nineteen thirties

"Sleep" (Autumn Journal)
Colin Morgan
"Sleep" (Autumn Journal)

Sleep, my body, sleep, my ghost,
Sleep, my parents and grand-parents,
And all those I have loved most:

One man’s coffin is another’s cradle.
Sleep, my past and all my sins,
In distant snow or dried roses
Under the moon for night’s cocoon will open
When day begins.

Sleep, my fathers, in your graves
On upland bogland under heather;
What the wind scatters the wind saves,
A sapling springs in a new country.

Time is a country, the present moment
A spotlight roving round the scene;
We need not chase the spotlight,
The future is the bride of what has been.

Sleep, my fancies and my wishes,
Sleep a little and wake strong,
The same but different and take my blessing —
A cradle-song.
And sleep, my various and conflicting
Selves I have so long endured,
Sleep in Asclepius’ temple
And wake cured.

And you with whom I shared an idyll
Five years long,
Sleep beyond the Atlantic
And wake to a glitter of dew and to bird-song.

And you whose eyes are blue, whose ways are foam,
Sleep quiet and smiling
And do not hanker
For a perfection which can never come.
And you whose minutes patter
To crowd the social hours,
Curl up easy in a placid corner
And let your thoughts close in like flowers.

And you, who work for Christ, and you, as eager
For a better life, humanist, atheist,
And you, devoted to a cause, and you, to a family,
Sleep and may your beliefs and zeal persist.

Sleep quietly, Marx and Freud,
The figure-heads of our transition.
Cagney, Lombard, Bing and Garbo,
Sleep in your world of celluloid.
Sleep now also, monk and satyr,
Cease your wrangling for a night.

Sleep, my brain, and sleep, my senses,
Sleep, my hunger and my spite.
Sleep, recruits to the evil army,
Who, for so long misunderstood,
Took to the gun to kill your sorrow;
Sleep and be damned and wake up good.

While we sleep, what shall we dream?
Of Tir nan Og or South Sea Islands
Of a land where all the milk is cream
And all the girls are willing?
Or shall our dream be in earnest of the real
Future when we wake?
Design a home, a factory, a fortress
Which, though with effort, we can really make?
What is it we want really?
For what end and how?
If it is something feasible, obtainable
Let us dream it now

And pray for a possible land
Not of sleep-walkers, not of angry puppets
But where both heart and brain can understand
The movements of our fellows
Where life is a choice of instruments and none
Is debarred his natural music
Where the waters of life are free from the ice blockade of hunger
And thought is as free as the sun
Where altars built to sheer power and mere profit
Have fallen to disuse
Where nobody sees the use
of buying money and blood at the cost of blood and money.

Where the individual, no longer squandered
In self-assertion works with the rest endowed
With the split vision of a juggler, the quick lock of a taxi
Where the people are more than a crowd.

So sleep in hope of this, but only for a little
Your hope must wake
While the choice is yours to make
The mortgage not foreclosed, the offer still open.

Sleep serene, avoid the backward
Glance; go forward, dreams, and do not halt
(Behind you in the desert stands a token
Of doubt — a pillar of salt).

Sleep, the past, and wake, the future,
And walk out promptly through the open door;
But you, my coward doubts, may go on sleeping,
You need not wake again — not any more.

The New Year comes with bombs, it is too late
To dose the dead with honourable intentions:
If you have honour to spare, employ it on the living;
The dead are dead as Nineteen-Thirty-Eight.

Sleep to the noise of running water
To-morrow to be crossed, however deep;
This is no river of the dead or Lethe,

To-night we sleep
On the banks of Rubicon — the die is cast;

There will be time to audit
The accounts later, there will be sunlight later
And the equation will come out at last.

Lightning Thief Musical BEST LINES/T Shirt Ideas?


-stay ahead and stay alive

-i swear that i’m a good kid

-I’m sure that’s irrelevant


-Really ‘cause I think that seems kinda nuts….





-most girls don’t win by being polite

-the entirety of  put you in your place

-do you have any josh groban? we will…eventually


-what belongs to the sea will always return. IT’S A SEASHELL




-back next summer back next summer back next summer

-Half Bloods smell like Micky D’s


Request: Shine

Part two to Storm! Honestly I really didn’t expect the response that the first one got, but I was so thrilled!! I started this about four times, trying to get it to a place I wanted it so I could get a satisfying end to the first one, so you’ll have to let me know what you think… maybe even a third part? Let me know!

Word Count: 1,304

It’s good to be home. Despite everything, despite being completely unsure about your future, it’s nice to sleep in the same bed for more than two nights in a row, and it’s nice to know when and where your next meal is going to come from. It’s nice to have Bobby there, someone who knows you inside and out and understands – what isn’t nice is constantly having him lie to Dean for you. You’ discussed it, and more than once it had ended in tears, with you deciding that you didn’t want to face him. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

This limbo, it’s… easier than facing things. Whatever you do, whichever decision you make, it’s going to change your life forever. But while you’re here, admittedly hiding from everything, you’re safe from that change, sheltered from whatever havoc it’s likely to wreak on your life.

You sigh to yourself, rolling over and tugging the duvet up to your chin, enjoying the warmth – that’s another nice thing, not having to be up and out of bed at the crack of dawn every single morning. Bobby has been insisting on you getting proper sleep, and considering that it can take hours for you to fall asleep after tossing and turning constantly, you tend to make up the time in the mornings. You’re just about considering crawling from the bed and heading downstairs for a drink when you hear voices downstairs.

“We need something of hers. Will there be something in her room?”

“I- uh- it’s a mess, I’ll go up and-“

“It’s fine, Bobby, I know what she’s like. The sooner we’re out of here the sooner we can start tracking her properly.”

Dean. It’s him – he’s come for you. It’s been nearly two weeks – it would have come sooner or later. But you’d have appreciated some warning – some time to think about what you want to say.

Bobby doesn’t want to protest – it would give you away. You recognise that, and recognise that he’s giving you a chance to run; to hide, to get away from it all one more time. A substantial part of you wants to – to be able to live the lie you’d begun to persuade yourself of.

For once, you stand your ground, pushing yourself up and out of the bed, wrapping a robe around yourself – you’re not going to face him in just your pyjamas. By the time he makes it up the stairs, you’ve steeled yourself enough that you manage to stop your hands from shaking too much.

The door creaks open, and Dean steps into the room – he notices you instantly, His hands curl into fists and he freezes, just staring at you like you’re some kind of phantom in the night.

“Y/N,” He breathes, your name nothing short of a prayer on his lips. You want to be angry; be vindicated, but all you feel for him is sorrow. You take a half-step backwards, watching as the cogs whir in his brain, “How long have you been here?”

“The whole time.”

“You’ve been safe?” He whispers, words snagging on themselves and tangling like a loose thread. You nod minutely, wrapping your arms around yourself as he shakes his head.

“Very.” You reply, perhaps a little shortly. You find, however, that you have very little to say to him. All of the thoughts you’d had… they’re gone in the face of a real conversation.

“Y/N…” He presses his lips together, “I’m sorry.”

“You always are.” You swallow, taking another step back, “Don’t pretend to care if you don’t. Don’t do it for pity. I don’t want your pity, I don’t want your sympathy.”

“You don’t have it,” He snaps, perhaps a little too vehemently. It surprises you enough that it stops your mind in its tracks for a few moments, “I screwed up. Really, really screwed up.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” Just like you don’t notice the tears threatening to brim over, blurring your view like a melted kaleidoscope, “I’m not mad, Dean. I know you think I am.”

“Then what are you?” He insists, raking his hands through his hair, “I know what I said was God-awful. I know I can never take it back. But I was terrified, and-“

“So was I!” You interrupt, staring at him with wide eyes as the tears begin to fall, “I was beyond terrified! You didn’t think that that was my absolute worst fear? For you to completely… do that?”

He can only look at you for a few moments, shaking his head, “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry isn’t good enough.” You realise, “Sorry doesn’t cut it. Sorry doesn’t take it back.”

The look of panic on his face is enough to break your heart – above it all, you love him. More than yourself, more than anything – but that doesn’t give him carte blanche to say what he wants and expect you to come running back the minute he realises his mistake.

“I know.” He admits, chest slowly deflating, “I know. And the second you say leave, I’ll go. No questions asked. I wouldn’t blame you.”

“Neither would I.” You agree, slowly unfolding your arms and wiping at your face, before letting them fall to your sides, “But I’m not going to.”

“You’re not?”

“You’re an idiot. We agree on that.” You watch as he nods, taking the hit in the hope of a little redemption – which you can’t help but give him, “And I’m upset. But that doesn’t mean I’m just going to give up. That’s not how this works. That’s never how this worked.”

He shakes his head, agreeing readily – only then do you notice the tears in his eyes – a change. You may as well have handed him a golden goose – he’d have been less thankful for that than anything else.

“Y/N, you don’t- you have no idea.” He says softly, swallowing hard, “You know I’ve always wanted a family. And then you came along and there was a chance, a real chance, of it happening. And now it is… now it might be…” Dean sighs again, “I screw you over. Because that’s what I do. Disappoint the people I love.”

“I’m not going to pity you because of your history of bad choices. That’s your cross to bear.” You inform him softly, but take a slow step forward, “I’m willing to forgive and forget and move on. I want to. What I don’t want is for you to feel coerced or forced into staying. Stay or go, but there’s no in between.”

He takes a deep breath, hesitating, and then shakes his head, “I’m staying. For as long as you’ll have me, I’m here.”

You can’t help but crack a smile, “So that’s that? We’re doing this?”

He nods, this time not hesitating, “Of course. In fact…” It’s the last thing you expect, but before you know it he’s taken both of your hands in his, “Marry me.”


“I love you. I want to be with you forever, I want to make this official. Y/N Y/L/N, will you marry me?” He rambles, squeezing your hands and offering a tentative smile.

“I’m not marrying you just because I’m pregnant. This isn’t nineteen-thirty-four.” You chastise, and Dean groans, rolling his eyes.

“It’s not because you’re pregnant! Trust me, Y/N, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be. I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t completely sure of it. I love you. I want to do right by you, because you deserve it. Just let me be romantic and spontaneous, alright?” He insists, his eyes catching yours – and you grin, nodding.

“Yes, then. Yes, I’ll marry you.” You decide, and then he grins, surging forward and taking your face in his hands so he can kiss your lips – and there it is. Past, present, and future, all in one.

Clexa Fake dating AU: She’s a Real Peach

Not wanting to attend her mother’s wedding alone, Clarke hires Lexa to be her date.

“What do you mean you can’t do it?”

Raven sighs on the other end of the phone, they’ve been going round in circles for about ten minutes and this point Clarke seems incapable of accepting the facts, “Exactly, that. You’re on your own for this one, Griffin.”

“But you’re my first pick, you’re usually so dependable, what gives?”

Raven pinches the bridge of her nose in frustration, as much as she enjoys hearing that she’s top of Clarke’s (very short) list, the sentiment isn’t going to work as far as changing her mind goes, “Clarke,” Raven opts for an unusually firm tone, hoping Clarke will accept it this time, “I can hardly show up to your mom’s wedding as your date. She won’t be fooled and neither will anyone else, sure we’re okay at pretending in front of strangers but no one at that wedding is going to buy that we’ve suddenly fallen for each other—”

“We are totally believable,” Clarke cuts in, a last ditch attempt but an honest one.

They’ve followed the routine so many times and it just so happens that they can, in fact, pass for girlfriends when it’s necessary. Raven is an expert at helping Clarke escape unwanted attention or filling in for events that she can’t stomach alone.

Clarke, on the other hand, is particularly gifted at family reunions, turning up late to some party that Raven was supposed to politely decline. She’s never been shy about admitting how much fun she has pissing off Raven’s conservative family, even if they don’t stay long.

Raven smiles, fond memories of their escapades creeping in, she can’t deny that they make a good team, “Okay, I have to admit we’re good at it,” Raven concedes but wastes no time with the follow-up, she’s not about to cave and she’d been serious about the difficulty of pulling this one off, “but, you can’t be serious about this one, I’ve known your mom for years, I have my own invitation to the wedding.”

Clarke agrees, she knows the situation wouldn’t be ideal but it’s certainly better than turning up alone. She loves her mother, even has a soft spot for the groom but all of her distant relatives in one room? No thank you.

She’s been successful in her attempts to avoid family gatherings so far but for some reason, she can’t find an excuse that justifies skipping out on her mother’s wedding.

“Raven, I need to do something, you what they’re like when I show up alone, it’s unbearable,” Clarke’s not ashamed to admit that she’s begging now, she doesn’t care if no one believes they’re a real couple, the pretence will be enough to stop the parade of sympathetic looks and patronising comments when she tells a vaguely familiar face that she’s single.

It’s always some weird variation of sadness and optimism, ’Oh, you’re single, that’s so sad! Don’t worry I’m sure you’ll find someone’ and then there’s the sheer disbelief, ‘Single? No a pretty girl like you, I bet they’re all falling at your feet.’

Then there’s the unsolicited advice and cringe-worthy attempts to set her up, ‘You know my friend has a son, single, very successful, I’m sure he’d be interested, maybe I can make a call?’

Clarke shivers at the mere thought of having to endure that level of torture.

She lets out a groan at the lack of help on the other end of the phone, “Raven this is the part where you come up with some genius plan so that I don’t have to go to this thing.”

“Look, if you’re really that desperate I may have a solution.”

Raven words are unsure, cautious and Clarke has absolutely no patience for them, “We both know how desperate I am, just spit it out.”

“It’s rather unorthodox,” she warns once more, she’s not entirely sure how Clarke is going to react and she wants to make sure that she’s given her friend every opportunity to turn down the option before it even leaves her mouth.

“Raven!” Clarke chides, if there’s a solution she wants to hear it.

“Okay, okay. Desperate I get it, right well I have this friend, she runs a rather unusual business but it might just be what you’re looking for.”

Clarke baulks at her friend’s suggestion, “Raven, I’m not paying for some prostitute.”

Raven is taken aback by Clarke immediate rejection, she’d expected protests but not an immediate shut down,“Woah, offensive much, I warned you that it was unorthodox and when did you get such high moral standards I distinctly remember that unsuccessful two-week stint you had as a stripper, you’re not fooling anyone,” Raven pauses to get back on track, “Anyway, back to my original point, she’s not a prostitute, she’ll be your date for the weekend, you know, the perfect girlfriend, better than me that’s for sure. She’s good, Clarke, just think about it, it would solve all your problems.”

Raven hangs up before Clarke has the chance to discuss it any further.


Twenty minutes

That’s how long Clarke lasts, well, nineteen minutes and thirty-seven seconds to be precise but that’s beside the point.

Within twenty minutes she’s already given into the idea of paying for a fake girlfriend, the desperation and Raven’s assurances that Lexa wasn’t that bad were just about enough for her to push aside any remaining reservations.

The fact that it’s really her only option at this point, she’s left it way too late to persuade so random hook-up to do her a solid for a weekend and pretend that they’re dating.

“How much?” is all she says when Raven picks up on the second rings.

“You’ll have to call her for that stuff, awfully tacky to talk about pricing on the first date, don’t you think,” Raven chuckles to herself as she gives Clarke Lexa’s number and the best time to reach her.


Apparently, these arrangements require preparation. At least that’s what Lexa had said when Clarke had finally built up the courage to use the phone the number. Lexa had been abrupt and unapologetic on the phone, she hadn’t asked to know about Clarke, simply gave her a date and time to meet at a local cafe, ‘Thursday, 10 o’clock, don’t be late, we’ll go over the details then’.

Clarke had brushed the seriousness off. I mean how hard can it be to be a pretend girlfriend for the weekend?


Lexa looks up from her coffee and spots a nervous looking blonde matching the vague description she’d received on the phone, “You’re late”

Clarke swallows at the stern voice, Raven had failed to mention just how attractive her fake girlfriend would be and she’d had to do a double take just to check that she was in the right place and that the attractive stranger was actually the person she was meant to meeting, “Sorry,” Clarke apologises, even though she’s no more than five minutes late, “I just wasn’t sure if you were the Lexa I was supposed to be meeting, you never told me what to look out for.”

Lexa’s face softens when she realises her mistake and for a second she chides herself for being so unprofessional. She’s not usually so short when talking to clients but Clarke had called on a rough day, “Oh, I guess should be the one apologising. Please, take a seat, Clarke we have a lot to talk about.”

“What do you want to know?” Clarke asks, relaxing slightly as she takes a seat across from the brunette.

Lexa is a stickler for planning, always has been. Fake dating can be complicated but it’s infinitely more complicated when the necessary research has been neglected, nothing causes suspicious like an ill-conceived lie and conflicting stories, “This meeting is just to go over the ground work, discuss what it is you want, creating our story and outlining my own rules for the weekend, basic stuff really.”

Clarke disagrees, this is anything but basic, there’s nothing normal about fabricating an entire life with some stranger, “Right, basic stuff.”

Lexa is powerless to stop the small smile that makes its way onto her lips, she may not have known Clarke long but she’s seen enough to know that she isn’t going to be like any other client she’s had, “Why don’t we start with you telling me where I’m actually going?”

Right. Start small, Clarke can handle that, “A wedding, my mother’s wedding.”

“Okay,” Lexa nods, opening her notepad to make some quick notes, “and is it going to be a big affair?”

“Is that really necessary?” Clarke asks gesturing to Lexa’s open notebook and overly pretentious pen.

Lexa raises an eyebrow, “Failing to prepare is preparing to fail, Clarke and I like to think I’m good at what I do,” Lexa’s eyes drop back down to her notebook, pen poised and waiting for Clarke’s answer.

“It’s a weekend thing, wedding on the Saturday, family gathering on the Friday night and a farewell thing on Sunday, so it’s big, like everyone I’ve ever met big, there’s probably going to be some people I don’t recognise as well but we can steer clear of those, I have zero interest in making friends with people I’m never going to see again.”

Lexa makes a few notes but doesn’t comment on the size of the wedding or Clarke’s apparent disinterest to mingle with the guests. That’s not her job, “And do we want these people to like me?”

Clarke furrows her brows in confusion, “Why wouldn’t I want them to like you? That would worse than showing up alone in the first place, I’d have to spend the weekend listening to people I see once a year trying to persuade me to dump my fictional girlfriend.”
Lexa shrugs, she’s been tasked with making herself a nuisance on more than one occasion, “People don’t always want the perfect setup, they want chaos and drama.”

“So you go and deliberately disturb the peace?”

“I do what I’m asked to Clarke, you pay for a service and I provide as best I can,” Lexa reiterates her position as a business woman.

“Which do you prefer?” Clarke asks, voice laced with curiosity.

It’s Lexa’s turn to be confused, “Prefer?”

“Which role? The perfect girlfriend of the disruptive guest.”

Lexa’s never really thought about, once a job is finished she doesn’t like to dwell on it, but if she’s being honest she likes the feeling of being welcomed by a family for a weekend and that certainly doesn’t happen when she turns with the sole intention of wreaking havoc, “We’re getting off track,” she points out, admirably dodging Clarke’s question and direction the attention back to her client, “What are your needs, Clarke?”

Clarke visibly pales at the phrasing, she hadn’t expected Lexa to be so upfront, “Needs?” she all but squeaks.

“Yes, Clarke, your needs,” Lexa rolls her eyes at Clarke’s apparent squeamishness, “You’re hiring me to do a job and I want to make sure that you get everything you need from our arrangement.”

There are no untoward implications in Lexa’s words, her gaze is strong and unwavering but Clarke has to remind herself that this is nothing more than a business transaction, an arrangement, a mutually beneficial arrangement, Lexa gets her money and Clarke doesn’t have to suffer through her mother’s wedding alone. “I guess, I’m looking for more of the perfect girlfriend then. I’m certainly looking for any more drama than necessary.”

Lexa nods once more, “Okay, so I think we should go over so details, backstory, how we met, how long we’ve been seeing each other, you know the b—”

“Basics, right yeah,” Clarke finishes, “so, I think we should keep it fairly close to the truth, they say that those are always the best lies,” Clarke waits for Lexa to nod before continuing, “So we could say that Raven introduced us?”

“I can work with that,” Lexa confirms, morphing into a business like demeanour, “and how long have we been dating?”

Clarke struggles to keep with the quick fire questions, “Erm, not long? My mom will already be annoyed that I haven’t mentioned you, I don’t want her thinking I’ve been keeping this a secret for too long.”

Lexa takes the chance to look up from her notepad and observes Clarke’s slightly flushed cheeks, “Right, a couple of months, nothing too serious but the potential for more, does that sound about right?”

Lexa says it with such ease the Clarke thinks this must be a fairly popular request, a client favourite. “Yeah, that works for me.”

Lexa jots down the framework of their setup, she has most of the information that she needs from Clarke, she tends to most of her work after the initial meeting, brushing up on the client’s family and how best to act to please them, “And how affectionate are we?”

“Eh, the usual kind?” Clarke stumbles over her words.

Lexa can’t help but laugh at Clarke’s response, she has absolutely no idea what the usual kind is, “And what does the usual kind of affection entail exactly? How public do you want to be? Do we even hold hands? Kiss?”

Oh god, Clarke really hasn’t thought this through, of course, they’re going to have to be affectionate, it’s hardly going to be believable if they spend the weekend standing three feet away from each other. “Yes”

“Yes?” Lexa laughs, “I’m going to need more than that, Clarke.”

“We do all that stuff,” Clarke frantically waves her hands, embarrassed by the topic of conversation. She really shouldn’t be embarrassed, she a 26-year-old woman and she’s definitely done her fair share of hand holding, “I mean, if you’re comfortable with it, of course, I’m erm, usually quite carefree about that stuff so probably best to keep up appearances.”

Lexa nods in confirmation, smiling as she continues to make notes about their arrangement, “Alright, I think I have most of what I need, of course, we’ll have some time to finalise things before the wedding. There’s just the small matter of my rules and pricing to go over.”

Clarke gestures to give Lexa the go ahead, she feels slightly relieved at how easy this all appears to be, Lexa hadn’t needed to know much and she seems to know what she’s doing.

“Okay, I like to start by saying that I don’t break rules and I’d appreciate it if you respected them,” Lexa says seriously waiting for Clarke’s response before listing her rules, “They’re not complicated, really, there’s no contact, unless previously agreed upon. If at any point you want to upgrade our arrangement, that will need to be discussed beforehand.”

Clarke keeps her expression ambiguously still, “That’s it?”

“I do have one more but it’s the most important one,” Clarke braces herself for Lexa’s next words, “for the love of god please don’t fall in love with me.”

That was one rule that Clarke wasn’t expecting but when she looks back at Lexa, she can see the woman smiling at her, “You get that a lot?”

“You’d be surprised”

Clarke really wouldn’t.

Clarke suppresses a smile, she much preferred Lexa when she let the facade slip and she gets a glimpse of what she’s really like, “Will I be surprised by how much this is going to set me back?”

“I’ve been told I’m fairly cheap,” Lexa shrugs, keeping her smile in place. She’s had some difficult jobs in the past, jobs where she’s had to transform into something else, someone else to fit the bill but something tells her that this one is going to be a little easier, a little less forced.

Clarke breathes out a laugh at Lexa’s joke, enjoying the way things seem to have settled. Cheap or not, Clarke thinks this is going to be worth the money.

Lexa is subtle in the way she slides the paper across the table, watching as Clarke absorbs the number hidden on the other side.

“Do you need this all at once?” Clarke says, trying not to flinch at each digit, definitely not cheap.

Lexa nods, “I prefer my payment up front and in full.”
Clarke discretely tucks the piece of paper in her pocket and returns her focus to Lexa, “That shouldn’t be a problem.”

Lexa nods at the conclusion of business, raising to her feet and looking down at Clarke, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Clarke. Please try to be on time.”

Clarke waits until Lexa is out of sight before picking up her phone and calling the person responsible for all of this, “You could have warned me?”

“Is this about Lexa because I’m pretty sure I was clear about that one,” Raven replies, evidently displeased with Clarke’s level of gratitude

Clarke scoffs, “You failed to mention what she was actually like, it would have been nice to know that you were introducing me to an actual goddess.”

“Ah,” Raven sighs as the pieces fall into place, “So, you’re upset that I didn’t tell you she was hot? Because I thought that was a given, I mean she is professional arm candy, Clarke, what did you expect?”

Clarke huffs at the lack of support from her friend, “A heads-up would have been nice.”

Raven can practically hear the pout in Clarke’s voice, “Relax, it’s only for the weekend. She’s good, though, right?”

“Yeah, she seems good,” Clarke admits

“Trust me, by the time you show up to your mother’s wedding, even I’ll have trouble believing that the whole thing is some sham to keep your family off your back.”

[Read more]


Originally posted by myloveseokjin

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader

Genre: Soulmate!AU, fluff (omg I wrote fluff for once???)

Word Count: 1,311 words of pure fluff

Seven days, nineteen hours, thirty four seconds. That’s when you’ll meet them.

Your soulmate.

Seven days, nineteen hours, twenty eight seconds of pure terror and hell, but happiness and excitement. Your eyes kept on flickering over to the bright red numbers over your bed that had appeared on the night of your thirteenth birthday party. Teenage girls who didn’t know much about the whole ordeal of a soulmate and random numbers appearing on your bedroom wall means there was a lot of screaming. Most of it from your friends who were more excited about the fact in nine years, twenty three hours and fifty five minutes is when you’ll be meeting your beloved one.

It seemed surreal. The years had gone so quickly, in a blink of the eye as you could say. The feeling in the pit of your stomach was strange, but the feeling of relief, the feeling of excitement never left as you grew up.

It never occurred to you that in fact the day was only a week away. Nine years had passed so quick. Maybe too quick. Why were you so nervous? It’s just your soulmate…just the person who you’re fated too since the moment you were born, nothing major.

“Hobi, will you stop pacing? I’m going to become cross eyed at this rate.”

Sorry Chim, but- it’s six days away. Six!”

“You’re going to be fine! The person you’re going to meet is supposed to love you and care for you Hobi. You don’t need to be this tense,” Jimin tried to comfort his friend. Hoseok had been a nervous wreck for a month, the entire situation scaring him but exciting him also.

“D-Do I get a present for them?” Hoseok began.


“What do I even get them? I don’t know if it’s a male or a female!”

“Hobi, calm do-”

“What if…what if I get them something, an-and they don’t like it!? What if- what if they don’t like me Jimin?”

“Oh my god, you drama queen! You’re fated to them! Hoseok, they’re going to love you, I know it. They’re your soulmate, of course they’ll love you.” Jimin avoided the mention of glitches, he didn’t need to panic him out even more, but there was no way a ray of sunshine like Hoseok would get or even be a glitch. Fate wouldn’t be that mean…

“Look, if it helps you feel any better, Yoongs and I are total opposites yeah? We still get along, fate made it that way. Your soulmate, doesn’t matter if it’s a boy or a girl, I know they’ll be the one for you. I can feel it Hobi. You’re so loveable, so happy, like the sun on Earth, if they don’t love you there is seriously something wrong with them.”

“Thanks Chim, you’re the best,” Hoseok sighed and hugged the shorter one. Jimin’s words comforted him a bit, but the worry was still there. He just wanted those six days to pass quickly so he could meet you, whoever you were.

The day was finally here. The fact that you were going to meet your soulmate hadn’t sunk in at all. How did the week go so fast? How did the years go so quick? How and where the hell were you going to see them…

You sat up in bed and looked over at your clock. 4:41 AM. Damn, it was way too early to be awake right now, but you weren’t able to go back to sleep. Looking up at the red numbers above your bed sent you into more of a panic and nervous wreck than you already were.

One hour and seventeen minutes.

That’s when you’ll be meeting them. Your soulmate.

Hoseok was probably more of a mess than you (but you didn’t know that). He resulted to pacing again. His eyes hurt but that’s only because he stayed awake most of the night, the fact he was going to meet the one person he was fated to had made butterflies grow in his stomach. Hoseok glanced up at the red numbers.

The countdown was on and it made his stomach churn, but a smile appeared on his face. The day he was waiting for since he was twelve, was finally here and nothing could take that away from him. Nothing was able to make this day a total disaster for him because he was going to meet you. Finally, after all these years, he’s going to meet the one person who will keep him happy, stand by his side no matter what. He was going to meet someone who was going to love him unconditionally.

Coffee. That’s what you really needed. Your eyes were threatening to close and you were too lazy to make yourself some warm breakfast this early in the morning. You washed up, grabbed your purse and your phone, putting on a jacket because it was a little chilly, and you headed out to the nearest coffee shop.

You took your time, taking a small stroll through the park as the sun came up calmed you down just that little bit. You smiled, everything looked so beautiful as the pinkish orange sunlight hit the grass, the flowers, the trees, illuminating everything so it had a tinge. You smiled. Even though the cold wind was nipping at your nose and your ears, the rays of the sun and the thought of meeting the one kept you warm.

You decided to head to the coffee shop that you usually attend before work or when you’re too lazy to make breakfast, much like today.

You ordered yourself a hot chocolate because of the cold weather. When it was ready, you took the cup into your hand, instant warmth flooding throughout your body. A notification from your phone made you turn it on as you started heading towards the door to leave.

Hoseok walked into the small coffee shop, it looked like it was the only thing open that early in the morning, it looked comfy, somewhere he could clear his thoughts before he met his soulmate. What Hoseok didn’t expect was to have spewing hot chocolate spilt on his jacket and shirt the second he walked in.

“O-Oh my gosh! I-I’m so sor-” your words caught up in your throat when you looked up to see who you had accidentally bumped into. Shock overtakes both your body and Hoseok’s.

“I-It’s you…” Hoseok whispered. His eyes were wide, he had never seen anyone as beautiful as you before in his life. The overwhelming feeling of finally seeing you, after waiting all these years made him feel all giddy inside.

You and Hoseok both felt something pressing against your wrists lightly, causing you to look down and observe what was going on. His name was being carved onto your delicate skin in black writing, almost like calligraphy. The date, the time, and his name were all there.

“Jung Hoseok,” you whispered. Hoseok’s insides felt warm the moment his name left your lips. He couldn’t help but smile at it. Smile at you.

“You-” your eyes drifted up to take a better look at his face, he was beautiful, handsome, absolutely perfect. “Just- wow. Th-This feels, unreal…”

“C-Can I, can I touch you?” Hoseok asks gently, the burning of the hot chocolate having left his mind at this point All he could see was you. All he wanted to hold, to cuddle, to kiss, to love, was you.


Not even a second passed before Hoseok’s hands were cupping your cheek, but they were cold which made you flinch just a little. “Cold,” you pouted.

That pout made Hoseok grin wider if possible. He was going to cherish you until he died, he wouldn’t let you go, he’d love you. He was going to give you his all, he promised himself that.

a/n: ahh hapPY HOSEOK DAY!! this sunshine boy deserves everything istg omg. i hope he’s having an amazing day and i hope he enjoys the concert that is on tonight!

A new start, part 3

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Word Count: 1950

Warnings: Language

 Part 1, Part 2

Walking through the door of the rental, you hung your bag up on the the hook on the wall and kicked off your sandals.  Chris walked tentatively behind you looking around the living room.

“Nice place. Yours?” He mirrored your movements and slipped out of his sneakers leaving them by the door.

“Nah, just a rental while we are filming here.  I wanted something by the water.  No ocean in Tennessee.  So I try to soak it up while I can.”  He nodded pulling off his jacket and setting it across the back of one of the sofa chairs. You walked into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator.  “Beer?”

“Definitely, thanks. So you live in Tennessee?  I’ve been to Nashville a time or two.  Pretty country.”  Handing him the beer you opened your own taking a long swig.

“Yup, born and raised. I love it there.  I have a house there close to my parents and brother.  I’m within walking distance of my parents’ farm and my brother’s house.  Or golf cart distance.”  You grinned plopping down on the couch with your beer and phone in hand.  “So pizza?”  Chris smiled back at you taking a seat on the couch next to you.  Making sure he was not too close but not on the other side of the room.

“Oh yeah I’m starving!”

Not long after the pizza was delivered, the pair of you ate and chatted.  There had been discussion about turning on the television but that idea was forgotten after a while.  You were having a good time just talking.  “Oh come on, you don’t like the Patriots?  What is wrong with you?  They are a great team.”  You rolled your eyes at him as you finished your bottle of beer.

“I’m from Tennessee. If I didn’t like the Titans, my dad would probably disown me.  He has been a fan of that team since they were in Houston.  Sorry gotta go with the family.”  Chris gave you a look like it was painful to be in your presence.  It did not last long he broke out into a fit of laughter after you smirked at him.

“Fine, fine we won’t talk about football.  Or sports actually because you are probably going to tell me something awful about another baseball team.”  The pizza box sat in between you and him with you turned facing him with crossed legs. You took another piece relaxing back against the arm of the couch.  A content smile appearing.  “Are you feeling any better?  I didn’t like seeing you upset earlier.  It was really bugging me.”  Looking over to him as you set the half-eaten piece down in the box, you wiped your hands and face on a napkin.

“A little bit, yeah. Thank you.  It’s been… it’s been a really hard time.  It wasn’t something I saw coming.  But I guess not many people see this kind of thing.  Not me at least.  Maybe I was ignoring the signs, I don’t know.”  You gave a halfhearted smile.  Chris closed the box moving it to the coffee table.

“I don’t know everything that went on.  It’s not my business.  But I do know you got hurt and he is a complete moron for whatever went on.  If you ever need someone to talk to, I am here. I know we haven’t known each other that long but I consider you a friend now.  Whether you like it or not.”  He laughed finishing off the beer.  You laughed too moving to squeeze his hand a moment, in thanks.

“You are a good guy, Chris.  I guess the only person I told was my dad.  Everyone else just heard the rumors.  I didn’t want to talk about it.  It hurts.  A lot.” The rest of the story just spilled from you.  The man sitting in front of you made it easy. There was no judging or pity, just someone listening while you poured your heart out.  You got through the whole thing and realized you did not cry this time.  Maybe it was getting easier with each day.

“Like I said, he is a moron and I was right, he is a douche. [Y/N], thanks for trusting me with that.”  Chris smiled then began to clean up the mess you both had made with dinner.

“Chris, sit down I was get it.”  You laughed as you fought over the pizza box.  He won the struggle bringing it into the kitchen to toss in the garbage. Following not far behind with the couple of beer bottles, you put them in the recycle bin.

“I probably need to head out.  We have early call in the morning.”  You let a long breath go nodding to him.

“Yes we do.  I should grab a shower and get some sleep.  I will see you in the morning bright and early.” He left giving you the chance to pick up whatever was left over, shower and climb into bed not too long after. Sending a good night text to your parents, you fell asleep hoping for better dreams.

The next morning felt easier.  It was beautiful outside and you had a large Yeti of coffee in hand. Half of it was gone by the time you walked into your trailer.  The day’s script sat on the counter.  Your hair and makeup specialist took little time to get started and prep you for the morning scenes.  Which, as you flipped through the pages, happened to be the early life and would be Tommy and Connie’s first kiss.  You shrugged; it was just a kiss between the characters.  Not as though it was a real kiss.  However, your heart did a little flip when you thought about it.  No, you were fine.  You would get through the scene and be fine.  There were going to be many other times during the filming you would have to kiss him.  It would be just like any other movie.  At least that is what you convinced yourself.

Filming for the morning went smoothly as it did the day before.  Chris was professional, only laughing and flubbing one of the lines a couple times.  By the time the kiss scene came you had been relaxed enough to not worry about it.  It was supposed to be an awkward first kiss for two teenagers in the nineteen-thirties. The kiss turned into something definitely not awkward.  Feeling Chris’ lips on yours, warm and softer than you had imagined, it was different.  A spark of something there.  You were growing distracted until that moment the director called out, “Cut!”  He wanted to redo the scene.  It didn’t feel innocent enough for what they were going for. Chris looked off.  Like something was wrong.  But there wasn’t time to ask just now.  It took another three takes to get down the desired effect.  By that time you were not sure what was going on in your mind and certainly not Chris’.  He looked like he ate something rotten.  Excusing himself quickly, he ran back to his trailer.  Lunch was called, sending you back to yours.  

You did not want to admit that you liked the kiss, very much.  It was too soon.  Way too soon. It was just now two weeks since the break up and you were not ready for anything more.  Not kissing, or dating, hell not even ‘liking’ someone.  No, you were going to push it out of your mind, just finish the film and figure out life afterwards.  Lunch came and went.  The rest of the afternoon Chris seemed back to him normal self.  You tried to put it out of your mind, to focus on work.

The following two months continued like that.  You focused on working and having some fun when you could.  Chris had become a close friend and the two of you talked or texted often throughout the days whether you were working or not.  A few times a week you would hang out, outside of filming. Getting to know each other like normal people.  Not just the personas of who the world thought you were.  One long weekend, while filming was on break, you went home to Tennessee while he returned to Boston.  You got the chance to spend time with your parents and go horseback riding with your brother.  Your family noticed how you would be checking your phone and laughing at messages that would come through.  None of them said a word.  They liked seeing the happy smiles and hearing your laugh again.  Whatever or whoever was causing it, they approved of.

That Sunday night after the family dinner, you sat down on the couch next to your father as he flipped through to find the Titans game.  “Who are they playing this week, dad?”  Just as you asked, he found the channel and you saw the opposing team, the Patriots.  You burst into giggles, searching your pockets for your phone.

“It’s on the kitchen counter next to the sink.  That boy better not be a Patriot’s fan.”  You froze looking over at him.  How did he know?  Hell, how did he even know you were talking to a ‘boy’?  

“Daddy, I don’t know what you are…”  He put a hand up to stop you.

“[Y/F/N] [Y/M/N], don’t even try it.  You have been laughing and grinning at that damn phone all weekend.  You like him, or her.  Don’t care either way.  At least admit it to yourself if you aren’t going to admit it to me.”  Sitting quietly there for a second, looking down at your clasped hands.  He was right, which happened often. You put your head down in your hands. The last couple of months getting to know him and the good person he was, had been wonderful. You had gained a new friend who helped you through the awful ending of your last relationship.

“Shit.  Daddy, I do like him.  What am I supposed to do?  I don’t know if I am ready to like someone.”

“Well for one, don’t cuss around your mama; you know she gets pissed at me for that.  Second, it’s too late.  You already like him.  There is nothing to do about that now.  Trying to bury it down deep won’t make it better either.  You will have to figure out if you are ready for something.  But you will never find out unless you take a step towards it.  Baby girl, you need a new start.  Who knows if this is it.  If it isn’t then fine.  If it is, then you could be meeting the love of your life.  Give yourself that chance.  You never know, this boy could think you smell like Bigfoot and you wouldn’t have to worry about any of it, anyway.  Now hush so I can watch the kick off.”  He winked at you as he patted your leg.  You rolled your eyes at him, hopping off the couch to find your phone.

Finding it just where he had said, you found there were seven new messages from Chris.  Obviously, he was going to be watching the game and was gladly giving you shit over the odds of the winner.  The rest of the night, you messaged back and forth, your heart beating hard in your chest every time one of his messages came through.  You felt like a teenager with a first crush.

“Fuck, I have it bad.” Resting your head on your knees, you tried to decide if you were going to say anything to Chris when you got back to North Carolina. Could you risk losing a friend if he did not feel the same? Or could you risk losing your heart if he did…

Part 4

@bolontiku @feelmyroarrrr  @thegirlwithnodragontattoo

anonymous asked:

Hiii! I'm looking for some bottom Steve fics, I know you have a page for it but I was wondering if you'd found any new ones?

yes :D

Weak Spot by Chiyume

This is their third sparring session this week, and Steve is simply beyond happy that Bucky’s actually in here training with him for real. There’s just been too much guilt keeping Bucky from going all out, especially towards Steve, but Steve knows that Bucky’s still too worried about accidentally doing actual damage to spar with anyone else. Which is why they’re now working through the last hour of their afternoon close combat session in the Avenger’s gym together, behind locked doors.
Standing there, meeting Bucky’s confident leer with a smile of his own, Steve can’t help but feel like coming home in a way.

Always You by things_havechanged

Steve delivers groceries to Bucky’s house. Bucky finds Steve attractive. Bucky makes sure Steve keeps delivering to his house.

Betrothed Before Birth by cleo4u2, xantissa

To say Steve was anxious on his wedding night didn’t quite paint the right picture. It didn’t explain the overwhelming pressure to be a dutiful son, a dutiful Prince. The overwhelming responsibility to be a good match, to bring prosperity and safety to his lands. They’d promised him to Prince James if he was an Omega, as the Princeling was an Alpha. There was another deal with another family if he was an Alpha, but… here they were. This union, this chance of providing military power to their small country was a unique chance, and Steve wasn’t going to fuck it up.

No Butts About It by Kellyscams

That time Bucky spanked the hell out of Steve

That Same Slow Dance by hollybennett123

“It don’t hurt, Buck,” Steve says quietly, like it’s nineteen-thirty-six and this is the first time. He takes Bucky’s right hand from his hip and slides the first two fingers over his tongue, getting them wet. Bucky damn near goes cross-eyed.

“The relative ease with which a young Communist could be converted into a Nazi or vice versa was generally known in Germany, best of all to the propagandists of the two parties. Many a university teacher in this country during the nineteen thirties has seen english and american students returned from the continent uncertain as to whether they were communists or Nazis, and certain only that they hated Western liberal civilization.

It is true, of course, that in Germany before 1933 and in Italy before 1922, Communists and Nazis or fascists clash more frequently with each other than with other parties. They competed for the support of the same type of mind and reserved for each other the hatred of the heretics. But their practice showed how closely they are related. To both, the real enemy, the man with whom they had nothing in common and whom they could not hope to convince, is the liberal

~Fredrick Hayek, ‘The Road to Serfdom‘, page 30

Heart Trouble (100 follower fic pt 1)


A/N: So… first things first,

THANK YOU VERY MUCH FOR 100 FOLLOWERS!!!  (111 if you wanna nitpick)

I was expecting it to happen over the weekend, but so soon?

You guys are the best… for sharing and liking my writing that is like… crap and stuff. T^T I have much to work on.

And I have 0 confidence so… pssshhh!

But, Thanks for your support… now… details, details you that might make you not like this…

Wingman/Cousin Andrew? That really is his only purpose… I swear. He shows up in like… 1 or 2 scenes tops… the other shortly. I promise if you don’t like him… but he is relevant for conversation purposes.

The rest is a secret!

This was so rushed(plot-wise) it is horrible!


~Shintori Khazumi


Heart Trouble:


The heart is a muscular organ in humans and other animals, which pumps blood through the blood vessels of the circulatory system.  Blood provides the body with oxygen and nutrients, as well as assists in the removal of metabolic wastes.  In humans, the heart is located between the lungs, in the middle compartment of the chest.

As one of the vital organs, the heart was long identified as the center of the entire body, the seat of life, or emotion, or reason, will, intellect, purpose or the mind. The heart is an emblematic symbol in many religions, signifying “truth, conscience or moral courage in many religions – the temple or throne of God in Islamic and Judeo-Christian thought; the divine centre, or atman, and the third eye of transcendent wisdom in Hinduism; the diamond of purity and essence of the Buddha; the Taoist centre of understanding.

Humans have known about the heart since ancient times, although its precise function and anatomy were not clearly understood. From the primarily religious views of earlier societies towards the heart, ancient Greeks are considered to have been the primary seat of scientific understanding of the heart in the ancient world.

Aristotle, Plato, Hippocrates , Erasistratos.

The names of men so great, men who took part in discovering the workings of this instrument in the first centuries, paving the way for modern research and unearthing of treasured facts and wisdom that assisted in unraveling this marvelously complicated organ.

A vital part of life in a small form the size of your fist.

Something, that with its conditions and performance, could mean the difference between life and death.

“And we are yet to completely understand its essence, in the physical, emotional and mental aspect, dare I say spiritual?”

Diana shut her diary/logbook dedicated to her thoughts on heart study.

Reviewing her major points before a big operation did wonders to calm the shaking nerves in her very core as she was about to handle a life with care, her actions determining the fate of the life she held in her hands- quite literally.

Now, she remained in wait in the doctor’s lounge, hands clasped tightly together as she rocked herself on the balls of her feet whilst seated, trying to take away the usual jitters.

Despite being seen as one of the most stoic, calm and collected prodigious doctors, it did not change the fact that even she would feel the pressure of saving lives.

“Doctor Cavendish.” The surgeon specializing in cardiology, turned to her assisting nurses, clipboard of her next patient in hand. “Your charge is here.”

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

"Keep your eyes on the road or so help me..."

Bucky x Reader


Y/N was wary of motorcycles, she would always stand back with a default smile on her face, one feigning interest, when Bucky and Steve were drooling over a bike. Though to be honest she wasn’t a fan of cars either. When Y/N had been younger she’d been in a car crash, no one had died but she’d broken her leg and spent four days in hospital for a concussion. Since then she’d never been a fan of the open road and motorbikes had no form of protection about them what so ever.
Steve wasn’t here this time, Bucky was stalking around a bike on his own, appreciating it from every angle until he looked up at her with a smile, ‘We should go for a ride.’ It wasn’t his bike to take for a ride, he had told one of the neighbourhood kids that he would check it over for them and maybe give it a few tweaks. The brunette pulled his hair back into a classic manbun and then straddled the bike in one graceful move, then he pat the seat behind him, ‘Just a short one, promise.’

She’d never told him she didn’t like bikes or cars, she’d never told him about crashing or even hinted to him that every time she got on a bike behind him that she was holding on tight out of fear rather than the speeds he and Steve would ride at. She was pretty sure that she just found his hobby boring and put up with it because she liked him that much. Quietly she walked to him and slung her leg over the seat, sliding up against him and winding her arms around his broad middle with little complaint. He felt warm against her front, the leather jacket holding both his heat and the heat of the sun. Excitedly he revved the engine, the machine coming to life with a roar and causing a shiver to run up her spine, he always mistook it for the vibration of the engine – then they were off.
Y/N lived on the edge of the city, plenty of dirt roads and long, straight highways were available for the guys to race along. This bike was made for the road though and Bucky found a long stretch to ride along. He seemed happiest when he was free like this, just the wind against him and nothing in his way, no HYDRA, no bad memories and nothing holding him back.

'You okay back there?’ His voice was hard to hear over the engine and wind but Y/N’s arms tightened around his waist and she nodded rapidly against his back, there was a little movement and she peeped up to catch his eye, 'You look pale, babydoll…’

'Keep your eyes on the road or so help me…!’ Her voice was slightly high pitched with panic and she went back to hiding her face in his back, almost attempting to crush his middle as she held on and her fear spiked.

Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed together and he opened his mouth to ask what was wrong – only there was a loud pop and the front wheel began to swerve uncontrollably. The ex assassin didn’t stop to think, didn’t hesitate for a single moment once he realised they were coming off the bike, he twisted awkwardly, bringing his right knee up on to the seat and grabbed Y/N. Bucky’s priority was her safety, in a matter of seconds he had her arms crossed over her chest, pulling her against his chest and using his arms to wrap part of his jacket around her along with his arms. His legs trapped hers, doing everything he could to protect her from the inevitable.
A harsh grunt escaped the brunette’s mouth when he crashed onto the asphalt, landing first on his left arm and hip before twisting onto his back, right hand pressing her head to his chest as they slid along the road until slowly coming to a stop.

Bucky’s muscles went lax and he let out a quiet groan as he lay there on the road, 'Y-you…nng f…uck…! Ugh…are you hurt?’ His hip was throbbing and his back burning but he just needed to know she was alright before checking himself, 'Y/N…babydoll?’ Bucky forced himself up onto his right elbow and looked down at the woman shaking against his chest, he could hear her gasping little sobs and he let out a pained sigh, 'Y/N!’ He felt bad for snapping but it got her to look up at him, her face was red and there were tears down her face but she seemed to be in one piece. 'Are you hurt?’

She sat up, untangling herself from him and checking herself – nothing. Not even a graze, not a single thread of her clothing was damaged. Bucky had taken all of the damage and as she looked down at him she could see he was hurting. His jacket sleeve was in tatters, the metal beneath scuffed but that usually buffed right out, she could tell the back of his jacket was torn and ripped, his dark jeans sported new holes and bloody patches and his hair was a mess around his head where it had escaped his band. 'I-I…I-m…I’m f-f-f…’ Y/N couldn’t speak and Bucky struggled up to hold her against him.


Bucky had called in a favour and within the hour he had bundled Y/N into the car and helped the other man get the bike onto the back. He couldn’t seem to get his girl to relax, taking her keys from her trembling hand and opening her door he got her to sit on the sofa. He made her tea, wincing with every movement but dealing with it until he could get her to sip at the sweet beverage, ’…I’m sorry.’

She shook her head slightly, 'I-it’s not your fault…even if you had been looking a-at the road.’ The fright was wearing off a little and she finally had enough senses to realise he had hurt himself, 'Go take a shower and I’ll p-patch you up…’ He kissed her cheek and headed up the stairs to the shower obediently, Y/N finished her drink and followed him up a few minutes later. There was a first aid kit under her bed, he always seemed to be getting hurt one way or another and ever since he and Steve turned up battered at her front door after a mission, she kept one handy. By the time she had everything laid out that she needed Bucky had come out in a pair of boxerbriefs, she kept spare clothes for him in the bottom drawer, 'Come sit down.’ Steam flooded out of the bathroom after him, the smell of her favourite bodywash reminding her to hide it when he was around – although blueberry muffin was a good smell on him to be fair. He was tying his hair again as he walked stiffly to the bed and sat.

Already the graze on his calf was bleeding and bruising, 'Oh, Bucky…’ She sat cross legged on the floor and used an antiseptic wipe to clean up the streaks of read, he passed her a large white patch and hissed when she pressed it to the wound before wrapping bandage around it. His knee was bruised but not swollen so she moved up to his left hip, the band of his underwear was keeping a flannel in place so that he didn’t bleed all over them, 'It’ll be easier if you lay back and think unsexy thoughts.’

He gave a deep chuckle and gingerly laid back, glad he’d placed a towel over the sheets to save bleeding on them, 'You’re about to pull my pants down, whilst sitting between my legs and you want me to “not” get excited?’

'I’m already dealing with one dick – I don’t need another to join in.’ Though he could see her smirking a little he could tell she was upset with him and he didn’t blame her. He felt her fold down the elastic of his boxer briefs, enough to expose the gash on his hip where he’d hit the road, it would bruise badly but he was pretty certain there was no lasting damage, it was worth it knowing she wasn’t injured. Y/N cleaned it, sprayed an anaesthetic on it to numb the area and the taped another white pad to his body, he felt her kiss his hip before putting his pants back properly – his dick behaved the entire time.

She helped him sit up with a pull to his arms and got onto the bed behind him, 'I’m sorry I made you go with me, I know you think bikes are boring but I got a little giddy.’

'I…’ it was confession time and Y/N concentrated on the road burn littering her boyfriend’s back before getting the courage to tell him, 'It’s not boring. I like that you like cars and things, I like when you and Steve act like sugar high five year olds because something goes “brum brum” and is fast.’ His shoulders shook with a chuckle when she made the engine noise, 'I even liked when you dragged me to that vintage car show and you got me that cute dress – which reminds me, that nineteen thirties theme night is next week – but what I’m trying not to babble about is that I don’t think it’s boring. It’s safer than you going on missions for weeks at a time. I’m just…scared of bikes and things…’ with her voice trailing off at the end Y/N tried to fill the silence with treating his back.

Bucky’s body twisted around, his leg resting on the bed as he was half turned to her, his expression was concerned, his eyes conveying that a thousand thoughts were shooting around his mind and he took her hand into both of his. 'You’re scared of them?’ She had never told him that before, all those times he thought she was stood back out of disinterest or when she tried to talk herself out of rides, all the times he wasn’t paying enough attention to pick up her discomfort and mistook it for something else. 'You never said… I would have… I don’t know what I would have done.’ He felt awful, guilt gnawing at his insides as he played back every time he’d made her go with him, he would have understood. He knew better than most what it was like to do things you didn’t want to. Of course murder and assassination weren’t overly similar to not want to go on a joy ride but it was the principle of having a choice. If he had know he wouldn’t have pleaded and cajoled her into it. 'Can I ask why you’re scared of them?’

In all honesty she couldn’t look at him when he wore such a pained expression, she stared instead at his chest, watching him breathe rather than watching his blue eyes worry, 'Car crash.’ Those two words had him squeezing her hand in his, the muscles of his stomach tensed then released, it was like she’d stabbed him and he had simply taken it and moved on. 'I had a broken bone and a concussion, no one got badly hurt and we were only going at like…forty or fifty miles an hour. It’s stupid but since then I don’t like cars and bikes are literally death on wheels.’

'It’s not stupid, Y/N.’ Bucky brought his face to hers and gave a gentle nudge on her head with his chin, making her smile and look up at him hesitantly, there was still guilt but also so much kindness, 'What’s stupid is me not noticing that you were holding on so tight all the time out of fear. I spent a long time making people afraid and I’m not gonna do that anymore. So you tell me, if you’re scared of santa clause then I’ll find his house and tell him to keep flying when he gets here. I don’t care how small you think it is – if you don’t like it then I hate it and I’m gonna sort it out.’ She was smiling a little brighter now, 'You don’t like spiders, next time we find one I’ll snipe it from across the road.’

Y/N laughed this time, a happy sound that made him smile too, 'So you’re going to go to the Avenger’s tower, grab your gun, come back, walk two miles out and then shoot a spider at range?’ He gave a half shrug and then nodded, he’d do it if that’s what it took. 'You’ll leave a mark in the wall, Buck, just put it in a glass and throw it out.’ She pressed her lips to his for a short kiss, grinning at him when he brushed their noses together. 'Thank you. Though I like santa so don’t go to his house…he’s just trying to make a living, Bucky.’

'I don’t trust a guy who can legally climb down my girl’s chimney and leave presents.’ A final kiss and he turned around once more so she could finish patching him up, 'No more bikes unless it has pedals and a little wicker basket on the front. The only burn I want when I’m with you is carpet burn, babydoll.’

'What if I told you your dick is scary?’ Y/N joked and rubbed healing cream onto his back, 'Would you have stern words with it too?’

Bucky threw his head back and laughed, turning to catch her around the waist and drag her onto his lap, 'I would have words and then work very hard to reintroduce the two of you to each other very gently.’ She hit his chest bashfully and wiped some of the cream on her fingers over his nose.

thegaypumpingthroughyourveins  asked:





You know what I really don’t want?

I don’t want Graves to hold out. I don’t want his shields to be stronger than Grindelwald was anticipating, stronger than they had any right to be - stronger than any learned legilimens could pierce. I don’t want to think of a younger Graves flicking his eyes up to a younger Queenie when he meets her for the first time, or the slight furrowing of Queenie’s brow when she realises that he’s not running his gaze down her chest and his thoughts aren’t quickened by that hint of what if that every man has when she walks past.

The way his breath catches when his neighbour leans across him to shake Queenie’s hand, the way Graves’ eyes linger for a fraction of a second on the undone top buttons of the man’s shirt. The way Queenie’s face clears with understanding, the confused frown and sudden wide eyed panic as Graves figures out that she knows. The way they drift together after that, loitering around the edges of various social functions. Graves’ scowls drive off the more persistent of Queenie’s admirers and Queenie’s gentle smiles halt the rumours that had begun to circle about Graves.

It takes a while for Graves to twig about the legilimency, and he doesn’t need to be a mind reader to see the faint hint of apprehension on Queenie’s face when she notices. “Biscuit?” he asks innocently, passing her the plate - and is struck by the sudden memory of the way Nadir had looked, shirt thrown to floor and fingers fumbling with the buttons of his trousers. So strange how these things happen, how memories can leap out of the blue like that. So strange.

Queenie pauses, one hand hovering over the biscuit, but only for a second. She takes it in and brushes past him in a smooth movement, murmuring just low enough for him to hear: “Daley from records wants to bend you over his desk and make you scream.”

Graves chokes on his coffee and stares after her, wide eyed and shocked. She adds a jaunty swing to her hips and waves her biscuit at him in thanks, and that’s round one to Queenie.

He learns to stop counting the rounds. Even when he’s managed to get his occlumency to a stage that it takes her a while to get around it, she somehow manages to beat him. It’s easier on his pride not to keep a running tally of exactly how much she outclasses him. But still, it’s good practice and Queenie is not only a natural legilimens she’s a damn sneaky one, and Grindelwald just can’t compare.

The dark lord’s attacks slide off his shields like shadows from a candle flame and Graves bares his teeth in a grin. Round one to Graves.

But Graves… Graves. Queenie never meant to hurt you, Graves. She tested your shields in every way she had, beaming with pride when you strengthened them and smoothed over the weaknesses, but she never meant to hurt you. Grindelwald… does.

Round two digs rotting tendrils into the base of Graves’ shields and detonates them. Round two flings memories like hailstones on a howling wind and Grindelwald laughs as he picks through the broken pieces for the knowledge he needs.

Round two leaves Graves to slump glassy-eyed and pained against the wall as jagged snatches of thought scream into the void of his empty skull.

“How very obliging of you, director,” Grindelwald purrs as he leaves the room. “I’ll be sure to give Miss Goldstein your regards.”

Graves doesn’t hear him. His life hovers around him in fragmented shards; he’s six years old, thirty four, nineteen. His mother is scolding him - praising him - holding him close as he cries - he parries a curse - Queenie laughs - the sun is shining on a moonlit room at he runs on his father’s shoulders while his aurors scream his name.

He slots them together as well as he can, but… it isn’t well. He knows this. He’s running blind, trying to group them by people’s ages or guessing which groups of memories go where. He discards a lot of it. Hours spent training, the feel of dredging the last scraps of power from his overtaxed reserves, the ache and burn in his muscles - how can he tell which training session goes where? He presses them into one and pushes them aside, and they melt and fade. He forgets how to recognise when he’s nearing his limit and one day that could cause trouble, but there are more important things to detangle.

He runs gentle fingers over the cracks in his mind and asks himself if he is a man called Graves who goes by Percival or a man called Percival who goes by Graves. He can’t tell. A lady with curly hair smiles at him and he draws the word sister? in the air over her head, but there’s nothing of her as a child so he scrubs it out. He tries lover and that sits ill, so he waves the words away and turns to something else.

There is a memory where he runs away, and he cradles it in his hands for a long time before closing them and snuffing it out. He does not want to be a man who runs away.

It’s only when he looks up that he sees the chain of other memories falling after it, but the moment is gone - when he find the scene where he drags himself back, it means nothing to him.

He reaches next for a man, one with red-gold hair and freckles, one that frowns at him in concern and confusion.

“Mr Graves?” the memory asks. Graves scrawls work contact? in the air above it and pushes it to one side until he has more evidence for where the man fits.

“Mr Graves, can you hear me?” the same memory asks, and Graves adds a note - was there when I was injured; auror maybe? - and picks up a picture of the man he thinks might be his grandfather.

But the man with freckles, the man Graves has started calling English in his mind, he doesn’t go away. It’s as though once Graves has found the first memory of him he’s opened a dam; they’re everywhere. English drinks tea. English leans over him to check his temperature. English turns to someone else and says I can try something else - I think the first potion helped, but Swooping Evil venom is more meant to remove bad memories than fix broken ones. English scribbles notes and chews his lip in concentration. English naps with his head pillowed on his arms. English snuffles in his sleep.

Work contact? gets scrubbed out replaced with friend replaced with family? replaced with partner replaced with husband? because Graves can’t work out how English fits in the timeline. The memories are too similar, and English seems to be the same age, Graves can’t have known him long - but why would Graves have so many memories coming so thick and so fast unless he was important? It doesn’t make sense.

The curly-haired girl - Queenie, Graves found her name and she’s called Queenie and she’s his friend - appears in one of English’s memories. She hands him a steaming mug and a paper bag from some local bakery, and when she leans over she rests her hand on his shoulder and smiles at him. Graves leaps forwards, scribbling notes because Queenie is friend best friend and if Queenie knows English maybe some of her memories will tell him the truth. He flicks through them, searching for any glimpse of English because come on Queenie, give him this, tell him who English is, is he partner doctor love of his life –

Queenie looks up, surprised, her hands flying to her mouth. “Graves?” she asks in a quavering voice, and Graves flings the memory center stage with an expansive gesture. English looks up, dreamy eyes intent (and Graves has spent so long studying those dreamy eyes and trying to find an answer but he’s never seen them sharpen like this.)

“He’s asking who you are,” Queenie says, answering English’ unasked question, and Graves tags this memory with first meeting? in shaky, excited script.

“Oh,” English says. He hesitates, then smiles, and Graves’ breath catches because it’s like the sun. Boyfriend, he labels English hopefully, because if this was the first time he met him then he can see so easily how he’d fallen in love. Queenie hiccoughs a laugh, eyes wide and stunned, and Graves wonders what he’d said in the memory. He can never hear his own voice.

“My name is Newt,” English says. “Nice to meet you, Mr Graves.”

He ducks his head and averts his gaze, and Graves can’t see himself in the memory and he doesn’t fully know who he is, but he thinks he’s the sort of man that would have stepped forward and dropped a kiss to English’s - to Newt’s - knuckles.

In the memory, Newt blushes scarlet, and Graves slots him into his mind with a satisfied smugness. Boyfriend, he captions the bundle of memories, and starts trawling through the remaining fragments to see if he can find any of them dating.

“Mr Graves?” one of the memories says behind him, but Graves pushes it aside.

“He’s gone, honey,” memory-Queenie answers, and Graves flaps an annoyed hand until the memory fades out entirely. He needs to find the memories of Newt. Needs to know what their first date was, what Newt likes, what Newt looks like when Graves takes him home and lays him back on a bed, what sounds Newt makes when Graves undoes him -

The fragments he needs elude him, but he keeps searching. He has a boyfriend, and a best friend, and a family, and he’ll build himself back into a person piece by piece until he’s ready to see them again.

Drinking Buddies: Nurse Offstill/Mr. Krupp friendship fic

Made to compliment @manticoremonster‘s drawing right here, in which Nurse Offstill and Mr. Krupp have a beer together when they (FINALLY) become friends. 

Also whoops I’m doing the “Mr. Krupp and CU exchange post-it notes” thing now too. I’m a crowd follower. 

Why had he agreed to come? The pub was noisy and smelly and filled with the worst kind of people…revelers. Fun-lovers. People who wanted and needed nothing more than a tall pint of beer and a good laugh with some pals to be happy. It didn’t surprise him that this was a favourite haunt of Nurse Offstill and her four lively older brothers. What had surprised him was her inviting him to join them. What absolutely shocked him was that he accepted.

It was Edith who talked him into it. “Go hang out with Denise and her brothers! You’ll like it! You’ll have fun!” She was so good-hearted; she wanted him to have friends so badly that she didn’t even ask to come along. She was at home, probably watching her favourite cooking competition shows on TV, while he was here, trying for once in his life to be social and…normal.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

hey, is it too late to request a one shot? if you could do one where the prophet makes up a story about harry having a secret girlfriend and draco getting jealous?

It’s not too late at all!!! My ask box is ALWAYS open :D I would have finished this sooner, but I had work (le sigh). Hope you like it! (I’m sorry I didn’t know whether to post in full or link out… I’m not sure if it shortens asks with a “keep reading” link?)

Harry ran his hands through his hair and pulled, staring in incredulous horror at the mounting pile of post.

“Why do they keep sending it here?” he yelled at Agnus, his secretary. “Surely there’s some law against this much personal post arriving at work?”

“Now when it’s you, honey,” Agnus called back cheerfully. “Just forward it to your home if it bothers you.”

“But then I’ll just have to deal with it there,” Harry muttered, picking up the first letter and opening it at arms length.

“Why?!” the letter screamed.

Harry dropped it in alarm and took a step backward.

“Why her and not me? Why her and not me? Why her and not me?” the letter howled over and over until Harry pointed his wand and sent it up in flames.

He pointed the wand at the rest of the pile. With a sigh, he lowered it again. There could be real post in there.

Though it wasn’t likely. Ever since the Prophet had published that stupid article about him and some supposed secret girlfriend, the letters had come pouring in.

A noise by the door made him look up.

“Malfoy,” he said in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

Malfoy leaned casually on Agnus’ desk, ignoring her fierce glare. “Head Auror Potter,” he said loftily, “you know perfectly well that that information is-” he paused and lowered his voice dramatically. “Unspeakable.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he said, turning back to the post.

He frowned as he caught sight of a large package sitting near the bottom. It looked different to the others.

Harry flicked his wand slowly, and the package unwrapped.

There was a small warning sound, like a puff of smoke, and then confetti exploded all over the room and Harry.

Harry blinked slowly. In the centre of the package was a single, white rose.

Harry reached out and tapped it carefully with his finger. It tinkled.

“Crystal,” Malfoy drawled from behind him. “Expensive. Is there a note?”

Harry leaned forward cautiously and plucked a note from the box.

Congratulations on getting a girlfriend!!

Harry stared at the note.

“Does it…” he said slowly. “Does it sound patronising to you?”

Malfoy leaned over Harry’s shoulder and shrugged. “I see only sincerity, Potter,” he said with a  smirk. “This lovely admirer obviously knows all about the dastardly awkwardness of your youth, and has chosen to offer their heartfelt congratulations. You should send them a thank you card.”

“There’s no return address,” Harry said, picking up the package and inspecting it.

“Modest too. What a lady.”

“Or man,” Harry muttered, then shook his head as he realised he was agreeing with Malfoy. “Don’t you have work to do?”

“Always,” Malfoy said with a grin, and strode off, leaving Harry to pluck pieces of confetti from his hair.

Harry stared at the walls of his office and wondered if anyone would notice if he quietly sobbed in the corner for a while.

Every flat surface in the room was covered in gifts.

Crystal roses glinted softly in the sunlight, and that was only the beginning. There were boxes and boxes of custom made Belgian chocolate, printed with words of encouragement: Perseverance is half the battle! Never stop trying! You’re an inspiration!

He had tried to throw them away, but Agnus wouldn’t let him.

Eighteen vases of flowers, decorated with jewels and spelled to last for weeks.

Twenty three greeting cards.

And the piece de resistance – the singing doxy. As soon as Harry had unwrapped it, it had fluttered up to the ceiling and began to sing in a high-pitched wail.

His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad…

It had become suspiciously adept at hiding amongst his books and the other gifts. When Harry finally managed to catch it, he was going to express owl it to Ginny. If he couldn’t blame the person who was sending the ridiculous gifts, then he had decided he was going to blame her.

He had become the laughing stock of the department. The Aurors were holding bets on when the next gift would arrive. He couldn’t conduct business in his office anymore.

It was a nightmare.

And Malfoy popped by every day to snicker at the growing pile of presents.

“Why don’t you just throw them away?” he asked, his eyes glinting with malicious pleasure.

“You know very well Agnus would never let me waste anything so expensive,” Harry hissed, narrowing his eyes. Suddenly, his face brightened. “Malfoy, you like Belgian chocolate, don’t you?” He stood up and grabbed the nearest box. “Have a box. Have five!”

Malfoy backed away, his hands in the air. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Potter,” he said with a smirk. “Someone has obviously spent loads of time and money buying you these. They’re just so very impressed that you’ve got yourself a girlfriend after all these years.” He snickered. “Really, you shouldn’t snub them.”

With a final laugh, he turned and ran. Harry hurled the box of chocolates after him. It hit the wall and burst open, scattering chocolate everywhere.  

“Mr. Potter!” Agnus’ angry voice reverberated through the small waiting room, drowning out Malfoy’s cackling laughter.

His hair is as dark as a blackboard…

Harry ran back into his office and slammed the door.


He was rapidly losing sitting space. He had begged Agnus – pleaded with her – to let him get rid of some of the presents. Finally, she had relented and allowed him to donate the chocolates to the staff lounge, in the interest of his health.

That left him with six crystal roses, nineteen vases of flowers, thirty four greeting cards, one singing doxy…

…and three virility potions.

Those had come with a note that contained only a drawing of a face winking.

I wish he was mine, he’s really divine…

“Arrrgh!” Harry yelled, throwing his framed picture of Ron and Hermione at the doxy.

It dodged the collision with a giggle.

“Now, now, Potter,” Malfoy’s voice came from the doorway.

Harry looked up to see him leaning casually in the door frame.

“We must control our temper.” He grinned.

Harry dropped his head into his hands and groaned. “I don’t get it!” he whimpered. “Whoever it is must be loaded. Why are they even doing it?” He looked up at Malfoy beseechingly.

Malfoy tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Not a clue,” he said finally, grinning broadly. “What does your girlfriend think of it all?”

Harry groaned. “I’ve told you all, I don’t have one! When are you going to stop asking?”

“When you stop looking so shifty when you answer.” Malfoy smirked. “Is she jealous of all the presents?” he tapped one of the crystal roses gently, looking smug.

Harry opened his mouth to snap a reply, but froze. He narrowed his eyes and stood up.

“Malfoy,” he said slowly.

Malfoy looked up in alarm. Harry waved his hand and the door swung shut, trapping Malfoy inside.

“Malfoy, what did you say your favourite Belgian chocolate was, again?” Harry asked sweetly.

Malfoy sniffed. “I much prefer Swiss.”

“No you don’t.” Harry walked toward Malfoy, his stride predatory. “You like Belgian chocolate and crystal ware and expensive flowers and thoughtful cards.” He stopped in front of Malfoy, his lips curving into a smirk.

Malfoy stiffened as Harry brought his hands up to rest on either side of Malfoy, on the door. “And you’re exceptionally good at potions,” Harry breathed.

“What are you talking about, Potter,” Malfoy sneered, a faint, pink tinge rising on his cheeks.

“Malfoy, do you know why I don’t have a girlfriend?” Harry asked, one eyebrow raised as he held Malfoy’s gaze.

Malfoy shook his head slowly.

“Because I’m gay.”

Malfoy’s lips parted slightly and he seemed lost for words.

“And do you know how I know you like Belgian chocolate and crystal ware and expensive flowers and thoughtful cards?”

Malfoy shook his head slowly.

Harry huffed a laugh. “No, I suppose you don’t,” he muttered, his eyes falling to Malfoy’s lips.

A small whimper escaped Malfoy’s throat.

“Or you wouldn’t have sent me that fucking doxy,” he finished, crashing his lips down on Malfoy’s, devouring his mouth, and moaning when Malfoy finally pressed back.

Save the Date

PORPENTINA GOLDSTEIN and NEWTON ARTEMIS FIDO SCAMANDER request the pleasure of your company at the celebration of their union,

The seventeenth of April, nineteen thirty-two, at one o’clock in the afternoon,

Central Court Commons, under Central Park, New York City, New York

(Someone sent me a request for Newt and Tina’s wedding and I loved it so much that I made this immediately after getting the prompt somebody stop me.

PS: Jacob and Queenie are best man and maid of honor.)

The Queen gets jealous…Part I


There was a new courtier in Red Keep. A beautiful one, apparently she was the bastard sister of Edric Dayne named Alanna Sand, who had dark hair and lively violet eyes. She was a known flirt and many men in court were entranced by her. Daenerys had heard her Dothraki handmaidens gossiping about it. They said that the men in court were all in love with Lady Alanna.

“I think she is a witch Khaleesi, you have to beware of her. I see how the men all turn and look at her whenever she walks by…” the Dothraki lady, Jhiqui had said.

“You best not let her get close to the King…even the Dothraki bloodriders who see her lust for her.”

Daenerys laughed hearing it. Why would her Jon ever look at another woman? He only had eyes for her. And he had always been faithful so she never thought much of it. Then of course, the Queen finally met the woman. And Alanna was very beautiful and young, only nineteen to her thirty years and four. She saw how the young men in court floated about Alanna and the older men watching her with lecherous eyes. Even Daeron who was only nine seemed like he was in love with her.

“I think I’m going to make Lady Alanna my wife one day. She is so beautiful.” Daeron said while they were eating that morning breaking their fast.

“But she’s a Bastard. I don’t think you can marry her. You’re the Crown Prince,” Aemon said to his brother, not really thinking about it. “Lord Tyrion says you need to marry a highborn from a Great House or a foreign princess.”

Daenerys and Jon stared at their son giving Aemon an admonishing look.

“I am sorry Mama, Father. Did I say something wrong?” Aemon asked, looking all broody.

“There’s nothing wrong with Lady Alanna Aemon.” Daenerys said with a smile. “Your brother can marry whover he wants to.”

“So can I be betrothed to her now?” Daeron asked, sounding even more excited for that than going for a hunt.

“Er…” Jon looked at Daenerys. “You’re still too young Son…”

“But Mama says…” Daeron spoke and looked at her.

“Maybe when you’re older…” Daenerys said to the boy and Daeron nodded.

“I think Lady Alanna is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,” Daeron said with a wide smile.

And because the prince liked Lady Sand so much. She was always around in Maegor’s Holdfast, attaching herself to the Crown Prince’s household. Daenerys watched Daeron and Alanna practicing their archery in the court yard from the balcony. She saw Jon walking towards them and they were talking. Alanna was smiling at the King with that sweet smile. The way her lashes fluttered and Daenerys started to feel that teeny rage of a green eyed monster simmering inside her. She grew annoyed, a frown marring her beautiful face.

That young tart…How dare she looks at my Wolf. I’ll fucking gouge her eyes out if she looks at him that way again.

What she saw next made Daenerys boiling mad. Alanna was talking to the King, flirting even and Jon started to help her with her position and how to properly hold a bow while shooting the arrow. Daenerys even gasped in disbelief. Was Jon like all the men, too mesmerized by Alanna’s beauty as well? Daenerys was starting to worry when she never had before.

“I told you Khaleesi…” Jhiqui said quietly to her. “That woman is a witch.”

anonymous asked:

do you have any advice for someone who wants to start writing fanfiction?? thank you for any help!!!!

Whether you want to write fanfiction, original fiction, nonfiction, or just really kick-ass tumblr posts, my advice is all the same–write. The more you write, the better you will get.

Write for an audience. Notice what people respond to. Notice what gets left behind.

Write tumblr posts. Write drabbles. Write one-shots. Just write.

Make friends who write. Friends who don’t say, “you’re doing what right now?” Friends who you can play writing games with. Friends who will beg you for your next chapter. Friends who will tell you that that one rude comment on AO3 is uncalled for and tell you to keep going because look at all the people who are reading it. Make ride-or-die friends and pass stuff back and forth.

Read. Read lots of everything. Read things that are popular. Read things that nobody else is seeing. Read beautiful things fifty times–once to appreciate it, twice to love it, times three through seventeen to take it apart and see what ticks. Read it the eighteenth time for the joy of reading it again. On reads nineteen through thirty-two pay attention to a different aspect every time–a character, a subplot, a repeated motif. Read it the thirty-third time to find the thing you hadn’t noticed on your prior thirty-two reads. Then read it over. Come back to the beautiful things; memorize the sentence structure, the way that plots build or that arguments are structured, and work up from there until you understand how to make that beauty yours.

Read things that are terrible and mock them with your friends. Tear them to pieces so that you’ll never make the same mistakes. Ask yourself how you’d fix them, if you had to, because someday you will write something terrible and you’ll have to fix it.

Live. Writing is about communicating truth, and so try to experience as much truth as possible. When you experience a perfect moment, take time to stop and really let yourself experience it. What are the physical sensations you experience when you go to a concert and hear a song you love played live for the first time, surrounded by hundreds of others who feel it? Experience the imperfect, too. Where in your body do you store shock? Hatred? Sadness? Pain? Why did you get mad at that person the other day? What would you do differently?

Learn. Even if you’re not writing fantasy, your job is to make your reader believe your world exists. The more you know about how the world works, the better a job you will do at this. If you want to write a world that feels like it’s bigger than just what you see on the page, take the time to understand this world and how it ticks.

Part of being a writer is to learn to be hard and cruel. To say, “this is good, but it is not good enough, and I am going to have to burn it to the ground and redo it.” You have to tell yourself that this thing here doesn’t stand out, this part here is too slow, these motivations don’t make sense, why didn’t he just call, what am I doing, everyone knows you don’t go down into the basement, why is she going in the basement? Can I make this story work if she doesn’t go in the basement?

But be gentle with yourself, too. Learn to step back. Learn when it’s time to be hard and learn when it’s time to be soft. On the days that are hard (and there will be hard days), remind yourself that you got out of bed and you took a shower and you took your meds and you put on pants and yeah you stared at your screen for hours, but look at you, you irrepressible thing-doer, you.

On the days when you don’t get out of bed? Be even more gentle. Here you are, still existing in this world, and anyone who has been here long enough knows that continuing to exist is the greatest achievement of them all. Most of the planets in this solar system don’t even have intelligent life, so look at you, you giant masterpiece of physics and biology, neurons firing, lungs working. You’re here. You’re existing. You’re doing great.

My last piece of advice is this–if anything on here sounds fishy to you, say, “fuck this shit” and do it your own way. Since the invention of writing, millions of people have become writers in some sense of the word. Every single one of them had their own path towards becoming a writer. There is no right way to do this, and there is no wrong way. Anyone who tells you otherwise is either lying or unable to see the truth.

Whatever anyone else says, you’re going to get your own path. Good luck.

Double Date - Solangelo

Double Dates


Will popped the question when him and Nico were walking along the shoreline. “How would you feel about, oh, I don’t know, double dating?”

Nico, misunderstanding the question, jumped back, yanking his hand out of Will’s larger one in the process. “W-what!?” Nico stuttered in disbelief. “This is a wholly monogamous relationship, Will… We are in no way polyamorous and if you enjoy partaking in things like that, then maybe you should’ve mentioned it before we made us official not because that’s wrong or anything but because that’s pretty vital infor-”

“Woah, woah, woah!” Will stopped in his tracks and grabbed Nico’s skinny wrist, turning the younger boy until he was facing him. “Woah. I don’t really know what ‘monogamous’ or ‘polyamorous’ means - you know I don’t speak nineteen thirties - so before you continue to freak out, could you explain what in Olympus you’re talking about?”

Nico grimaced, shooting the blonde a look that obviously read seriously, Will? “Monogamous means a relationship between only two people, and polyamorous is, as you put it, double dating - having many or more than one romantic partner - which is something that doesn’t appeal to me. Like, at all.”

To Nico’s further confusion, Will’s jaw dropped. “You think that’s what double dating means?” Will threw his head back, laughing. “No, Gods, I keep forgetting that you’re still so behind on twenty-first century lingo… Double dating doesn’t mean having an open relationship. It means going on a date with another couple.”

“Oh.” As embarrassment took over, Nico could feel red hot blood rush up his body and to his cheeks. It wasn’t his fault that he categorized double dating with polyamorous relationships - they sounded like they could’ve had similar meaning, and learning modern terms wasn’t exactly on his list of things to do now that the Giant War was over. Besides, he was still trying to grasp the concept of the foolish mortal term, YOLO. You’re only little once? You Only Like Oreos? He just didn’t understand.

Will smiled crookedly at the sight of his blushing boyfriend, and caught the dark-haired boy off guard when he leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to the reddened skin of his cheek. “You’re so cute, you know that?”

Nico shied away and hung his head so that his shaggy hair fell over his eyes, embarrassed by both his mistake and Will’s affection. “I’m not cute…”

He heard Will hum in thought. “You’re right… You’re not cute, you’re adorable, Darling.”

Knowing that there wasn’t a chance to get Will to take the unmanly term back, Nico got over his embarrassments and lifted his head back up to glare at his boyfriend. “I just can’t win with you, can I?” He exhaled.

“Nope!” Will grinned, popping the ‘p’ in nope. “Now, your opinion on double dating?” The two resumed their walking, and it took a moment of thinking before Nico shrugged in reply.

“I don’t know, it kind of sounds weird… Going out with another couple? I’m just barely l at ease when it’s just the two of us, so who knows how awkward it’ll be when we bring two others into the equation.” Nico wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, while I can’t really base my answer on experience, I’d have to say that I probably wouldn’t enjoy it all that much.”

From the corner of his eye, Nico could see that Will had pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. “Are you sure? Maybe you’d like it, if you gave it a try…”

Nico knew Will too well to know that his boyfriend was hinting at something. “You set up a double date, didn’t you?” He asked with a sigh, raising his arm to brush his hand through his hair. His fingers knotted in the dark strands, and he had to tug a couple of times to free them.
“Yeah, about that, I might ha-” Before Will could finish his sentence, a faceless force pounced onto Nico’s back, successfully knocking the son of Hades face-first into the ground.

“What the-” Nico flipped himself over so he could see what the heck just sent him flying to the ground and groaned once he was met with the sea-green eyes of his past crush. “Percy.” He warned in annoyance, trying and failing to push the older boy off of him. When Percy refused to move, he could hear Will chuckle from somewhere above. “Get off of me.” He said bluntly, but once again, the son of Poseidon didn’t budge.

“But I’m so comfortable here… No wonder Will likes to cuddle you.” He nuzzled his face into Nico’s neck, giving the boy he had trapped under him an unpleasant mouthful of raven hair. “You’re like a giant, fluffy teddy bear from the Underworld… Maybe I should steal you for myself.” The trapped boy heard Will make a sound of disapproval. Nico was sure his face was redder than Apollo’s cows at that point, and had never been so thankful for Annabeth - she had arrived with Percy, but her arrival was nowhere near as pronounced - who crouched down to lug her boyfriend to his feet.

“That’s enough, Seaweed Brain.” Annabeth chided, but there was laughter laced in her voice.

“Yeah, hands off my boyfriend!” With a light smack to Percy’s arm, Will reached his hand down to Nico and pulled him up. The underworld-born narrowed his eyes at Percy, who became slightly uncomfortable from the intense look as he spoke.

“So, uh, are you guys ready? We have reservations in like, half an hour. Or, I think it’s half an hour…” Percy glanced down at a watch he was given by Leo before looking up at Annabeth in puzzlement. “Annabeth, this thing doesn’t make any sense!” He huffed, shoving his wrist up to the stormy-eyed girl’s face.

“Perce, it’s just a normal watch.”

“No, it’s a stupid watch!”

Ignoring their further banter, Nico turned to his boyfriend with a mixture of question and annoyance pooling in his dark eyes. “Ready? Will, what does he mean by ‘are you guys ready’?” Nico crossed his arms, cocking his hip to the side in expectancy for an answer.

Will smiled down at him sheepishly. “Surprise…” He tried, shaking his hands in the air. “We’re going on a double date with these two! Isn’t that, uh, exciting?”
“Will, really?” Nico complained, lolling his head back to look up at the darkening night sky. Annabeth stepped away from Percy before will could respond. “So, apparently Percy’s been reading his watch wrong and we actually have ten minutes to get to the restaurant, not thirty…” She paused to glare at her embarrassed-looking boyfriend. “And that means that if we want to keep our reservation, we need to leave right this second.” With that, Athena’s daughter snatched Percy’s hand and began to walk away from the shoreline. Will and Nico followed, but Will could see that Nico didn’t look as happy as he would’ve liked.

“Aw, cheer up -  it’ll be fun! Well, as long as Percy doesn’t try anything funny with you.” He sent a challenging look Percy’s way, slinging his arm around Nico possessively. Nico angled his head to look back at his boyfriend, the smallest shadow of a smile dancing across his lips. “Don’t worry, he’s not really my type.”

From ahead, Nico could hear an irritated grunt leaving Percy’s lips, followed by a grumbled “Not his type…” Percy shook his head. “I’m everyone’s type.”

anonymous asked:

I just saw an article from cosmopolitan and the title was "Sex talk realness: being aromantic" and it made me so happy that aspec people are being recognized in such a big magazine.

That’s awesome! :00

Now, whilst I didn’t find the article you mentioned, I did come across a ‘Sex Talk Realness: Asexuality’, consisting of an interview with two ace women; as well as ‘Three People Get Real About What It Means to be Aromantic’, which talks with three people, age nineteen, twenty-two, and thirty-three, and they both seem pretty neat. Both articles dive somewhat into some nsfw topics, but

The Turtle and his Friends

Nino stared at Master Fu. They sat on the bamboo floor across from each other, both holding a cup of tea.

To Nino, the old man didn’t look 186, but apparently he was. His hair was barely grey, his mustache and the tip of his goatee were a darkish grey. Master Fu had few wrinkles on his face.

The man looked maybe sixty, but, he was 186.

“Nino?” Master Fu spoke.

Nino was pulled from his thoughts. “Yes sensei?”

“You have to tell your friends,” he said. “Your aging is going to slow -and every few years stop.- They’re going to notice eventually.”

“I’m going to outlive them…” Nino said it as if those words were finally hitting him for the first time.

“Yes,” Fu said. “But, the miraculous need to be protected. It hurts to see your friends go, but, nothing in life is free, Nino.”

Nino nodded, rubbing hid eyes a bit. Fu started to get up, struggling a bit. Nino scrambled to his feet and helped him up.

“We both know I don’t have much longer, Nino,” Fu continued. “You are ready. You can do this, you know.”

For a while, the two were in silence as Fu got the box that held the miraculouses.

Nino stared at the box. He stared at the intricate designs that covered the chest, thoughts running through his mind.

He took a deep, shaky breath.

“Thank you, sensei,” Nino said.

“Help me to bed, young one, then your training is done, and you may leave,” Fu said.

“Are you… Are you going to die?” Nino asked.

“You knew it was coming. It just happens to be today,” Fu told him. “You will handle this with your duty to be the guardian.”

Nino helped the man to bed, tucked him in and sat at his bedside for a while.

As he left the building for the last time, a breeze wrapped around him, warmth filling his body, a pang of sadness filling his heart.

That night, for the first time in a long time, Nino fell to his knees at his own bedside and prayed.


Adrien, Alya, Chloe, Marinette and Nino gathered in Marinette’s bedroom at the request of Nino.

They sat in a circle, each of them looking at one another. Nini fiddled with the turtle on his bracelet.

“So what’s up, Nino?” Alya asked. “Why do you look so sad?”

“I’m going to age slower than you guys,” he said, not looking up at them.

“What?” Adrien asked slowly.

“When you guys are barely pushing thirty, I’ll still look nineteen,” Nino explained.

“Unfair,” Chloe said. “Totally unfair. I’d love to look nineteen at thirty.”

“You don’t understand,” Nino said, looking up at Chloe. There was a fire in his amber eyes. “I will /be/ nineteen when you guys are thirty. I will watch my best friend be lowered into their graves. I will be alone for the rest of my life after you guys are dead.”

Silence filled the room. Tears slipped out of Nino’s eyes as he stared at the floor. The others moved and engulfed him in a group hug.

They stayed like that for a while.

Nino felt a little better, but not completely.


“I do,” Nino said, staring across at the love of his life who was pushing twenty. Nino was hitting sixteen in his looks and age.

“And you, do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?” the priest asked.

“I do,” Alya answered. She smiled at Nino.

“You may kiss the bride,” the priest said.

Alya moved first and kissed Nino, dipping him as she did.

Their family and friends cheered as the two ran back down the isle.

Nino lead Alya around the dancefloor as they did their first dance. His wife dressed in a different dress so she wouldn’t trip.

They did a foxtrot, something Alya had insisted on. I can’t believe that you’re in love with me by Tony Bennett played through the reception area.

Nino had insisted on the song.

It was the night he would remember for the rest of his life. The rest of his long life.


Nino and Alya stood in their crammed bathroom, shoving each other for more space. Nino put some toothpaste on his toothbrush and started to brush his teeth. He looked up at the mirror and noticed Alya was staring at him.

That’s when it hit him. She was pushing thirty while he barely looked seventeen.

“Ah,” Nino said, staring at his face, then he older one, sadness clenching his heart.

“Ah,” Alya agreed, not looking away.


Nino’s feet were quick and spry, his hand guide her across the room. This is their song and a dance only perfected with years and years.

Its too lively to he a waltz but too nostalgic to fit right with the modern world. Its just uniquely them with paces that savour every moment with just enough vigour.

And, sometimes the neighbors whisper about Alya, the old lady with the bright eyes of a devious fox and the youngster, barely twenty, who falls inyo step with her at every path.

They wont understand. They never will.

This is them, frozen in time.


Nino walked into the nursing home his friends and wife were in. The nurses greeted the male as he headed towards Alya’s room. Her visit was more painful, so he visited her first.

“Al?” Nino asked, knocking in her door.

“Come in,” Alya said sweetly.

“Hey Alya,” Nino smiled, sitting next to her as she stared out the window.

“Hello, young man,” Alya said. “Here to visit your grandparents again?”

Nino felt his heart clench, but he kept the smile in his face.

“Yes, ma'am,” Nino said, rubbing his eyes a bit.

“Such a great grandchild,” Alya said, smiling back at Nino. “Last week, you were telling me how you met your wife. Can you tell me again?”

Nino nodded, moving to look out the window.

“We were in high school,” Nino began. “It was about a week into the school year when we actually started talking. She was the most beautiful girl i have ever met.

"Of course, at first I didn’t know I was in love with her. It took being locked in a panther’s cage for us to realise out feelings for each other. We’ve been together for a long time now.”

Nino wiped his eyes.

“What about your wedding day?” Alya asked, as if she hadn’t been there. She didn’t know that she had been.

“The moment I saw her walk down the isle, I knew we’d be together ,” Nino said, smiling at the memory. “Her eyes shone like those of a devious fox, her hair tied up in a tight bun.”
Nino smiled at the very vivid memory.

“What about he dress?” Alya asked, leaning forward in her seat.

“Her dress was something called Mermaid style,” Nino started to explain. “It showed off her curves, God those curves, they made me feel like a school boy again.

"The lace detailing was perfect, and the skirt, well, the skirt was too. I love her more than anything, but, i wish she remember just how much I do.”

Nino was mentally punching himself for saying that out loud to her.

“She doesn’t remember?” Alya asked

“A couple years ago, she developed dementia. Its been a struggle, but…” Nino looked up at his wife. “We manage.”

The two sat in silence.

“I have to go, Alya,” Nino said. “I’ll see you next week.”

He left and decided to skip the visit with Adrien and Marinette.

He left the nursing home with tears in his eyes.

That night, Nino prayed for the first time in seventy five years.


It was strange to watch the girl you’ve been in love with gor most of your life being lowered into the ground.

He stood alone. Adrien and Marinette had passed a couple years earlier. Nino had no one left. He was alone. He had been for years, but he was just now coming to terms with it.

Tears streamed down his cheeks as he talked about Alya to the few friends he had left, though he never really knew them in the first place.

Nino went home. Alone. Well, he wasn’t alone. He had Wyazz. He stared at the green, floating figure thay floated above his knee.
Nino took a swig of whiskey, the only thing thay numbed his pain.

“It’s just you and me, Wyazz,” Nino said. “Just you and me.”


I first want to say a few things are not mine. I just borrowed them because they fit in with the plot of my oneshot.

I found them on @tides-miraculous ’s blog. The one where its like their anniversary was written by @life-and-signs-thereof . Te other one i forgot who it belonged to, but its on Tides’ blog, so yeah. Go follow both of those people.