Caroline had told herself.

“I’m sorry,” she empathised, suddenly angry they couldn’t even muster one male Mikaelson to chaperone Hope. Caroline would even take bossy Rebekah at this point, not that the Original Princess would be the camping type. “Alaric is sick, so you can just hang with us, sweetie.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean no one was coming,” she shared. “Uncle Kol should be here any minute.” Caroline raised her eyebrows thinking that maybe she shouldn’t have questioned Elijah’s credentials given his substitute. This should be an interesting campout to say the least, she was already imagining his incessant whining as they trekked to the camp site. At least with those childish tendencies he’d fit in well with the other kids.

“Well, that’s great,” she uttered, trying to sound convincing.

“Can I help you with those bags, Caroline?” She offered, holding out her hand to take Lizzie’s backpack. Caroline’s face softened, thinking just how much she adored the young Mikaelson, she was always so generous, kind and well mannered. Maybe she should be thanking Elijah for that decorum after all.

“No, let me,” a familiar voice interrupted, taking the bag from her hand and causing every hair to stand up on that particular arm. He was here and Caroline wasn’t quite sure what to do and given the dry feeling in her mouth she was beginning to realise that forming words was going to be equally as difficult.

“Dad!” Hope exclaimed excitedly as he placed the backpack on the ground so he could embrace his daughter. Caroline would be lying if their impromptu show of affection didn’t cause her to melt slightly. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m going on the father-daughter campout,” he baulked, incredulously. “Last time I checked I possessed the proper credentials. Not too sure about you though, love.” Caroline was still trying to come to terms with his unexpected presence, let alone the fact that his tight, navy henley hugged his toned chest and she could see those necklaces she knew so well poking out teasingly underneath.

“But you said you couldn’t come.”

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” he conceded. “Did you really think I’d send either of your uncles in my place?”

“That’s a shame, we could really have used some of Elijah’s…”

“Dress sense,” Klaus intervened. Bastard.

“No just sense in general,” she drawled, resisting the urge to childishly poke out her tongue. What could she say? The Original Mikaelson brought it out in her.

“So, where is Alaric? I thought when the brief was father-daughter that meant…”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” she hissed, trying not to gain Hope’s attention that had been briefly averted by a school friend. “I run this school so it’s only right that I supervise.” His eyes never left hers, those sinful, crimson lips curving into a knowing smirk and flashing a few stray dimples her way for added effect.

“But yet you felt the need to explain anyway,” he grinned cheekily, boldly moving a step closer. Obviously he was trying to keep their conversation private too or was it just his excuse to flout his spicy aftershave in the vicinity of her poor, unsuspecting nostrils? When it came to Klaus Mikaelson, Caroline was always going to think the worst. That defence mechanism had worked well for her this long at least.

“We really should get going,” she excused herself, pretending that the shivers she felt were due to the falling temperature and not Klaus and his close proximity. She looked back briefly noticing Hope’s overjoyed expression, suddenly feeling bad for begrudging his presence. All Caroline needed to do was get through the next day and she’d be okay. “Easier said than done”, she mumbled under her breath as she watched him teasing Hope playfully.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

request for the angst queen with a prompt where one of the gods take over Noct's s/o's body (like Shiva w Gentiana) and their no longer the person he fell in love with. Also thank you two so much bc you inspired me to start my own side blog (take-pitioss-on-me) and I'd be blessed if y'all would check it out. 💚

Alrighty, while I’d like to point out that Shiva actually is Gentiana, I really really enjoy this concept you’ve suggested. (And I rly rly love Noct ok?) 

This was a difficult one to craft while trying to somewhat stay true to canon— something I always strive to do in some kind of regard. So I had to take some liberties with the (very vague) lore of FFXV. Roll with it my dudes.

SO! With that being said.

On with the pain train!

{1,611 words}

It started after Altissia.

After you finally woke.

The healers said that they were certain you’d never open your eyes again. Noctis never left your side upon waking to find that everything had crumbled around him. He held on to your hand as if it was the only thing keeping him balanced in this wretched world— where heroes die too soon and the innocent far too young.

He had been told by Ignis how it had happened. Who it had been. The same man who stole his eyes and Luna’s life.

The day that you woke, Noctis was resting his forehead in the palm of your limp hand, caressing your wrist when your thumb twitched against his temple. He assumed it to be another one of his fragmented daydreams, the ones where you finally opened your eyes and he took you into his arms.

He realized it to be nothing short of reality when he pulled back, watching your eyes flutter as he gripped your hand. Yes, nothing short of reality because when your clear eyes opened, they were anything but relieved.

You stared at him as if you had lost your mind.

Keep reading

What Time Allows Us

Samurai Jack semi AU fanfic oneshot, (I just needed get my feels out ok will be posting to other sites eventually) has jashi but more just what I hoped to have had happened. (Multiverses for the win!)

Summary: In the years following the finale, Jack has resigned himself to the daze of everyday life when a surprising visit brings him even more surprising news.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed since that day. Time meant so little now, but when he looked in the mirror, there were signs of change. Fine wrinkles now appeared where there was once only smooth skin, bits of grey poking out of his jet black hair. Now that he was back in the past, or rather the present, it seemed he was able to age once more. Still, Jack hardly noticed. The days, they seemed to mesh together for him. It worried his parents; but after fifty years of constant fighting, this peace was nice. Though, he could not deny, it would be much more enjoyable if she were here.

Keep reading

Fighting Lessons with Rhysand, An ACOTAR/ACOMAF Fanfic

Alternative fanfic title: I’ll Make a Fae Out of You 

Music inspiration playing on repeat (you guessed it): “I’ll Make a Man Out of You” from Mulan

So, this…kinda got away from me as I was writing. It was originally going to be short, but I’ve come to the realization that I don’t I have it in my DNA to write ANYTHING short haha. I blame Rhys, though, because he kept wanting to tease and taunt Feyre more, and who I am to say no to him? ;)

This is a Feyrhys/Feysand fanfic (about 10 pages) where Rhys teaches Feyre how to fight. There is a reference here and there to the lovely Reading Lessons Preview that we just got (AHHH). Please be kind - this is my first fanfic I’ve ever written!! (Much less posted! I’m actually really nervous, but here goes! >.<)  I hope you enjoy!

Oh, and thank you @kingdomofstardust for the intro idea! And here you go @densramblings - hope you guys like it! :)


It was during one of my first weeks at the Night Court that Rhysand decided to make good on his promise to train me how to fight.  After I nearly destroyed all the glassware in his dining hall with my lack of control–in front of his court, no less–there really wasn’t much of a choice.  Though, at least I didn’t have any other Night Court High Fae taunting me about my powers anymore.  The fact that my rage had shattered all the glassware and sent a single, deep slice across my tormentor’s cheek was more than enough warning.  I hadn’t even meant to.  The magic had just–exploded out of me, and I was left there breathing hard where I stood, clenching and unclenching my fists as I stared at the damage.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could have sworn Rhys was smirking, but not at me–it was almost like he was…proud? 

Congratulations, Feyre, his voice whispered in my head. You just unlocked your magic. We’ll add magic and fighting lessons to your reading ones.

In my head, I had groaned. He just had to remind me about those dreaded reading lessons. Prick.

The High Fae I’d sliced up had gritted his teeth then, moving as if to grab me while I was half-turned to Rhysand, but then his body froze. And I knew that Rhys had those lethal claws latched onto his mind, digging.

When he spoke, it was with that dangerous tone I remembered from Under the Mountain: calm, but with undercurrents of terrifying ire.  “Consider it a warning, Loriel,” he said, eyes glinting from his casual sprawl on his chair.  “That is what she can do as a High Fae now, at the birth of her powers.  Imagine what glorious havoc she could wreak on you once I’ve trained her.” Loriel’s eyes had widened at that, and his skin had paled as a tremor visibly ran down his spine.

“M-my Lord, I beg your pardon, I…”

Rhys waved him off flippantly. “Now, now, Loriel, I don’t have time for mindless flattery.  I will not crush your mind today, but if you or anyone else decide to play with our…guest…then know that the consequences will be severe.” He flashed a feral grin at that, and I swear I could see the shadow of those glorious wings. No one else seemed to see them, though–or if they did, no one reacted.

After that, Lorien had apologized profusely to me and fled. Not that I blamed him–I wouldn’t want Rhysand truly angry at me either.  An angry High Lord of the Night Court was a true terror to behold.

That had been during my first week at the Night Court, though. Since then, the fae here had been welcoming, even if they did enjoy their mischief.  But now Rhys was calling in the fighting lessons. The ballroom, 1 hour, he’d said in my mind while I was in my bedroom.  And now here I was in the cavernous ballroom like he’d requested. It had large, glass windows, which stretched to the ceiling to reveal the glorious mountains and starry sky beyond. I still couldn’t bear to take in all the colors, but some dormant part of me stretched toward the surface. Beautiful, it whispered.

Behind me, I heard Rhysand’s smooth steps on the marble as he walked to me from the shadow portal he’d taken.  I turned to him, wary but excited. I hadn’t been able to exercise or run or fight since I’d been turned into a High Fae, and even though I yearned to try, part of me was shouting that I’d never get this cursed immortal body under control.

“Today, we’ll start your fighting lessons in the dark.”

I raised an eyebrow at him, broadcasting my skepticism. “I kind of got that, since, you know, it’s dark outside.”

“I see your sarcasm truly hasn’t weakened since you’ve became fae,” he deadpanned.

I smiled sweetly. “Only for you.”

The High Lord of the Night Court actually rolled his eyes at me.  

“And wouldn’t it make more sense for us to, I don’t know, fight in the light? So, you know, I can see what I’m actually doing? Fighting in the dark seems like at least level two material to me.”

Rhysand’s smile turned dangerous, and somehow I knew I’d said the wrong thing.

His eyes flashed, and then the room was plunged into darkness. Pitch black and all consuming; even the stars had gone out.

I tried not to panic.  When he said we’d be fighting in the dark, I hadn’t realized…we obviously had a different definition of “darkness.” Typical.

“Rhysand, what are you…?”

His voice spoke into my mind, a playful purr: Run.

Panic gripped me. Stumbling in the dark, arms out in front of me like an idiot, I ran, not quite sure where I was going or what I was supposed to be doing.

When he didn’t immediately attack me, I slowed down, heaving for breath. My eyes tried to pierce the darkness, but it was useless.

“Let’s play chase,” Rhys’s voice said from somewhere in the black.

Hell no. That sounded like a terrible game, and one I’d surely lose.  

Rhys laughed, and I felt the talons of his mind scraping against my walls of adamant.  I suppose we could do more reading lessons, he said playfully. That was rather enjoyable.

The urge to punch him was growing exponentially by the minute. I reinforced the mental wall we had been working on in our lessons, to defend me from people who had powers like Rhys’s.

“Fine!” I yelled into the black, holding my ground.  “Can you at least tell me who is chasing whom here?”

Rhys’s deep voice was suddenly by my ear, whispering lowly, “That’s the question, now isn’t it, love?” I caught the trace of laughter underlying his words, and I shrieked–half in shock, half in anger–but he was already gone. He was the night itself, the ultimate predator.

I turned slowly in my spot, glaring into the blackness. If he could see me, at least he’d see how pissed I was.

“And how am I supposed to get you if I can’t see you?”

I heard his deep chuckle from somewhere to my right. Wonderful. I was amusing him.

A ghost of a hand trailed my jaw, the tip of my ear, and along my braid–all in an instant and gone before I could swat him away.  Then came those claws again, a light caress as he whispered into my mind: Don’t use your eyes, Feyre. Sense me. Listen for me. Find me.

I tried, I really did, but it was impossible. I chased after whispers of noises, following that laughter and the light taunts he threw at me.

At one point, I turned so sharply on my still-too-new legs that I twisted my ankle. I swore a rather obscene string of curses, many of which involved Rhysand and his “lessons.” But it wasn’t over yet, because then I stumbled over my own feet, and even though I couldn’t see the floor rising to meet me, I knew the impact on the cold marble was going to hurt.

Bracing myself, I flung out my hands, but I never hit.  Instead, large, familiar hands caught me beneath the arms, stopping me mid-fall. And in that instant of suspension, I was trapped in a moment of déjà vu, remembering when the same set of hands had caught me on another night, one that felt like both yesterday and forever ago.

But it wasn’t Fire Night, and I wasn’t that human girl anymore, and Rhys wasn’t saving me from those three fae.  Just as quickly as he grabbed me, he switched positions, sliding one arm around my waist and arms to pin them to my sides while the other crossed my torso to lay his hand on my collarbone, close to my exposed throat.  I growled, thrashing in his arms, but his arms were like steel bands, immovable as a mountain. The pulse in my throat fluttered against his hand, and I knew the silent threat there, the reminder: death. If he had truly been my enemy, if he had truly wanted me dead,  I would have been. He would have been able to gouge out my throat in a moment, in the blink of an eye.

Try to break free, his voice whispered into my mind. Don’t take this lying down. FIGHT.

“You bastard,” I growled, but his goading had worked because I was struggling and thrashing in earnest now.  I tried to stomp on the inset of his foot, but he must have sensed what I was about to do because he simply lifted me up higher, adjusting me against his chest so that my feet were dangling several inches above the floor.

“Cauldron-boil it. Put me down.” I tried to kick back at him, but I had no purchase. My useless kicks just hit his calves, and I cursed the several inches’ difference in our heights that gave him the advantage. Opening the connection between us, I shoved a stream of several rude names at him.

Truly amused laughter rumbled in his chest, rolling along my back and seeping into my bones, down to my toes.  I couldn’t help but shiver at the sensation.

He was still a bastard.

“Now that was rather rude of you, Feyre. But at least you had the decency to keep up your mental shields this time.” He slid his hand up, cupping my throat and chin lightly, like feathers against my skin. “Dead,” he said cooly.

He set me down, withdrawing into the darkness again. “Dead at least three times over, but I lost count. I know you can do this, Feyre. Try to find me again.”

And then he was gone entirely, once more blending into that still darkness.  

How was I supposed to find him when I couldn’t see? When I could barely walk without tripping or hurting myself?  I was useless in this body–worse than useless: a liability. How could I ever protect the ones I loved when I couldn’t even walk without tripping over myself?

I huffed out a breath, and Rhys’s mental voice spoke into my mind, as smooth as glass. Ignore your eyes; they lie to you. They’re used to different arms, different legs, different proportions and movements. Listen for me, sense me in the dark.

It may have been stupid, but I closed my eyes, trying to recenter myself.  He was right: my eyes were useless, and had been ever since my time Under the Mountain. They couldn’t catalog his movements in this darkness, just as they were no longer able to catalog the light and colors that I so loved to paint–once upon a time, before the queen beneath the mountain broke my spine and ripped out my human heart, before I had become like her, killing innocents with my own wretched hands. Useless, useless, these eyes that could no longer see the light or the colors or the walls closing in and–

Breathe, Feyre. Rhys’s voice came again, calm and steady amidst the storm in my mind.  My breathing, which had picked up in my panic, slowed incrementally.  Better. A pause. And I did not say that. You are not useless, Feyre. His voice almost sounded gentle–I’d never heard that undercurrent to his tone before, either out loud or in my head.  But even as I thought it, that current vanished beneath the tide of his thoughts, sinking deep so quickly it was like it had never neared the surfaced at all. Now, your eyes are not useless; they just aren’t your biggest advantage in the dark. Use what you have available.

Right. Like the desire to slap him–did that count as “what I had available”? I took a deep breath through my nose, trying to resettle myself. I was determined to catch him at least once in this lesson. Listen, listen, listen, I chanted in my head. Where is he? I thought I caught the edge of a sound, the shift of a foot. I ran, lunging for where I thought he was. I only swiped air.

Growling, I stopped to regroup, only to feel a trail of fingers ghosting down my neck and spine, there and gone in the span of a few seconds but leaving behind a cool tingling sensation that raced down my nerves and made my back arc in response. My cheeks flushed–from anger, I told myself. If he had really been hunting me, I’d have been dead. Again.


He laughed again, this time coming from my left.  “Come on, Feyre. Just think about how much you want to hit me right now.” He poked me in the shoulder blade, chuckling as he did, and I lunged for him. I caught the tips of his fingers as I did, but they slipped away before I could tighten my grip.

“Better,” he said from my other side now, right in my ear again.

“How do you do that? Stop,” I growled.

“Find me and fight me, Feyre.”

The fae in me was coming to the surface now. The growl in my throat dug deep into my chest, making my chest vibrate.  I breathed deeply, trying to scent him.  Find him.

“I cannot wait to get my hands on you,” I said.

“Why Feyre,” he purred, “I didn’t know you wanted to move that fast.  You only need to ask, love.”

My blood heated. “To strangle you, you-” I sputtered.

“If that’s what you want to believe for now,” he said, and oh, I could hear the smirk in his voice.

Now, let’s move faster, shall we? he said in my mind.

My sense of foreboding spiked. What–?

But I didn’t have time to finish the thought, because the game had changed again. Rhys had apparently decided to take a more direct approach.  In the darkness, his eyes flared with magic, two twin flames of deepest sapphire. I stared in awe and terror, caught in those twin flames, those eyes that saw me even in the dark.

And then he lunged for me.

Cauldron boil it all, he was fast. And I knew he wasn’t trying, not really. He was playing with me, like a cat teaching a kitten how to pounce. Except I didn’t much like getting pounced on, and he knew it.

But he sure did enjoy watching me squirm. Prick, prick, prick.

It was nearly impossible to get away, and I never had a second to stop moving. I cursed as I saw those eyes appear out of the darkness again.  I dove out of the way but still felt the wind of his passage.

“Good!” He said.

I was really going to enjoy hitting him later.  If I ever got to later.

But then he was attacking again and I was forced to run.  I didn’t think, didn’t second-guess myself. I just let my body react to him, to the sneak attacks and lunges.  At first, I stumbled and fell, but I was managing to evade him.  I could never slow down, could never tell where he would come from next, but slowly I began to enjoy this game. It was thrilling–the most exercise and challenge I’d had in over three months. And I loved it, even with the mild terror of getting caught.

I began to stumble less as my body took control for my mind.  I had to constantly correct my reach, my stride, but I could feel my fae senses adjusting in the dark, now that my eyes couldn’t trick me with how I should move. Responding to him was easy, natural, and at some point I realized that I was no longer looking for the blue flames of his eyes in the dark.  Those were gone, and for the last few minutes, I had been relying entirely on the sound of his breathing, the shifting of his feet, and the scent of him: like brisk mountain skies at night and that intangible scent of stars and freedom.  

The fire was on purpose, I realized, even as I dodged.  He did it to work me into the game. But now I didn’t need it; now I could hear the breath of his near-silent laughter, hear the shift of his weight before the lunge.  

I couldn’t help it.  I laughed, and it sounded like bells in the darkness.  I felt so light, for the first time in months.

And then I went on the offense. Rather than wait for the attack to come, I went to him. When I nearly latched onto his arm, Rhys gave a startled laugh. It echoed in the hall, rich and resonant, and then we split apart.

That was very good, he whispered into my mind. Again.

With pleasure.

We circled each other in the dark like partners in a dance, attuned to the slightest sound and whisper.  My blood raced, and I was grinning. I felt powerful; I felt strong; I felt somehow larger than myself.  I wanted more; I was more.

I would find him, and then I would punch him.

Such a one-track mind, he teased. I’d almost say you were trying to cover up some deeper feelings. Why don’t you tell me how you really feel, hmm?

I glared at him in the dark, and he somehow knew, because he laughed again.

The High Lord of the Night Court would be the end of me.

Find him, find him, my senses urged me. I had been close to getting him before, but I was always slightly off, slightly too slow. So I lowered my mental wall just a little bit and I pushed me outward, searching, searching, following that invisible string that had tugged my center in the past, looking for the other end.

And it led me straight to Rhys. He wasn’t behind me now, but in front–about to lunge.

I had a split second to act, and so I did, grabbing onto that invisible bond and leaping.

I collided with him when he was still on the balls of his feet, just about to leap himself, and I took us both to the ground with an oomph.

We laughed, our voices entwining and echoing off the ballroom’s high walls as we rolled.

A high running through my veins, I pinned him, sitting on his hips as I wrestled to pin his hands down as well. By the time I managed to, I was heaving for breath above him and Rhys was still laughing. I had just pinned him, I’d won, and he was still laughing when he breathed out, “Excellent.”

“Bastard.” But I was grinning as I said it, and he knew it.

Rhys lifted the shadows on the room, and suddenly I could see his face beneath me.  The moonlight streaming through the tall glass windows of the ballroom played with the shadows on his face, chasing each other in a dance that highlighted his sharp cheekbones and sensuous mouth.  His night-black hair was tousled from our tussle, and his grin was brilliant beneath those starry eyes.

He was still the most beautiful man I’d ever seen.

I felt myself go still on top of him, staring, as I felt the bond in my center tug and tighten. Rhys stared up at me, cocking an eyebrow in challenge. And now what, Feyre darling?

I panicked, so I reacted the best way I knew how.  Swiftly releasing one of his hands, I took my one opening.

And I slapped him across the face.

Rhysand didn’t get angry–not at all–but his eyes did get that dangerous glint and his grin took on a predatory edge.

So perhaps that wasn’t one of my best decisions ever, but cauldron, did it feel good.

You made a mistake, Rhys said across our bond, those claws trailing along my mind shield, when you let go of my hand.

And before I had even withdrawn my hand from the slap, he’d grabbed it with his free hand and yanked me down to him, until I was sprawled across him.  Then he rolled, and I was done for.

Our positions were now reversed, and it was his weight pinning me to the floor. Grabbing my wrists, he locked them into place above my head, and I tried not to breathe or focus on the warm weight of him or the fact that his chest hovered only inches above my own.

His face was way too close. I could see those fascinating constellations, like kaleidoscopes of light in his eyes.

When he spoke, I could feel the vibrations. Rhys’s voice was dark, rich and deep like a lover’s, when he closed the distance between us and rested his forehead against mine.  “Got you.”

I tried to glare.  He crooked up the corner of his mouth in a feline smirk.

And then silence fell, and I was locked in that gaze that pinned me just as effectively as the rest of him. His nose flared slightly as he took in a breath, as if he was scenting something. The motion triggered the memory of our last parting on the side of the mountain, when he had scented the air and looked at me with shock and–but why?–

Above me, Rhys blinked slowly, and I felt the strange phantom touch of his eyelashes against his cheek, but no–I wasn’t seeing his eyes. I was seeing startled blue-gray eyes–my eyes–my face, not his–

And suddenly I was me again, staring up into Rhys’s eyes, mere inches from my own. Our foreheads were still touching, and Rhys’s smirk widened slowly, as if he had confirmed something. But I still didn’t understand.

“Game, set, and match,” he murmured, his lips brushing against mine as he said the words, the lightest whisper of a kiss.

He drew away before I could react, rising to his feet and pulling me up with no apparent effort.

I was reeling and confused, but I didn’t know what to ask or what to say or what to feel. 

What just happened?

“What just happened is you slapped a High Lord. Normally, that would call for execution–or at least a wonderfully gruesome maiming–but because you look particularly… delicious tonight, I’ll let it slide.”

I snorted. He smirked. 

You’re ridiculous, I shot at him.

And yet still not lying. You really should wear Night Court fashion year-round.

Back to normal then.

Maybe the second slap would be worth it after all?

“In all seriousness, though, you did excellent work tonight.  If you keep progressing like this, you’ll be delightfully frightening to behold. Tamlin will be so pleased, I’m sure.”

More glaring. I crossed my arms to stop myself from slapping him again. I didn’t think repeating whatever had just happened would be in my best interest.  

Rhysand tutted. “Now, now, no need for the hackles. That’s Tamlin’s department, isn’t it?” His smirk widened as he began to turn away.  He stopped midway, though, looking back at me over his shoulder.

“You have more power than you know, Feyre,” he said softly. Shadows started to curl around his body, swirling with that night-dark hair of his. “Now you just need to learn how to harness it, before it’s too late. We’ll work on magic lessons tomorrow.”  He was almost shrouded in darkness now, but his teeth glinted in that feral smile of his. “But don’t worry, this won’t be our last fighting lesson. I’m finding them as…enjoyable as our reading lessons.”

I couldn’t resist anymore. I lunged for him. But it was too late; Rhys had already vanished into the shadows, his rich laughter echoing in the hall and along my bones long after he had vanished.

Cherik holiday Regency fluff for @significantowl. Hope you’re feeling better and having a good holiday season, my dear! <3

This probably owes some setting/plot elements to Julia Quinn and Lady Whistledown, because I was re-reading those recently, and I am sometimes a literary sponge.


On December eighteenth, in the year eighteen-hundred and nineteen, in London, the River Thames froze over.

This meant that every person who’d ever said words to the effect of “when the Thames freezes over I shall—” was now forced, by virtue of keeping one’s word, to, for example, “cut my hair,” or “wear a coat that shade of violet” or “get married”.

Which in turn meant that Erik Lehnsherr agreed to a social excursion.

Keep reading

i wrote a ficlet.

edit: now on Ao3

AU - EVERYONE LIVES/NOBODY DIES. 6 YEARS POST-BOTFA. Bilbo isn’t the Consort (he visits Erebor every-other-winter) and he and Thorin have not been together romantically because they’re IDIOTS. let’s see if they can figure their shit out. this scene takes place right after what is basically the council of Elrond, only it happened at Erebor. Bilbo has volunteered to be the Ringbearer, the council approved ofc, and Thorin pledged his sword and service to Bilbo (assume whatever else you want about the other members of the fellowship). also, who knows why the events of LOTR are accelerated in this universe, because this shit shouldn’t be happening yet with the ring, BUT IT IS. OKAY HERE WE GO.

Keep reading

Hotline Bling Ch. 9

a/n: hopefully the length makes up for the wait

For most, depending on the situation, trending on social media might have been a pleasant surprise. For you it was definitely a surprise, ain’t nothing pleasant about it though.  Not with the way your phone had been lighting up all morning with notifications of calls and messages, most of which were all asking the same thing.

“Is that you?”


“Since when do you hang with Justin Bieber?” Audrey’s voice, though surprised, was a lot less incredulous than previous callers.

“It’s complicated…” you trailed off, pulling your phone away from your ear to see another incoming call.

You declined without a second thought for probably the sixth time in the last hour. His persistence was infuriating.

“When is it not?” you managed to hear her mutter lowly before she continued, “Well it’s not like you have anything to worry about. You’re barely recognizable in the pic. Only people who know you can tell,” she tried to assuage your concerns.

“I’ve been fielding calls all morning. I’m so over it,” you admitted.

“I’m sure it’ll blow over soon, babe. Hang in there.”

“I hope so. “

It had been less than five minutes since your call with Audrey ended before your phone was ringing again. One glance at the screen sent your eyes rolling heavenward and your finger swiping left.

“Leave me alone!” you shouted into the empty room.

For someone who’d made it pretty clear that he thought nothing more of you than a glorified bed warmer, he sure was trying to contact you constantly.

As you tossed your new phone somewhere beside you on the bed you remembered what had happened to the old one. Hot flares of anger warmed your entire body at the memory of Justin angrily flinging your phone against a wall. What he’d said after pissed you off even more.

The nerve….

The morning had started with you signing for a package that had been delivered to your door. You were slightly surprised to unwrap a brand new phone with a note attached:


Nothing more. You’d tossed the note and for a split second you’d contemplated throwing the phone away too, but then came to your senses.

You spent the next two hours doing damage control when the calls and messages started rolling in. It didn’t help that every so often Justin’s name lit up your screen with an incoming call.

You’d declined every last one, ire rising steadily each time.

Like clockwork your phone chimed continuously from between the sheets. You blindly snatched it up, almost at your wit’s end, and glanced at the display.

The name that stared back reformed your mood instantly.

The memory of your time together from the day before brought about a giddy grin. Upon leaving Justin’s place you’d been so livid you almost couldn’t see or think straight. It was a wonder how you’d driven to Drake’s condo in one piece.

You were glad you did. You’d watched a couple movies, pigged out on snacks and had an overall great time. You knew he’d been curious as to why you’d shown up at his place with steam emitting from your ears, but he’d tactfully avoided asking about it.


“Long morning?” he asked, adeptly picking up on your tone.

You thought you’d hid your distress well, but you were coming to realize that Drake was perceptive and easily noticed the little things.

“Kinda,” you confessed.

“Wanna talk about it?”

You caught yourself smiling at his gentle offer, but shook your head despite his incapacity to see the gesture, “That’s the last thing I want to do actually.”

“What you doing today?” he smoothly switched topics.

“Uh, I didn’t have anything planned.”

“Would it creep you out if I said I was driving by your neighborhood and my mind ran on you so I decided to call?

You covered your mouth as if that would stop the smile that spread behind your fingers “Would it creep you out if I asked you to come over?”

“I can be there in five minutes,” he answered without missing a beat.


He came bearing gifts. The kind that widened your smile and made you remember that you hadn’t eaten yet.


You sat, curled up on your sofa with a box of food nestled in your lap. The TV was on, but neither of you paid it any mind.

Just when you thought the day was looking up your phone buzzed with a text. You opened the message before releasing a groan.

His eyes shot to yours, wide in question.

“I’m so tired of these damn messages. Yes, it was me! I was the girl leaving Justin’s house yesterday. Why is that even news?!”

Your outburst was tailed by his laughter. You squinted your eyes at your guest as he regarded you with a grin.

“I take it you’re not taking your fifteen minutes of fame too well.”

Your eyes narrowed even further.

“More like my invasion of privacy.”

He didn’t appear affected by your clipped tone. He only shrugged as he spooned rice into his mouth.

“It comes with the territory.”

“What territory?” you asked, wary of the nature of the conversation.

“Being a celebrity.”

“But I’m not though,” you pointed out.

“But you’re hanging with them.”

“And starting to regret it,” you muttered lowly, barely thinking of what you said until a quiet settled between the two of you.

You nibbled your lower lip, wishing you could eat your words.

“I didn’t mean you,” you added after the lengthy pause.

His brows lifted in amusement, “I would hope not. I bought your ass food. Twice.”

You bit back your laugh, intent on pointing out his blunder, “Actually…” you trailed off at the look on his face.

No matter what you said you know you would lose the argument because in essence he was right.

“Yeah,” he grinned, “That’s what I thought.”

“Whatever,” you playfully rolled your eyes at his smug face.

“You know I h-”

The ringtone of your phone interrupted his next words. You glanced down at the caller’s name and quickly declined the call.

“Sorry, I-” the jingle began once again in the middle of your apology.

You swiped left a bit more forcefully this time, annoyed at the disturbance. Before either of you could speak your phone vibrated with yet another inbound call.

Not having the patience to continue screening Justin’s calls you turned the device off. When you returned your attention to Drake he made no move to cover his sceptic brow raise or questioning glance towards your phone.

“You sure you don’t wanna get that?”

“Positive,” there was no hesitation on your part.

He regarded you for a few moments longer and you felt your smile slipping under his scrutiny.

“Are you okay?” his voice was unexpectedly gentle and it tugged at something in you.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

He shrugged, “Maybe because after you left Justin’s yesterday you showed up at my place looking like you’d been crying and now you’re avoiding his calls.”

“I’m fine.”

“You always cry when you’re fine?” he continued when you made no move to answer, “It’s okay to not be okay you know. If something or someone hurt you, you can admit that.”

You shrugged, eyes focused somewhere else in the room, unable to meet his gaze. You angrily brushed away an errant tear.

“It’s okay to cry, babe.”

“He’s not worth it,” you countered.

Your mouth said one thing, but the second drop tracing your cheek clearly said otherwise.

“Can we just talk about something else? I don’t wanna think or talk about it. Please?” you softly pleaded with your fists pressed to your eyes.

As if on cue a very familiar tune began playing from the TV. You both glanced up in varying stages of amusement and surprise.

Of course your own enjoyment doubled when he promptly set aside his food and begin dancing in the same manner the TV portrayed.

“Ever since I left the city, you got a reputation for yourself now. Everybody knows it and I feel left out,” he chanted alongside his lyrics and his carbon copy dance moves were definitely a sight to see.

“Girl I know you’re down, I know you’re stressed out,” he continued.

The slight change in lyrics was not lost on you and it only made you smile wider.

“Cause ever since I left the city, you started wearing less and goin’ out more,” he danced his way over to you and held his hand out for yours.

“Glasses of champagne out on the dance floor. Hangin’ with some girls I’ve never seen before,” he took your hands and coaxed you from your seat when you hesitated.

Through your laughter you managed to join in on the pre chorus, “You used to call me on my cell phone. Late night when you need my love,” you began imitating his dancing, unable to control your laughter now, “Call me on my cell phone. Late night when you need my love.”

“I know when that-” you’d both started strong, but at the sudden start of a commercial your singing tapered off.

“Really MTV? Right at the good part?” he narrowed his eyes at the footage that had interrupted his music video.

Undeterred even the slightest his response was to shrug and jump right back in with the same enthusiasm.

“Cause I know when that hotline bling…c’mon sing with me babe, we don’t need no song we got the original right here,” he gestured to himself in the middle of his dancing.

“That could only mean one thing,” you joined in, “I know when that hotline bling. That can only mean one thing.”

His hands found yours once more, using his grip to bring you toward him, not once missing a beat.

“Ever since I left the city, you, you, you,” his volume dropped as he pulled you into a hug.

You allowed the embrace, melting into his hold, inexplicably comforted by his singing and easy rocking. You listened to him sing. His voice washed over you, bringing with it warmth and oddly enough everything was alright.


And that was the way things seemed to be when you were with Drake. His presence was strong and comforting and you fed off it. In the following weeks, your rendezvous became more and more frequent while remaining just as platonic as the last. Though not for lack of chemistry between you. Your attraction to each other was blazingly obvious, especially with the heated glances, shameless flirting and multiple make out sessions that all ended before passing the point of no return.

Things were going well. The buzz behind your ‘fifteen minutes of fame’ had fizzled out in short time and you’d gotten on with your life.


“Yeah, but when was the last time you went to a party?” Hailey continued to pester you as she followed you into the hallway.

“I’ve been busy Hails.”

“It’s semester break and you’re off from work on the weekends, you can definitely make this.”

You knew she’d backed you into a figurative corner and you had no excuse plausible enough to counter.

“Haileyyy,” you whined as you entered your room and face planted on your bed.

Nothing about her invitation to a Beverly Hills ‘soiree’ sounded appealing enough to warrant even basic polite interest.  As if you didn’t already think a party in the hills would be a dull and pretentious affair, the fact that it was referred to as a soiree sealed the deal.

“It’ll be fun. I promise! Please come with me,” she pleaded, falling on top of you less than gently.

“I don’t want to,” you groaned.

“Why?” she demanded.

You were surprised she understood you, considering the mattress ate most of your words.

You squirmed beneath her weight, feeling your breaths becoming laboured. She was much heavier than she looked.

“I just don’t want to. Move.”

“I’m not moving unless you agree to come with me.”

“Hails! Get off.”

“I’ll lick the back of your neck if you don’t say yes,” she was unrelenting and clearly didn’t understand the concept of personal boundaries.

“You wouldn’t.”

There was no warning, just wet warmth and a sponge like surface dragging across your skin.

“Ack, what the- what is wrong with you?” you squealed as you rolled over, effectively throwing her off of you.

Her raucous laughter was your only answer.  


At least they have free alcohol.

You swiped a flute from a passing waiter and lifted it to your lips as your eyes scanned the yard. Hanging lights, paper lanterns and the occasional fire pit on a pedestal kept the expansive backyard luminous. You caught sight of the DJ at the far end of the yard, diligently turning out the music that kept the atmosphere alive and pumping.

Veiled cabanas bordered the pool and from your vantage point you could tell most were occupied.

“Whose party is this?” you mused aloud.

“Some rich producer,” obviously, “I can’t remember his name. But this is nice, right?”

She turned to you with a smirk and hopeful eyes. You had to admit this party was not what you’d expected when she’d first asked.  There were easily five hundred people there.

And you didn’t want to acknowledge this out loud but you were actually having a great time. Upon arriving, you’d promised to keep an open mind and Hailey had promised that you could both leave after an hour if you weren’t enjoying yourself.

Somehow you’d lost her in the crowd soon after, but you weren’t complaining. You drank, danced and drank some more and by the time you’d run into each other again your head was light and your feet were tired.

“Let’s go inside, I’m hungry,” she was already leading you up through the back entrance before you had time to reply.

The kitchen was HGTV impressive, with its countertops laden with an array of food and snacks.  People milled about inside to the sounds of heavy chatter, clanking cutlery and the muted bass from the music outside.

“Aye Y/N, long time no see.”

You looked in the direction of the voice and sobered up instantly. Khalil stood at the edge of the kitchen with a friendly smile. Za was posted beside him. You moved towards his outstretched arm and accepted his hug, knowing that if these two were here then…

“Slow down Hailey, gotta leave food for the rest of the guests.”

You remained rooted, eyes on Khalil though everything in you was tuned into the voice that just entered the kitchen.

“Shut up,” was her only defense and you hoped that their banter kept him occupied long enough for you to escape without being spotted.

All you had to do was turn and leave through the side exit, so you did…and walked straight into him. His hands shot out to prevent your fall. One landed on your elbow, the other on your hip. The heat of his touch seared through your skin.

You glanced up, wishing you hadn’t when your eyes met ones already staring intently at you. Then your gaze darted to the sliver of pink as his tongue darted out to swipe over his lower lip. You felt your mind grow blank.

Your eyes flickered down, to the familiar feel of his cotton covered chest under your palms before you snapped back to the present.

You tried to distance yourself from him, but his hold kept you close.



You forcefully stepped back, breaking from his hold, a response at the edge of your lips, but then remembered you weren’t alone and that the last thing you wanted was to cause a scene. You cleared your throat. Eyes trained on a spot over his shoulder and responded.


You needed another drink. As you stood in the kitchen, absently laughing along with the rest of the group and held hostage by the standards of decorum you plotted your escape.

It was impossible to ignore the heat of his blatant staring, but you refrained from giving him the satisfaction of looking his way.

So when Hailey had excused herself to go to the ladies’ room, the words were barely out of her mouth before you were offering to accompany her. And from the bathroom you were all too happy to follow her back outside where the air wasn’t thick with tension.

You once more took advantage of the passing waiters carrying glasses of champagne.

One drink somehow turned into four and with a total of six flutes of bubbly in your system what were once coherent thoughts were now a seamless stream of questionable decisions.

Starting with your dance partner who had been gripping your hips a bit too tightly, as he moved behind you. He leaned in to whisper something in your ear and you belted out a laugh when the feel of his stubble tickled your neck.

“Where are we going?” you asked once you realized your had was in his as he led you back into the house.

“We’re going to have a little more fun,” he supplied over his shoulder as he headed towards the front door.

“I love having fun,” you giggled, stumbling in your heels as you tried to keep up with what was clearly going to be your second questionable choice of the night

“I’m sure you do baby.”

“Why are- why are we leaving the party?” you managed to string together when you noticed where you were headed.

There was a hand on your arm, its grasp firm enough to stop your movements and pull you from the stranger.

“You’re not leaving with him.”

You turned to intense brown eyes for the second time that night.

“Justin,” your tongue felt heavy, “You- you’re not…you’re not the boss of me.”

“Fuck off, man,” your dance partner grumbled as he reached for your hand.

With faster reflexes Justin pulled you away and into him. An arm wrapping about your waist to keep you upright and steady. Your head lolled against his shoulder, the sudden movement making the room spin.

“How about you fuck off before I knock you the fuck out?” he threatened.

Your partner hesitated for a moment, but then deciding that you weren’t worth the fuss, turned and left.

You lifted your head and stepped back, ready to tell him off for butting in, but you tripped over your feet. With movements much quicker than yours he was reaching out to balance you once more. One moment you were careening backward and the next you were flush against him; hands at his shoulders, your chest pressed against his and faces inches apart.

You blinked slowly as your mind caught up with what was happening.

“Jesus, how much have you had to drink?” he muttered, regarding you with worried eyes.

“That’s,” hiccup, “none of your business.”

“Of course it’s my…” he sighed, looking away momentarily before bringing his eyes back to yours, “I’m not trying g to fight with you right now.”

“I wanna go back and dance. Let me go,” you slurred, pushing against his shoulders.

His grip around your waist tightened, hindering your movements.

“You can barely stand on your own, let alone walk. You think I’m going to let you go dance with some other asshole who’ll try to take advantage of you?”

“Fuck you, I can- I can take care of myself!”

His laugh was mocking, “Yeah? How’s that working out for you? Where do you think you’d be right now if I hadn’t stopped that guy?”

You didn’t answer, only struggled against his hold. It took you only moments to realize his grip was unrelenting. Your forehead dropped to his shoulder, suddenly tired.

“I’m taking you home.”

You didn’t fight it. You wanted to go home. Preferably with someone else, but at this point ally you wanted to do was kick off your heels, slip off your dress and get into bed.

So when you nodded off in the front seat of Justin’s car and woke up as he was pulling up in his driveway your brows furrowed in confusion.

“Why are we here? You said you were taking me home.”

“I’m not going to leave you by yourself while you’re drunk, Y/N,” he explained before he exited the car.

He was on your side and opening your door before you could protest. You reached to unbuckle your seatbelt, but in the dimness of the car you couldn’t see or feel for the buckle. Your delayed actions were no help either.

His scent weakened your aptitude even further as he leaned over you to unbuckle you.  His breath on your shoulder sent delinquent shivers up your back.

Getting inside and upstairs was a process. When you finally crossed the threshold of his room the sight of his bed was like an oasis. You climbed on and attempted to crawl towards the pillows when his hand on your calf stopped you.

“Hold on,” he mumbled as he unbuckled and slipped off your shoe before moving to the other.

“I just want to sleep,” you whined.

“I know princess, but you can’t sleep in this okay? Let me get you a t-shirt,” he reasoned as he pulled you to sit up.

By the time you’d changed and been force fed a glass of water you were past the point of fighting sleep. You were out the instant your head hit the pillow.


It was a wonder a headache wasn’t among your hangover symptoms when you awoke. The churning in your stomach however more than made up for it.

Upon exiting the bathroom, you glanced curiously at the empty bed you’d spent the night in and wondered if you’d had company.

Before you could ponder further the door opened and Justin walked in, pausing when he noticed you.

You opened your mouth, but awkwardly let it close when you realized you didn’t know what to say. You cleared your throat, fingers tugging uselessly at the hem of his t shirt, suddenly feeling naked under his stare.

“Are you…um- how are you feeling?” he palmed the back of his neck as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

You looked out the window, wishing you could be anywhere but here, wearing his t shirt and skirting around the elephant in the room.

“Uh fine, I guess,” you nodded slowly deliberating the easiest and most painless way to escape whatever conversation was about to ensue.

“And, um, thanks for uh, last night and…um,” you gracelessly gestured to nothing in particular, hand suspended and fingers splayed as if waiting for the words to fall into your grasp, “Yeah…”

He didn’t speak. Only regarded you silently, as if things weren’t awkward enough. Your eyes connected momentarily before you looked elsewhere, refusing to acknowledge what you saw there.

“I’m gonna call a cab,” you turned then, in search of your phone, taking any opportunity to avoid his stare.

“I’ll take you home.”

His offer made you pause, your back to him as you pulled apart the sheets, “No, it’s okay. I’ll just call-”

“I don’t mind. I can drive you back,” he persisted.

“You don’t have to do that,” you attempted to put a stop to whatever guilt might have been prompting his words.

The last thing you needed was to be in a confined space with him for an extended period of time.

“Y/N, just let me-”

The memory of the last time you’d been in this house and the words he’d said to you caused you to whip around, eyes narrowed.

“I don’t want you to drive me home Justin,” your words were measured and left no room for doubt, “I am calling a-” but before you could finish, vomit rose to the back of your throat and you made a mad dash back into the bathroom.

And there you remained for the next twenty minutes. You’d showered, changed into a pair of jeans that you hadn’t even remembered leaving here and donned another of his t-shirts, then you’d brushed your teeth twice before you figured you couldn’t avoid him forever.

You were relieved when you re-entered an empty bedroom.

Meanwhile, Justin had ventured downstairs, frustrated with the words he didn’t know how to say and angry at himself and you for how things were.

He sat at a stool, hunched over the kitchen counter, head in his hands as he devised a way to get you to stay long enough to hear him out.

His phone vibrated beside his elbow, breaking his concentration. He moved to silence the call when it dawned that this wasn’t his phone. His hand hovered over the device as he deliberated whether or not to answer the call. It wasn’t any of his business, was it?

But damn it, it was! No matter what he’d said, nothing had changed. His feelings couldn’t be wished away and you were his business. So he had every right to make sure nothing came in the way of his business, didn’t he?

With that reasoning he answered the call right before it transferred to voicemail.

“Hey man, what’s up?” his cool tone belied the angry clench in his jaw.


He was annoyed, yet marginally pleased to hear the surprise in the caller’s voice.


“Oh…where’s Y/N?” Justin smirked at the caller’s hesitance

“She’s upstairs, just left her in the shower,” the lie fell smoothly.

“She’s at your place?”

“Yeah, since last night dude,” he chuckled suggestively, “But um, want me to give her a message or something?”

There was a brief pause from the other end before Drake spoke again, “Nah. Don’t bother. Talk to you later J.”

He’d managed to erase evidence of an incoming call and replace the phone just as you rounded the corner and entered the kitchen.

He watched silently as you picked it up and dialed for transport.

He listened, as you curtly placed your order, stomach clenching at the finality in your tone.

“I’ll wait outside,” you threw over your shoulder, already on your way to the door.

“Y/N, I-”

You didn’t give him time to continue, “Please don’t, Justin. Just don’t, okay?”

You didn’t wait around for a response as you left and let the door close behind you.

 Chapter 1


I’m sure @playhardworkhard17 has something awesome for the next chapter. Follow her and stay tuned!

anonymous asked:

Hi tumblr dad! :D I have what is probably a kinda stupid question on how to adult, but I don't know who else to ask and i'm honestly clueless. This is the first time i've ever been out and living on my own, I know tax season has come and gone but do I have to pay taxes come next season? I mean I don't own any property of any kind, I rent my place and don't own a car so I can't think of why i'd pay property taxes. Do I file stuff on my paychecks, (TBC)

or does the company I work for already do that? I mean what does one file when doing their taxes? And do I get a form sent to me or do i have to go somewhere and grab one? I feel really stupid asking but honestly it never came up in all my years of education and I never paid any attention when my folks used to file (plus math was never my strong suit). I know it’s not something I have to worry about right this minute but it’s still making me anxious thinking about it.

Nobody taught me about it either, Anon, it’s not at all a stupid question and I think a lot of people freak out over it their first year. I think I have to say up front that I’m not an accountant or financial advisor of any kind, so I can’t give you official advice. But yeah you do need to file taxes and probably should have last year. D: Let me see if I can lay out a primer for you. 

Keep reading

Noragami Shuuishuu Vol. 1 Summary

Okay, so I’m back to doing this kind of stuff again since I’m bored, I’m too lazy to continue writing fanfic or even fanart and… yeah, I just want to have someone to talk to about this adorable volume. So.. even if my Japanese is shit-tier… I guess it’s okay, right?

P.S. Take in mind that my Japanese sucks so there might be plenty of mistranslations! You’ve been warned!

Keep reading

World Without Ending (or How To Fuck Up Armageddon, A Guide by Killian Jones)

In which Killian accidentally stumbles upon the reason why Armageddon is seventeen years late. A Good Omens inspired AU.

rated T | words: 2.7k | ffnet | ao3

You know that feeling when you’re waiting for a train when you’ve just missed one and the other is twenty minutes away?

That feeling of every minute extending infinitely. That feeling of dread as you get more and more late for the important thing you were headed to. That feeling of spending each second of those infinite minutes thinking about all the things you could have done to get there earlier. That feeling of being stuck in limbo, helpless and frustrated and wholly at the mercy of the immovable time table of something beyond your control.

That feeling.

Except now, pretend you’re a demon who’s been alive for six thousand years, waiting–well, not particularly waiting, exactly. More like knowing with a sense of misplaced comfort and more than a bit of anxiety that this would be the end, the final chapter of his life– for something to happen, only to realise that it’s not going to. Imagine now, waiting for this thing, this story that was to be your future, the ultimate truth that you have known since your conception, this inevitable, inescapable reality and then realising that you have botched it up so completely that it hasn’t happened.

Imagine that the train is Armageddon.

Imagine that it is seventeen years late.

But the thing is, Killian Jones doesn’t have to imagine.

This is his life.

And now, as he watches Emma Swan shift gently under the sheets, her head resting on his chest, his hands playing with her hair–such soft, beautiful hair too, why did this have to happen honestly–in a moment that would be considered perfect by even the most skeptical among us, he wishes that it wasn’t.

Keep reading