not terribly elegant

Your name is ARADIA MEGIDO.


This trend in escalation began after an ACCIDENT involving a CERTAIN KIND OF ROLE PLAYING, which might have been another of your interests once upon a time. It doesn’t matter much anymore.

The accident resulted in the DEATH OF YOUR LUSUS, which prompted you to leave your home and take up these ruins as residence.

There’s that accident again. In addition to affecting Aradia, Terezi and Tevros, it also killed Aradia’s lusus. It’s been mentioned that 11 of the 12 custodians would be prototyped, so maybe Aradia’s was the 12th. She can speak to the dead anyway, so she may have preferred to keep it dead.

He has tentatively named the game SGRUB, which is a word that is NOT TERRIBLY ELEGANT. If it were marketed by a legitimate game company instead of rapidly patched together by a young hacker, it would ostensibly be given a better title.

Yeah, Sburb has a slightly better ring to it. Sgrub sounds like an obnoxious flash game that encourages people to be dicks to one another.

Mistletoe Kisses

John Laurens x Reader

Modern AU

Author(s): Lil Lambie

Words: 1317

Warnings: Alcohol, mild swearing, and kissing

A/N: OH MY GOD I LOVED WRITING THIS ONE! Sorry it took for so long. We are going to try to do 12 days of Christmas from now on. I hope you enjoy!

Everyone was gathered and chatting, sipping cups of hot cocoa and eggnog. Alex smiled at his wife Eliza and kissed her on the nose. She smiled back at him. It was a rare occasion nowadays to see the two of them happy together. They were happy when they were together, they just weren’t together.

Lafayette had his arm around a pretty blonde girl. He looked up at the mistletoe that dangled above them. He grinned and kissed her forehead. He pulled her in close.

You closed the door tentatively behind you and walked into the kitchen. John Laurens and everyone else turned around to greet you with hugs. John embraced you.

Thomas Jefferson, James Madison, and Aaron Burr were sat in the den arguing over something. Rather, Thomas was shouting at Aaron; he was neither agreeing or arguing he just had a tense look on his face. James just shook his head at the two of them and sipped his hot cocoa.

“Can I get your coat?” John asked you holding out his hand to you.

“Oh, um yeah.” You tried to slip off your coat but it got stuck, you fidgeted awkwardly and blushed at John. He smiled warmly at you and helped you pull it off. He put on his arm and placed it on the coat wrap. “Thanks.” you said.

“Of course.” He blushed.

The kitchen was still full of conversation but you and John just smiled at each other. It felt like everything had gone quiet. That it was just the two of you. This thought was interrupted by a suddenly drunk Alexander. He swung his arm around John. He swayed on his feet and laughed.

“How’s it goooooooing, Johnnnnnny!”

John laughed and looked to you then Alex. “Are you drunk?”

“Totalllly! This eggnog is strong dude, I liiiiike it.”

“I didn’t put any alcohol in the eggnog, Alexander.”

Alex chuckled and leaned back in laughter. He nearly fell over. He slapped John hard on the back with a cartoon slap. “Course not, Johnnny! I did!” Alex dropped the mug in his hand nonchalantly, shattering glass and spilling egg nog everywhere.

“Hey!” John shouted.

“Alexander!” Eliza yelled.

Alex reached his hand into his pocket and pulled out a flask. He unscrewed the cap, his arm still around John. He tipped it back. “Killer party duude.”

“Why are you drinking?” You asked.

The smile on his face immediately disappeared and was replaced with a somber look. “The missus and I ain’t the happiest ya know.” You turned to frown at Alex.

Eliza walked around the mess and moved Alex’s arm to over her shoulder.

“Oooh, you’re pretty, miss. Can I take you home?” Alex laughed into his wife’s face.

Eliza had a mix of a grimace and smile. “Of course, we’ll go right now.” She turned back to the rest of the party. “I’ll going to take Alexander home, good night guys!” She smiled at John. “Thanks for inviting me, John.”

“Bye, Eliza.”

Eliza stopped in front of you. She didn’t say anything. Just looked between you and John. Her eyes connected the space between you too. Alex was digging his nose into her air. “Ooooh you smell like my wife. Oh, you look like my wife.” he giggled and shook his head at her. “Don’t tell Eliza please.”

Eliza smiled at everyone one last time and walked through the door with a wasted Alexander.

Hercules came over to you and John with a dustpan and broom. He sweeped the glass into the pan and wiped the floor with a towel on his arm. “Thanks, Herc.” John said. He smiled charismatically.

“Hey! Guys!” John shouted. The conversations died down to nothing and everyone turned to pay attention. “I guess Alex already got the after party already started. The beer and whiskey are in the cupboard below the sink.”

Everyone cheered and resumed their conversations.

“Hey, (Y/N), I want to show you something.”

You looked at John. You had been staring past him absorbed in your thoughts. “Okay.” you smiled at him. He offered his hand out to you. You took his into yours. He led you upstairs.

You looked back at someone for help as he walked you upstairs. You weren’t ready. It was too quick. You hadn’t even kissed yet. John moved fast apparently. You suddenly regretted coming to the party. You walked now somber with John.

You walked into the bedroom with him. It was neat and smelled of cinnamon. Still, you sighed and waited. John let go of your hand and reached into his drawer for something. Oh dear god, you thought.

He sat down on the bed with him. He smiled and took your hand again. He held out a picture frame to you. You looked back at him and smiled.

It was a picture of the two of you, bundled in your coats on an ice rink. Alex had taken it. You were friends with Eliza and she introduced you to John. He was charming and goofy. You loved him from the moment you set eyes on him. He tried to teach you how to ice skate. Alex had captured the moment of incandescent laughter between the two of you as you almost fell over and John caught you, and almost fell over too. It was the first day you met.

“This is my favorite picture.” John said.

“Mine too.”

John stood up, your hands still in his. His curly hair was pulled into a taut pony tail. His freckled cheeks made him even cuter. He smiled tentatively at you and took a step closer. His shoe touched the tip of yours. John Laurens was passionate and determined. You knew that from the moment you met him. He always acted like he always gets what he wants. But now, staring into his eyes you think differently. He is really shy underneath and gentle.

“(Y/N), I need to tell you something.”

Your silence was his cue. You didn’t want to ruin this moment. John smiled and breathed out. “From the moment I saw you, you took my breath away. Everything surprised me. Your laugh is my favorite sound. Your smile is my favorite thing. You are my favorite, (Y/N). When I’m feeling sad, I simply remember my favorite things. Your smile. Your laugh. Your name. Your personality. Anything you do, (Y/N), I can’t take my eyes off you. You make my heart race but at the same time, you make me feel calm. (Y/N), I’m crazy about you. I’ve been trying to say this for awhile, and this probably isn’t the time of place. One of the cheesiest times of the year to tell you this, it’s almost as bad as Valentine’s Day-”

“I like it. It’s romantic.” you said.

He smiles and sighs. “I just couldn’t wait any longer. I can’t and I won’t. (Y/N), you are beautiful, and perfect, elegant, a terrible ice skater, you are-”

“I love you.”

John blinked. “What?”

“John. John Laurens. Johnny. Papa John.” you smiled with tears in your eyes. “I love you.”


John fell silent and you both looked above you. The little golden bells jingled on the sparkling mistletoe. Your gazes fell back on each other. “Now kiss me, God dam-”

There wasn’t any space left between you. Only space left to explore. You wrapped your hands around his neck. It was passionate by how slow it was. You and John slowed time and space.

“John? John-hey-Oh.” you heard Hercules say outside the door. John kicked the door back with his foot, slamming the door shut.

John didn’t have to say it for you to know. Nothing he ever said would change how it felt about you. But he said it anyway. He pulled away and smiled. “I love you God damn it.”

“God damn it.” You smiled and pulled him in for another

Things I should not do: split my attention between two completely separate plotlines and groups

Things I want to do: split my attention between two completely separate plotlines and groups

I found a weird paintbrush thingy and wanted to write something. Found the perfect thing to write!

mystify-iing  asked:

"When you think of love, do you think of pain?"

L o v e ? The very word left a bitter residue to coat his tongue each time it escaped his teeth, carried into the world on his breath and dying out in less time than it took to form in his throat. Sometimes he would manage to swallow it before it had a chance to greet the air, the result being a blade sticking deep within his throat without hint of movement. Truthfully, he would much prefer the latter to hearing the grief soaked sentiment in his own voice, and yet—

Love, The word managed to claw its way up his throat like bile, his voice much closer to a strangled whisper than anything. He didn’t know where to begin.

Love is a star; something so immeasurably beautiful and so incredibly personal to him, and yet it would remain forever out of his reach. Radiance from brilliant flame, a warmth that may soothe him from afar and scorch him dare he venture too close. He would be reminded of the sun, how he could not gaze into alluring light for more than a handful of seconds without causing his eyes to ache, how he must shield himself in order to avoid turning of the flesh. There was a cruel reminiscence to Icarus in place, though wings of wax had melted long before flight could ever have been taken. 

He, who has bathed in sin as black as ink, who has stained the flesh a color of warning, is completely undeserving of something like love. Love is for those without rotting heart and soot filled veins. How dare his soul cling to love as if it is a rope that will steadily lift him from the bones of amaranth which form the hands that dig into his skin, dragging him down, down, d o w n. How dare he allow himself to indulge in love at all, for what right does he have to experience something so pure at its core?

Love is scarlet. Love is red. Love is a pair of amber eyes alight with joy, with pride, with hope, with care. Love is a pair of amber eyes brimming with pain, with rage, with betrayal, with disappointment. Love is the crack in the voice which begs for new answers to redundant questions. Love is the blade held gently against his throat so as not to nick the skin with eyes begging for a change of tide. Love is a hollow threat. 

Love has collapsed and created a black hole at the core of his being, steadily chipping away at pieces of his soul which disappear never to be seen again. There will never be a physical pain comparable to his awareness that she loves him—and that he loves her back. 

Inhale. Exhale. —is a beautiful thing.

perdizzion  asked:

HI HELLO [WAVES AGGRESSIVELY] OKAY SO ive been kinda stalking your art tag for hours and may i just say that i am VERY MUCH IN LOVE WITH YOUR ART STYLE??? WOWZA also i'd just like to thank u for ur trans!sam and genderfluid!cas and dragqueen!dean bc they just made my whole day and HONESTLY IM SO GRATEFUL FOR YOUR EXISTENCE GOSH THIS FANDOM DOESNT DESERVE YOU. just. keep being u pal, thank u for existing, have a nice day xx

ohhhhh noooooo i really really don’t deserve all that praise…!! (//A\) i’m just so so grateful and happy to hear that you’ve found some joy in my doodles…! GOSHh i don’t know how to thank you enough at all!! >_<;; 

a lot of people seemed excited about trans!sam & co, since i got a lot of further requests and stuff which i never got around to execute, sorry! ;;; however, you inspired me to give one of those old prompts a quick try! so here we go, “Sam in a maxi-skirt (because maxi-skirts are comfy) and wearing a sweatshirt”

Castiel slid into the chair next to Dean at the university library, blue eyes lighting up as he smiled at his best friend. “Hello, Dean.”

“Hey, Cas, glad you made it,” Dean mumbled, barely glancing up from his book. He managed a half smile and a brief glance at Castiel before looking back down again. “This essay is kicking my butt, especially since I have to keep looking through those little tiny things you have to magnify to read.”

“Microfiche?” Castiel offered, and Dean snorted.

“Yeah, that.”

“What’s the essay on?” Castiel craned his head, trying to read Dean’s chicken scratch notes.

“The history of a notable engineering feat that has deeply influence society,” Dean replied, passing Castiel a typed sheet with the prompt listed on it.

“What did you pick?”

“The assembly line in car factories.”

Castiel bit back a laugh, grinning. “Are you certain you don’t want to be a mechanic like your father? There’s no shame in such a job.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I don’t wanna fix the average cars every day for the rest of my life, man. I love restoring old cars, but I want to design and build new ones.”

Castiel nodded and opened his mouth to reply, but he cut off when he heard a giggle and the sound of smacking lips. His brow scrunched curiously and he glanced around, spotting a couple in the corner making out.

“They’ve been there for a while. I’m trying to tune them out,” Dean said, eyes still glued to a book as he copied text down by hand onto note cards.

“Wow, because the library is a preferential location for dating,” Castiel replied with a huff.

Dean finally looked up, grinning. “Did you just use sarcasm?”

Keep reading

Chaos, or Something Like It

A/N: I decided the best way to start off 2016 was to officially induct myself into the Kylux trash family, because for the last two days that’s pretty much the only thing that I’ve cared about in any way, shape or form. So, heyhihellothere my fellow shippers. Happy to be on board for a long, long year of agony.

General Hux is nothing if not carefully composed and utterly calculated. Every move that he makes, every notion that he entertains, every word that falls from his lips is perfectly planned and even more flawlessly executed. He has learned to master his emotions, to push them down somewhere they couldnt bother him, because feelings have no order, and he has no time for chaos. He is nothing if not goal oriented, and from the moment he sets his sights upon something, he is formulating a plan to obtain it, and in all his life he has never failed to do so.

Or at least, never had failed.

But Kylo Ren is nothing if not unpredictable. He is a volatile surge of emotions, all rage and venom and a desperate desperation in everything that he does. He is a terrifying whirlwind of passion and loathing, and it shows in every move that he makes, every notion that he entertains, every word that falls from his lips. His emotions have learned to master him, to guide him and use him and mold him into this weaponized embodiment of chaos.

Hux has no time for chaos, and therefore has no time for Kylo Ren, particularly when the Knight was causing chaos on his ship, channeling all of that rage into another piece of particularly expensive technology. He is sick of having the same conversations, the same arguments. Each and every time, he has selected every word, every subtle movement, has crafted in his mind the perfect image of how the dialogue should go. Each and every time, Kylo does or says something that is so completely unexpected, Hux swears he can feel his own composure wavering at how easily the Knight can throw him. He hates it, perhaps more than he has ever hated anything before in all his life, hates how Kylo is able to react to the moment instead of mapping out every possible outcome long before they have the chance to arise. He hates it, but he envies it too, almost, a realization that only makes him despise it all the more. Already that’s two emotions the Knight of Ren has managed to elicit from him, which is two more than he desired to feel at all.

Regardless of all of this, of knowing fully well that he will likely regret this, he finds himself lingering before the door to Kylo Ren’s private chambers. He stands perfectly still, his breathing even and measured, because everything that he does is ordered and timed. He tells himself that perhaps this time will be different, that Ren will merely listen to him instead of trying to escalate the scene into a confrontation, that maybe this will be the time he finally convinces him to find a better place to take out his aggression than on the First Order’s machinery.

In his mind, his voice is sure and calm, but still he hesitates a moment before lifting his hand to knock. The sound is sharp, crisp, and a stark contrast to the jagged voice that calls out from within. “Leave me,” Kylo hisses, but the usual fire that his tone always seems to hold sounds as though it’s been doused. Hux also notices, with a slight hint of surprise, that it isnt muffled by the mask he insists on wearing any time someone might see him.

Hux is nothing if not diligent, patient. “I want to speak with you, Ren,” he says in reply, his own words coming out sharp and direct.

A soft huff sounds from within the chamber. “Talk,” he repeats, and Hux swears that he can picture the exact scowl upon his face, the one that looks like it’s caught between amusement and disgust. He’s silent for a long while, then, and just when Hux is beginning to consider deriving from his script and calling out to the older- older, he thinks pointedly, it’s ridiculous-  man once more, he hears the sound of shuffling footsteps, and then the door is parting to reveal Kylo himself. He looks a mess, dark hair all disheveled around his pallid face in a drastic contrast. Somehow, he manages to make it look intentional, this small display of chaos, and Hux hates it, but he seems to be having a hard time catching the stray thoughts of how it might feel to take him by a fistful of it in his own fit of rage.

Standing before the general now, he lifts his chin just enough for their eyes to meet, and Hux is expecting to see some tangible rage left over from whatever had prompted his outburst, but instead all he sees is this great vacancy. “Well?” He urges, pushing a hand through the tantalizingly tangled locks.

Hux never breaks away from his perfect posture, and his expression never flickers from the blank and disinterested expression he nearly always wears. But inside, his mind is breaking down, shattering each carefully constructed wall one by one and allowing his thoughts to wander places he had dared not venture into before. He imagines that Kylo’s fingers are calloused from his training, and for a mere fraction of a second, he catches himself wondering how they might feel trailing over his flesh.

Kylo Ren is still staring at him expectantly, making no attempt to shield his irritation. Hux blinks a few times, too quickly, and swallows hard. “Ah, yes,” he murmurs, falling back into his facade. “I wanted to ask you just how many times I was going to have to ask you to stop wrecking my ship before you actually decided to take the words to heart.”

Something shifts in Kylo’s features, not quite surprise but more like a muted aggravation. “Sorry,” he drawls in a tone that assures the redhead he is most certainly anything except remorseful. A quick pause, his head tilting to the side just mere millimeters, only enough to notice by someone who never missed anything. Then, the spark of a gleam in his depthless eyes. “Perhaps I will stop destroying your machines when you stop acting like one.”

For a few painfully precious seconds, Hux finds himself rendered speechless. It’s brief, his pause, but it’s enough for him to notice. He knows fully well that Kylo notices it too, this rare crack in his shell, but for one reason or another, the dark haired man chooses to leave it be.

“I’m sure I dont know what you mean,” Hux says eventually, when he has reclaimed his precious self-control. “And anyway, we’re discussing your personality flaws, not mine.”

“So you admit to being flawed, then,” Kylo notes, his voice lifting slightly, like this alone was all that he had needed to elevate his obviously dampened mood. It’s a misstep, a single word that he hadnt measured quite as cautiously as the others, because something about Kylo fucking Ren makes him forget how to be careful. Or maybe it was just that Kylo makes him want to forget, because somehow the Knight makes reckless abandon look desireable. He makes letting go look easy. This pathetic, pitiful mess of disastrous dark curls and temper tantrums and beautiful rage makes him think that giving into his emotions cant possibly be a bad thing. If Kylo can learn to use them as a strength instead of wielding them as a weakness, then surely Hux could do the same.  

By the time he realizes his second misstep, it’s already too late. The air hangs heavily around them, thick with tension and silence and the weight of the distance between them, of which Hux suddenly finds himself overly aware. By the time he realizes that, in letting his walls down he had been inviting Kylo Ren to come marching right inside, it’s too late, and the Knight is watching him curiously, and for once he appears to be the one with the guarded expression. The general is quick to arrange his features into a scowl, taking a step backwards like maybe the new distance between them might be enough to keep Ren from pawing around in the confines of his mine, where his most private thoughts have been locked away.

“Oh,” Kylo says, and that’s all, just this slight exhalation that dangles between them, twisting and spinning and sending a wave of nausea rolling through the redhead before him. When he finally pauses to meet Hux’s eyes, he adds shortly, “I cant tell if you want to hit me or fuck me.”

Quite literally choking on the very breath that he’d been taking, Hux gives a quick series of undignified coughs. “I-I…” He stammers, cursing himself for even opening his mouth at all. But it matters not. This round is over, and Kylo has clearly emerged victorious. At least he will be in better spirits. Perhaps the ship can afford taking any damage for a few days. Giving up entirely, he gives a small shrug. “Most of the time, I cant either.”

Now it’s Kylo’s turn to be silent, the last of the oxygen in his lungs escaping in a single gasp of a breath. His eyes have widened, and all at once Hux realizes that he has turned the tables, that he is back in control, that Kylo is the one unprepared and caught off guard now. He takes advantage of this, working quickly to smooth his hands over his pressed back shirt and blinking away the last of the trepidation from his eyes. Straightening up and jutting his chin out, he looks down upon Kylo in comtemplation.

But instead of selecting his usual sneer that he had generally reserved specifically for him, he opts instead to relax, slouching his shoulders from their rigid position and going so far as to push a hand through his perfectly slicked back hair. “Perhaps I can see what other techniques I can use to render you silent,” he states, and he is nearly certain it is the boldest thing he’s ever done in his life.

Or the second, he decides a moment later, because instead of waiting for Kylo’s reply, he lunges forward, hands tangling into a mess of black tresses and lips colliding into a sudden kiss. It’s rushed, sloppy, and terribly elegant, but Hux cant help but think that in spite of that all, it may be the most perfect kiss of his life. He withdraws for mere seconds, just long enough to look Kylo in the eye, maybe to give him the opportunity to run. But Ren is silent and Hux is impatient, and soon the general has descended upon the other man once more, and he is twisting his hair around his fingers, and he is embracing the twisting feeling of anticipation as it blossoms in the pit of his stomach, and he is using the weight of his body to lead Kylo Ren towards the bed.

He is letting go, and nothing has ever felt so right in all his life.